Date: Mon, 5 Dec 2005 21:51:30 GMT
From: "anonymous4371@juno.com" <anonymous4371@juno.com>
Subject: CHRISTMAS SHOPPING (Authoritarian)

CHRISTMAS SHOPPING

by Bill Smith

[Please let me know if you read this seasonal story and, if so, what you
thought of it.  Much appreciated.  Bill Smith at anonmymous4371@juno.com.
Thanks.]

     I had made up my list over the past few weeks.  The intent was to get
the absolutely perfect gift for everyone on the list, the kind of gift that
would put all of them into my debt forever.  The problem was the old adage
"They're impossible to buy for - they've got everything already."
Undaunted, I pondered for weeks on deciding what to get.  Finally, the list
was completed and one bright, crisp day I felt in a buying mood and headed
out to the city markets.

       Harness & Barnes, Specialists in the Hard to Find

     The first stop was at Harness & Barnes, a long time dealer who was
expensive, but specialized in the "hard to find" items. I was looking for a
gift for my close friend Ramone who had just lost a valued piece of
livestock.  A truck had just recently run over one of his house slaves that
Ramone loved to bed down - a half black, half Latino that had been
specifically trained for bed duties - and, although he had been looking
here and there, he hadn't replaced him yet.  It was my intention to
surprise him with an almost clone of the accident victim. If successful,
Ramone would go nuts over the Christmas gift and Harness & Barnes was as
good a place as any to start looking.

     "Welcome to Harness & Barnes, master.  How may I help you?" the
well-dressed clerk greeted me as I entered the posh surroundings of their
outer sales room.  The clerk, dressed in a clinging black bikini which
showed off all aspects of his physique nicely, fell to his knees and
salaamed as befitted his slave status. The gold collar welded high around
his neck, along with the gold rings fitted through each of his tits,
gleamed in the soft lights, blending well with his tawny long blond hair,
the pencil-line beard outlining his rugged jaw, and his shiny fully shaved
hide gleaming with a fresh coat of oil.

     "Display yourself properly so I can assess your body," I sharply
ordered, "although I had something else entirely in mind as a gift for my
friend."

     The slave immediately jerked to the standard display position, his
hands in back of his neck collar, his feet spread wide apart, his muscles
tensed, and his chest and pelvis thrust forward.

     "Um," I commented as I ran my hands over his bulging pecs, twinged his
tits until they were erect, and then stroked his cock through the thin
stretched fabric of the bikini until he was fully hard. "Nice, but you're
not my friend's type," I added as I squeezed his balls until he moaned
softly.

     "I'm sorry, Master," the clerk replied, never moving once during my
inspection of his body.

     "I was looking for something between 17 and 22 years old, a cross
breed of Black and Latino blood, no more than 5'10" tall, exceptionally
attractive, very muscular and well hung, and fully trained as a pleasure
slave," I read from the notes I had jotted down regarding Ramone's
present. "Anything like that in stock today, slave?"

     The slave's eyes lit up in excitement. "Yes, master, I think we may
have just what you are looking for.  There's two that fit your description
in a fresh batch just brought in from a breeding farm Harness & Barnes
contracts with and they just ended their final training last Friday,
master?  Could I have them brought up for your inspection in the display
room to your right or would you prefer to view them in their holding cages,
master?"

     I thought a while and then told the slave I would prefer to see the
goods in their holding cages. "That way, if I don't like the looks of them,
I can easily look over the rest of that batch that's finished their
training.  I have more than one gift on my list, you know," he said harshly
as if the slave should have known that somehow.

     "Of course, master," the slave responded smoothly, still in a full
display position since he had not been told to relax. "If you will just
follow me, master," the slave said humbly.

     I followed the clerk down the main staircase into the basement area
where the holding pens for upcoming auctions were located. Each slave
awaiting sale was pressed into a wire cage about 4x4x5 - too small to lie
down fully, sit up, yet alone stand up. The cages were stacked two high so
it was fairly easy to view the occupants without stretching. A long trench
ran underneath the bottom cages with an automatic water spray over the top
cages programmed to clean the cages and their occupants every three hours
so sanitation and smell was well controlled. It was obvious from the
slave's wet bodies that the spray had just recently cycled.  I followed the
slave past row after row of occupied cages until he stopped in front of two
cages about in the middle of the 1050 cages in this holding area.  I
glanced inside the two cages and saw first one body and then another
eagerly looking up at me as the salesman unlocked the cages and both of the
caged slaves swiftly wiggled out of the confining space and, stretching
just a little to loosen their muscles, quickly assumed full display
positions in front of their cages.  It was obvious they had been well
trained in how to present themselves to a prospective customer.

     "If you would like to try them out, master, there is a hospitality
suite right over there," the sales slave said, pointing to a luxurious
bedroom and bath set up in this area so buyers could test prospective
purchases' sexual abilities and training in complete privacy.

     I didn't reply right then.  I was too busy looking over the two slaves
presenting themselves to me.

     One was about 5'6", very muscular with a tiny waist, bubble butt, and
massive sexual equipment despite his small size.  He was about three
quarters black and one-quarter Latino which resulted in a very smooth,
tawny brown skin, jet black eyes and smooth, but thick black head hair.
His body was practically smooth before shaving, as only his pubes and ass
crack seem to have needed the razor.  His long, thick prick was circumcised
and was half-erect even now, resting on top of round firm balls of about
average size. He wore only a thick iron collar around his neck and another
iron band around his genitals to assure a neat display. His tits were jet
black and protruded about a half-inch from his body - nicely defined and
begging for a ring fitting. I quickly ran my hands over his arm and
shoulder muscles, squeezed his pecs, and then, noting his firm abs, gripped
his shaft and began stroking until, very quickly, a full erection was
obtained.  As I continued stroking his full 10 inch shaft, now that it was
erect, I ran my other hand over his high cheekbones and then inserted my
index finger inside his mouth to check out his teeth.  He tremored slightly
as I began stroking him, thrusting his pelvis further into my hand to make
it easier for me, and sucked my finger strongly once it was inserted in his
mouth.  When I removed my hands, he smiled invitingly at me, thrusting his
pelvis even further forward to show his willingness to cooperate in the
inspection of his body.  Standing back, I looked him over and found him
most attractive.  I motioned for him to turn around and then pushed him
forward until he understood I wanted to check out his hole.  Instantly, he
bent over, spread his ass cheeks, and displayed his taut puckered hole,
obviously not virginal being fully trained, , but still tight. I inserted
my index finger all the way up him and wiggled it around a bit.  He
responded with a low sensual moan and tightened his ass muscles around the
intrusion as he had been taught as part of his sexual training.  When I
withdrew my finger, I had him turn around and kneel while I presented my
finger to his mouth.  Instantly, he sucked the finger in and cleansed it
with his tongue.

     "Seemed to be trained well," I commented as I begin to look over the
second slave, still in full display position.  This slave was exceptionally
handsome, about 5'9", wasn't quite as muscular as the first one but still
very nicely constructed, had nice-sized and shapely sexual organs that were
already fully erect in anticipation of his body inspection, and was quite
different colored than the first slave - about nine-tenths latino and
one-tenth black.  This mixture resulted in thick, straight black hair,
considerable body hair which had been shaved away judging from the stubble,
slanting blue eyes set among long black lashes and heavy eyebrows, and a
yellow skin which was milky smooth.  Overall, his thin waist, puffy pecs,
washboard abs, and protruding butt gave him a sensuous look.  When I
inspected his body, he began dripping pre-cum copiously and was obviously
struggling to keep from ejaculating right in front of me.

     "Hold it, boy," I cautioned him as I hefted his large balls and
churned them in my hand.  "Master," he gasped.

     "Hold it," I repeated sternly and the slave under inspection clinched
his lips together and broke out in a sweat as he struggled to control his
body.

     By the time I had him bend over for the usual inspection of his hole,
it was obvious he was losing the struggle. As I inserted two fingers and
began finger fucking him to test his reaction, he gasped in ecstacy and
shot a huge load on the floor in front of him.

     "Master, I'm sorry, master, I'm sorry," he gasped but didn't break
stance as I continued to pump his hole with my fingers.

     "Eager little pup, isn't he," I commented to the slave salesman.  "I
thought he had been trained."

     "He has, master," the salesman replied, "but obviously not enough.
He'll be punished appropriately, let me assure you, master.  But he's never
done that before in a customer's inspection so it must be something to do
with the artistry of your inspection, master," the slave salesman said
politically.

     "Bull shit," I replied.  "He's simply not trained properly."

     "We have few customers as good looking as you, master, if I may say
so.  Most are old men who can afford this type of luxury.  I doubt if this
slave has ever been inspected by someone close to his own age, master.  I
think the excitement of possibly having a young, attractive master proved
to be too much for him, despite all of his training to date," the slave
salesman said engagingly.

     "Again, bull shit," I replied.  "No wonder they have assigned you to
the sales division with a tongue as olden as yours.  You're worse than a
used car salesman, slave," I chided him.

     "Yes, master," the slave salesman said humbly.

     I withdrew my fingers from the slave's hole.  "Get down on all fours
and lick that mess up, slave, but first put some on your finger so I can
taste it," I ordered.

     Instantly, the slave did as commanded and carefully scooped up a
dollop of his steaming hot cum, offering it to me on his finger which I
tasted.  He then dropped down to all fours and slurped up all of his own
steaming hot cum until the floor was spotless while I savored his cum,
rolling it around in my mouth before swallowing it.  It was thick, tangy,
and fresh-tasting; not acidic and runny like older slaves often produce. I
studied the slave before me on all fours.  The thick iron collar around his
neck and the rough iron band around his genitals was his only adornment -
apparently the standard attire for this slave house. I visualized him in a
bright shiny new collar of brass or nickel with matching tit rings and an
even thicker shiny genital band so he would always prominently display his
sexual organs, excited or not.

     The first slave was the perfect gift for Ramone who liked his bedbucks
dark skinned.  Besides, he was almost a clone to the pleasure slave lost in
the accident.  Ramone would go crazy over him due to the similarity if
nothing else.  The second slave would be a great gift for Bret who liked
his meat "yeller and willing" as he put it.  Besides, Bret had a reputation
for milking his slaves for little afternoon snacks, a quick breakfast, etc.
The second slave with yellow skin and seemed to be a veritable fountain of
thick, hot cum would be much appreciated by Bret, who was a demanding but
enthusiastic master.

     Turning to the slave salesperson, I inquired as to the slave's prices.
They were high, as I expected considering the quality of the goods as well
as the scarcity of bred mixtures. Rather than shop around all day for these
mixed blood specialities, I decided to pay the price and bought them on the
spot.  If Ramone and Bret didn't like their Christmas gifts, they could
always exchange them.  Harness & Barnes not only had a liberal exchange
policy, they guaranteed all of their stock for 90 days.  Quality always
cost a little more.

     As I handed the slave salesman my Visa card, he was so pleased I knew
he had a quota to meet to escape a disciplinary beating.

     "What's your quota?" I asked the sales slave.

     The slave looked surprised that I had figured out Harness & Barnes had
him on a strict sales regimen.

     "One a day, including myself," he responded with a sigh.  "But I can
store them up.  Right now, thanks to you, master, I'm five ahead of my
quota," he said proudly.

     "You can thank me by offering me the use of your body in one of those
hospitality suites while the slaves I purchased are being made ready for
shipment to my home."

     "Yes, master," the blond slave replied with no signs of regret.  "It
will be a pleasure to accommodate such a good looking master with anything
he might desire."

     The blond was as well trained as I thought he might be, and, before
the morning was over, I fucked him senseless before I was totally satiated
with his bodily charms.  He thanked me profusely for using him not only
when I was finished with him sexually, but again when he handed me the
ownership and transfer papers that had been prepared in the interim.

     "Perhaps you can recommend me to your friends?" he boldly asked.  "I
would like to get a regular master myself one of these days," he explained
when I look somewhat startled at his audacity.

     "It would have to be a master more tolerant of slave demands than I
am," I retorted sharply.  "Slaves are in no position to want anything other
than pleasing their owner, whoever that might be."

     "No, master," the slave, humbled, looked down at the floor.  "Sorry to
have offended you, master. It won't happen again, master, or to any of your
friends," he added hopefully.

     As I left Harness & Barnes, I looked at my list. At least four more
gifts and I'd already spent more time at Harness & Barnes than I had
planned, despite my success.  I needed a pure black stud for a friend
reliving the Old South, an handsome Arab boy with an exceptionally long,
thick organ for a friend into "Arabian Nights" fantasies, a Nordic giant
for my black friend who liked nothing better than to see huge masculine
white men submit themselves to a small black master, and a real sexy
Polynesian type for a friend who had just returned from a trip to the South
Pacific and was determined to replicate the experience at home. I needed to
finish up my Christmas shopping today if I could.  Perhaps that dealer he
had heard of done on Third Street would be worth a visit.  One of his
friends had found just what he was looking for down there recently and he
claimed they had a nice collection.

     Shopping at 'Best Buys'

     I headed directly for the Third Street merchants, remembering the
advice of my good friend who said they featured a nice collection of sales
items.  When I entered the first shop on Third Street, I found it was a
branch of the electronics chain "Best Buys" with the same sort of
merchandising strategy: a huge selection at rock bottom prices without all
the frills of fancy surroundings, polished sales staff, or gift wrapping.

     Upon entering the crowded store, I was bombarded with Christmas music
blaring away from hidden speakers, several lighted Christmas trees and
numerous wreaths hanging down from the ceiling.  Since there were no
windows, all four sides of the store served as display space and the
merchandise was positioned on three-tier risers draped in a blanket of
artificial snow with holly springs intertwined here and there among the
chains holding the displayed goods.  All stock was shown in "display
position" with chains attached to both their neck collars (which had their
wrist bracelets attached) as well as their ankles, forcing their legs wide
apart. They were arranged randomly on one of the three tiers so customers
could not only view them easily, but inspect them thoroughly if they were
interested.  Each commodity was displayed standing with their muscles
tensed, bright spotlights overhead lighting up every aspect of the shaved,
oiled nude bodies, and with a small placard beneath each describing their
age, background, special skills or features, and a suggested, but
negotiable, price. The hot lights kept the air conditioning working
overtime, but body odors were practically non-existent - obviously the
merchandise was freshly showered, a lot of deodorant had been used to
combat the effects of the hot lights, and all had been completely douched
thoroughly prior to display in that even the most thorough anal inspections
were absolutely odorless. In between every third slave on each of the tiers
was a small, decorated Christmas tree with lots of colored lights which,
along with the seasonal music, added to the festive mood. Even some of the
goods themselves wore holiday decorations: a few had red velvet bows
attached to their neck collars; a few wore green elf's hats and elf's
slippers, and a few of the males, especially those massively equipped, had
red or green bows tied around their well displayed manhood. Males and
females were displayed interspersed - the management felt their unique
sexual features were best displayed by contrast with the opposite sex.

     As I began to browse, the music had switched to a variation on an old
favorite: "All I Want For Christmas Is A Great Big Stud," as indeed a giant
naked black stud with a beautific smile was displayed mid-store on a
rotating turntable with a huge red satin sash going from his right shoulder
to his left hip emblazoned with gold lettering: "Best of the Holidays." At
each corner of the store, similar turntables displayed an exceptionally
beautiful Chinese woman with ringed tits; a magnificent Swede with long
blond hair and a phenomenally thick, long shaft; a sinuous Argentine woman
of 19 assuming tango-inspired poses which best displayed her lovely body;
and a dark skinned stunningly handsome Algerian boy of about 20 with doe
eyes, long black eyelashes, huge erect genitals, and a rounded "bubble
butt" that was exceptional.  The prices on the placards beneath each of the
rotating slaves clearly indicated these were clearance items and made the
"Best Buy" claim valid.

     Excited by the stated prices, I tried to get the attention of a sales
clerk, no easy task with all the customers jammed into the store, although
they were easy to spot, being slaves themselves.  Each, all male, wore only
a thick shiny slave collar engraved "Best Buy," heavy tit rings on both
sides, and a very thick genital band, also engraved "Best Buy" which forced
a full protrusion of their generous sex organs. After a few minutes of
trying with little success, I finally just grabbed one by his flopping
shaft as he hurried by me, another customer following him to the cashier.

     "The clerk's waiting on me, buddy," the other customer said huffily,
pulling my hand off of the slave clerk's prick.  "Wait your turn like
everyone else," he said as he viciously kicked the clerk ahead roughly with
the command, "No more delays, slave boy."

     "Yes, master," the clerk responded as he picked himself up off the
floor and, with a look of apology toward me, hustled to the cashier's desk.

     "I've just bought a big Polock stud whose had his balls cut off as a
surprise Christmas present for my wife," the other customer said as a way
of explaining his rudeness to me.  "The problem is he may be too big for
her so I want her to try him out this afternoon when I have time to
exchange him for something a little smaller if it would be comfortable for
her. I figure at these prices I can't afford to wait any longer."

     "I wondered why you were in such a hurry," I answered rather lamely.

     "Well, it's not just my wife going to use the stud," the other
customer explained further.  "Actually, both my son, who's in high school
and I plan to use him too.  That way, it's really a gift for the whole
family.  My son Robert likes nothing better if seems than plowing a
muscular ass and me, I'm into being sucked off every morning before
breakfast.  Sort of a tradition with me going clear back to my 13th
birthday when my daddy gave me my first slave, a pretty little Indonesian
boy who had a mouth like velvet."

     "The slave you're buying is a genuine eunuch?" I asked.

     "Yes sir, mister.  Just the way I like them - cut after they grow into
full manhood.  This slave was castrated just a year or so ago, so he's
still all man and can get it up hard and keep it up just as long as anyone
wants.  It will be perfect for my wife - no worries about getting knocked
up by a stud lover and no worries about losing his amorous interest with
some sort of debilitating orgasm like a regular stud would have. I've been
looking for a cut stud for several weeks now."

     "How much, if I may ask?"

     "Well, I've seen studs a lot more handsome and better built so you
wouldn't expect a high price, but I can't afford a luxury item like that
anyway.  This one's just ordinary looking, but well hung, and seems well
trained for his duties.  He'll do fine for our purposes: taking a good
fucking by my son; swallowing my loads every morning; and servicing my wife
whenever she wants. When he's not in someone's bed, he can be cleaning the
house, doing the yard work, and probably wait table as well as do the
grocery shopping after we break him in."

     "How much?" I asked again, inpatiently.

     "Oh, I forgot your question.  Sorry.  I'm just paying $65,000 but he
is 32 years old now and, as I said, not too much in the looks department."

     "That is a good price," I responded.

     "That's what I thought.  Sorry, I'm in a hurry," he said as he
abruptly left for the cashier's desk who had the ownership papers and sales
transfer all ready for his signature. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw he
used his Visa card for the purchase.  I wondered whether the purchase was
as bad looking as he claimed, but knew the slave just sold was being hosed
down, tagged with Best Buy receipts, and then shackled into appropriate
restraints for delivery to his new owner at the shipping dock who would
probably stuff him into the trunk of the family car for the trip to his new
home.  But just then, I saw his high school son join his father at the
cashier's desk from a quick trip to the restroom.  I modified my scenario
for the newly purchased slave from transit in the trunk of the family car
to the back seat of the family car where the son no doubt would "try out"
the slave's ability to take a good fucking.

     The clerk returned, again apologizing for the delay.

     "May I help you master?" the slave asked, unconsciously rubbing the
huge bruise where his last customer had kicked him.

     "Yes, I'm interested in looking over the slave on the turntable in the
middle of the store."

     "You want to look at that specific black, master, or one just like him
from the holding pens in the back?"

     "No, the one on the turntable will do fine, slave," I countered.

     "Yes, master.  If you will follow me?" he directed as he swiftly went
to the turntable mid-store and, finding the hidden switch under the
turntable, quickly brought the spinning slave to a halt.  "He's yours to
examine now, master," the clerk said humbly as he lowered his head
appropriately.

     The card beneath the slave being displayed stated the slave was 19
years old, was purchased two years ago in the Cameroons from the Army
prison selling off civil war prisoners, that the slave had been free up
until his capture by the Army, and that the slave had received basic slave
training from the original native slave dealer and more extensive training
for two years following that by the Best Buy experts at their own
educational facility located near Atlanta, Georgia.  The slave was
guaranteed for 30 days and was certified disease-free, had been trained for
"basic slave duties including full use of his body."  The placard suggested
the slave could be effectively utilized in construction, mining,
agriculture, transportation, full household duties, or exclusively as a
pleasure slave if desired."  and that he was a full black (no blood
mixtures).  They were asking $140,000 for him due to his "exceptional good
looks, aptitude for typical slave duties, and youthful vigor."

     This might make the perfect gift for my good friend Bret, I thought to
myself.  Bret ran a small breeding operation of his own at his ancestral
plantation home in Alabama and lived his life as close as possible to
Antebellum America where black slaves were bred openly and brought top
prices at the slave markets in Atlanta, Mobile and New Orleans not too much
unlike today (except all the slaves were black then).  Bret only seemed to
enjoy black slaves as a result of his adherence to the past and as such he
only bred blacks, had blacks in his bed, used blacks for all his plantation
work, and staffed his household with black.  This magnificent black stud
being offered here at Best Buys seemed a perfect gift for Bret who would
most likely use him for regular breeding as well as have him serve as one
of his favored bed bucks.  Bret, who enjoyed being fucked himself from time
to time as long as he could totally control the slave doing the fucking,
was particularly fond of big muscular studs who proved their worth in the
breeding barns when not servicing him.

     I ran my hand over the black slave's wooly short-cut hair and then
down over his smooth black cheeks before inserting my finger into his
mouth.  Instantly, my finger was sucked in and down his throat.  Upon
withdrawing my finger, I ran my hand over his entire face, noting his high
cheekbones, his clear dark eyes, his thick black eyelashes, his thin
reddish, brown lips, and his straight, Grecian-style nose.  His skin was
naturally hairless, not only on his face, but the rest of his body as well,
judging from the lack of any stubble. I then felt his thick well-defined
musculature, starting with his shoulders, pectorals, and abs before looking
at his biceps and thighs. His shiny blue-black hide was sweaty from the
bright display lights but odorless. I then twirled him around and ordered
him to bend over and display his hole.  His ass was nicely muscled but
still round and prominent, but his hole had been stretched considerably
and, with the insertion of my third finger all the way up, it was obvious
he was well used by this time but still reasonably tight.  He emitted only
a soft moan of compliance when I wiggled three fingers in him and began to
pump.  The pumping led to a quick full erection, showing his prostate was
still excitable, and before long he was appropriately dripping a thick
precum and purring submissively as I continued stimulating his hole.  I
withdrew my fingers and a quick slap on his rump indicated I wanted him to
stand up, turn around, and present himself once again, whereupon I hefted
his banded balls with one hand while I stroked his shaft vigorously with
the other hand.

     "Pump that slave hard," some joker walking by commented while another
said "That black's heavy hung, huh, mister," as I continued my examination
in this public spot.  Two women shoppers stopped to see if the slave being
examined would shoot off, commenting to each other on the huge size of his
erect organ.

     "Wonder how that black monster would feel?" one giggled to the other.

     "Depends where it was at," the other woman laughed.  "If that man
doesn't buy him, we should take him back to the inspection booth where we
can try him out in private.  You know, Marilyn, they say black meat is the
most satisfying."

     "Hell, any color meat that big would be 'satisfying,' as you put it,
Dolores," the other chuckled.  "If I bought him, he'd seldom be out of my
bed, I'll tell you."

     "Or mine," her friend added.  "Fucked to death in three months!"

     This last statement brought both of them into a new peals of laughter,
which the slave under discussion heard and understood.  He shuddered as the
reality of his slavery sunk home once again and looked pleadingly at the
man inspecting him.

     "Please buy me, master," the slave said softly, hoping the slave
overseer didn't hear his pleading.

     "We'll see," was the only response of the man vigorously churning his
giant penis, now fully erect and ready to shoot.

     "Master, I'm ... I'm going ... to shoot," the slave warned, terrified
that he would be punished for shooting without permission.

     "That's what I want, slave.  I want to see your output."

     "Right here in front of everyone?" the slave said nervously as his
back began to arch and his breathing became ragged.

     "Right here in front of everyone, slave," the master said calmly as he
increased the pace of pumping the huge organ.  "Catch it in your right
hand, slave, so I can taste and feel it."

     "Yes...  Uh..... master..... master," the slave said as his balls
elevated, his back arched even more and a huge load shot out into his right
hand.

     "Nice...  and thick, master ..... and lots of it.... master," he
gasped out as load after load was pumped into his cupped fist as a crowd of
onlookers gathered around in a festive mood.

     "The slave's given you a nice little Christmas gift there, mister,"
one of the onlookers commented.  "That one's a real stud, seems like."

     I motioned for the drained slave to pass his filled fist around so the
onlookers could all taste a dab of his fresh cream. All took advantage of
the slave's offer, even the women, and, without exception, they all
commented on the thickness of the steaming cum, the fresh taste, and the
nice creamy consistency.

     "A real milk stud," another onlooker announced after taking a second
taste.  "You going to use him for that?"

     "Don't know.  I'm buying him as a Christmas gift for a friend who
likes black studs."

     "Nice gift!  He must be some friend," the onlooker shot back as he
helped himself to another taste of the stud's output.

     "He is.  He's a great friend and he likes nothing better than a big
black stud at his beck and call."

     "For plowing, for his mouth, or to use for studding him, if I may be
so bold?" the onlooker continued.

     "That is bold, mister, but I'm answer you anyway just to satisfy your
nosiness.  My friends uses his slaves to stud him.  Not all of us limit
ourselves to just poking them in their holes or down their throats, you
know."

     "I'm not passing judgment, mister," the onlooker replied.  "Hell, if I
owned a stud like that one, I'd try him out in that capacity myself.  Looks
to me like he was just made to do nothing but that day and night," he
chucked.

     The festive store music took up the old standard "Home for the
Holidays" where the words had been altered, appropriately to "Slave for the
Holidays."

     I nodded to the sales clerk that I would take the slave under
discussion.  Instantly, he took the slave back to be prepared for delivery
to his new owner and motioned for me to take care of the paperwork with the
cashier.

     "$140,000?" the sales clerk confirmed. "That includes the gold sash on
him that comes free of charge."

     "Yes, slave," I nodded.  "Tell the delivery people to flush him out
good and make sure he's properly lubricated.  Who knows, I may want to fuck
him after all on the way home before I give him to my friend.  I know damn
well I'm going to fuck him senseless before I hand him over for studding
duty with my friend. And, oh, be sure they pack up that "Best of the
Holidays" sash he's wearing and include it with him in the delivery - it
will come in handy when I give him to my friend."

     The slave shuttered at this announcement, but it hardly came as a
surprise to him.  He had been fully trained to meet the demands of any new
owner who had the money to buy him. This new master said he would fuck him
"senseless" before giving him away as a Christmas gift to yet another
master who would use him as a stud both for his own pleasure as well as a
baby maker at his breeding barns.  He glanced over at the two women who
promised to buy him if he wasn't sold to this man.  He thanked his gods
that he wasn't sold to them with their promise they would wear him out in
four months.  They probably would, he decided when he looked them over once
again. He thought he heard his new master said that he would be given as a
gift to a master who wanted to use him as a stud in his own bed as well as
stud slave women at a breeding barn.  The slave smiled inwardly as he
reflected on this.  Serving stud sounded a lot more exciting than being
fucked or having to suck some owner off every time they took a notion to
get their rocks off.  At least, it would give him a chance to get some
relief from his own chronic needs to unload made even higher by the fact he
was kept in almost constant sexual arousal. Maybe Christmas would turn out
to be something big for him too!

     I arranged to pick the new purchase up later when I had completed my
Christmas shopping. The music in the store changed to a new tune, the old
classic "Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer" where the words had been changed
to "Rudolph the Big Dicked Slaveboy."  Three more gifts to go and it was
past noon all ready.  I swore, no matter what, I was going to get my
shopping list taken care of before I returned home.  Let's see, a young
Arab boy with a thick organ for my friend with fantasies of "Arabian
Nights;" a Nordic giant for my black friend who was into lording it over
white slaves, and a nice Polynesian for my traveling friend who loved the
South Pacific.

     He'd heard that Arabs were a speciality over on Pearl street in a shop
run by a Middle Easterner himself.  Well, at least he should know exactly
what he was doing. On the other hand, there was a nice Arab boy on display
on one of the corner turntables that he might check out before leaving and
the prices here were good.

     Christmas shopping was really tiring, but he knew the gifts he was
getting his friends would be deeply appreciated.  No matter how much time
it took, he wanted to make sure he had the perfect gift for each of his
friends this Christmas Season.

          The Arab Gift Boutique

     It was only a five minute walk from Best Buys to the boutique
specializing in Middle Eastern products.  I was surprised how small the
shop appeared to be.  It looked to be little more than a "hole in the wall"
and I was tempted then and there to turn back and finish up my shopping at
the Best Buys outlet. But, since I had come this far, I thought I should at
least go in the door and see what, if anything, they had in stock.

     Ben, my friend that I was buying this gift for, had been into Arab
boys since time immemorial and was certainly an Arabphile since his
adolescence and his first reading of "Arabian Nights."  Now, nearing 30
himself, he was considered an expert in Arabian history, art, music, and,
of course, slaves of that racial stock.. He must have gone through at least
a dozen of them by this time, usually selling them off whenever he found a
buyer that offered him more than he had paid, no matter how much he had
found the slave satisfactory.  In fact, the turnover in his stock was so
great I had accused him of being a dealer in Arab slave boys, not just an
owner, but he swore with each new purchase that he was going to keep this
one "forever." My potential gift would probably be sold within the year,
but that was the nature of Ben so you just accepted it. Strangely, Ben had
never dabbled in other types of slaves, turning his nose up at blacks,
Europeans, Australians, and Americans, Latinos, Asians, and Polynesians.
At my last party, I had insisted he fuck my latest acquisition, a
breathtakingly handsome 22-year-old man from Latvia who was particularly
apt in bed.  Ben screwed him with little enthusiasm, despite the slave's
best effort to please his user, and, after unloading into the Latvian slave
unceremoniously, quickly located his own Arab boy for another road of
fucking, this time with great gusto, plunging deep into his slave shouting
lustily with each plunge - a fucking that seemed to go on and on before Ben
was finally satiated and his Arab slave was completely tuckered out.

     Once I entered the tiny storefront, I was surprised at how big the
place seemed to be relative to its outside appearance.  First, it had a
full basement jammed full of small cages, all full of stock judging from
the animal heat drifting up; second, there was a second floor "gallery" for
the premium stock which was clearly visible from the doorway - each item of
stock in full display perched on the bannister of the upstairs balcony
which really caught your eye.

     "Ah, I see the balcony display has caught your eye," the swarthy black
haired proprietor said in a rather oily voice.  "Only the best of Arabia is
sold here, my friend - and at prices my competitors can't believe.  We
offer these gems in all ages, sizes, musculatures, and skin tones - all
completely trained to please even the most discriminating owner. Every
slave for sale today has learned his life's manta thoroughly, my friend -
"To please my owner IS my life.  And, of course, a full trial can be made
of any slave you might be interested in.  That's what the small curtained
alcove over there in the corner is for."

     "We'll see," I said, pushing past the oily salesman.  "I'm just window
shopping today primarily."

     "Then you're interested in an Arab boy?" the salesman persisted.

     "A friend of mine might be, if the price was right," I countered.

     "Your friend is no doubt aware of the special qualities inherent in
Arab slave stock?"

     "I guess.  He's owned at least a dozen Arab males over the past few
years and doesn't have any other types of slaves for one reason or
another."

     "Ah, your friend is a connoisseur of male flesh, then, my friend.
There is nothing like an Arab boy in your bed to remind you of paradise.
Even the Holy Writings point that out," he added piously. "Look around, my
friend.  Every slave here has been trained to perfection and wants nothing
better than to serve their new owner."

     "As I said, I just want to look about a bit - - alone," I added for
emphasis.

     "Yes, my friend, of course.  You are most welcome.  The premium goods
are displayed up on the bannister; the cheaper goods are downstairs in the
pens.  If there are any penned up you would like to look over, just ring
the bell down in front of every bank of cages and I'll uncage them in an
instant for your full inspection."

     "And their price?" I queried.

     "It's grease-pencilled on their backs, my friend."

     I deliberately headed for the stairs leading up to the small balcony
where at least six "premium" slaves stood precariously balanced on the
small bannister, their closely shaved bodies totally displayed due to their
position - legs wide spread, hands in back of their necks, and pelvis
thrust forward.  All had an engaging smile on their faces as they saw me
ascend the steps and it was hard not to notice their sexual organs swelling
rapidly in response to my apparent interest in them. They all were
extremely handsome, had nicely shaped large circumcised penises, and good
musculature, although none of them were particularly heavily muscled.  They
were, in a word "pretty," beautiful enough to be feminine if it weren't for
their well developed manly pecs and heavy equipment between their legs. But
when I reached the top of the steps and could view their backsides, I was
started at the prices marked on their smooth backs: $400,000 was the lowest
of the bunch.  I quickly lost interest.  They were pretty all right, but
certainly not pretty enough to be in that price range.

     Almost in disgust, I quickly headed for the basement, thinking again I
had made a mistake to not buy a couple of more gifts at Best Buy.  The
basement was warm with body heat, had a slight smell of spilt semen mixed
with a little sweat, and was filled with small noises that bodies make in
confinement: gasps, groans, farts, sighs, and wheezes.

     As my eyes adjusted to the low light levels, I bumped into a stern
looking woman shopper leading a small naked Arab slave girl by the leash
attached to her neck collar out of the basement area.  Her severe suit was
adorned with a pen proclaiming "Put Christ back in Christmas."

     "You found a girl to your liking?" I asked, thinking of nothing else
to say to this stranger who was glaring at me.

     "One shouldn't get attached to slaves," she snarled back.  "As it says
in Corinthians 10:56, "Slaves, obey your masters in all things."

     "Of course," was all I could say.

     "She's a lucky one, I'd say.  Taking her out of perdition," she
indicated with a nod of her head she thought the basement was her version
of perdition, "to a far better life that God has ordained for those low
born and placed into servitude."

     "You're freeing her?" I asked in wonderment.

     The woman stared at me as if I was insane.  "You can't free slaves and
you know it.  No, I'm buying her as a present for my three sons - all
bachelors and in need of some decent outlets.  I'm afraid they catch some
nasty disease if they keep frequenting those slave brothels each and every
night.  This girl here is certified disease free, although she has, of
course, been heavily used by her previous owners.  They were brought up
under the strict rules of the Bible and I don't want them wasted by some
heathen disease of the Devil's."

     "Some Christians, I understand, extremist radicals in my opinion, are
against both fornication with slaves and indeed with slavery itself," I
challenged her certitude.

     "Satan's helpers," she retorted.  "Show me just one place in the Good
Book where it talks against slavery.  And, as for the other, Jesus himself
said "Go out and multiply.  If's that's not approval for fornication, I
don't know what is," she said smugly.  "People who don't know the Bible
inside and out shouldn't be passing judgment like those religious nuts you
mentioned," she added zealously with a rather hateful gleam in her
eyes. "All the good Christians I know are taking the God-given
responsibility of offering slaves fulfillment of their given destiny
regardless of the costs and inconveniences.  They practice what they
preach, not run around talking about things they know nothing about.
Imagine, being against slavery - Jesus never said a word about it and he
was surrounded with slaves his whole life.  I'm sure you're in agreement
with me if there is one Christian bone in your body."

     "I hope your sons enjoy the slave girl," was all I could think of
saying after all that.  "And, of course I agree with you.  I'm shopping for
a slave myself and have owned many a slave over the years."

     "I couldn't imagine what you be doing here otherwise," she retorted.
"Such a lucky girl," she repeated as she tugged on the slave girl's leash.
"Only three men to keep satisfied other than the never ending stream slave
girls face if they're bought by a brothel. And satisfied you better keep
them, or it's the brothel for you.  That's God's intention as I see it."

     "Yes, mistress.  Thank you, mistress," the Arab girl said humbly as
she hurried behind her new owner.

     Rid of her, I proceeded to look over the caged stock in the basement.
Most were decent looking, in good health, and, judging from the prices
marked on their backs, reasonable in price. I found a couple that looked
like they might warrant further inspection: a 21-year-old who was a product
of a Syrian breeding farm and a 20-year-old Afghan who had been sold by his
parents into slavery when he was 14 to a traveling slave merchant. Both had
smooth dark skin covered with patches of black hair where they weren't
shaved, both were very thin with especially small waists but had reasonable
musculature, and both were blessed with long, thick penises that I knew Ben
was fond of.  I rang the bell whereupon the salesman promptly appeared and
uncaged the two slaves.  Both immediately took a "display" position with
their pricks rising steadily with the mere suggestion of being examined for
possible sale and escape from the cramped cages.

     "The Syrian boy is not pure Arab blood," the salesman apologized.
"That's why he's down here in the bargain basement.  "He's half Arab and
half Italian.  The breeders had an order for that combination but the buyer
died before he could be delivered.  I got him at a closeout and can pass
the savings on to you, sir."

     "Training?"

     "He's well trained, although, I'll admit, he's had a lot of use over
the years."

     I had the slave under discussion turn around and bend over to display
his hole.  Indeed, he had been well used - his hole was permanently
stretched with thick calloused skin surrounding his opening.

     "I hope he's not so stretched he's been ruined," I commented,
referring to the condition where overly used slaves sometimes reached the
point where they couldn't retain their own bodily wastes.

     "Nowhere near that point," the salesman assured me.  "He still can
hold a cleansing enema in him for some time" - almost certain proof, if
true, that the slave retained good muscular control of his hole.

     I placed two fingers up the slave's hole and began pumping him
vigorously.  He opened up quickly and allowed full access while tensioning
his anal muscles to grip my fingers tightly.  It was obvious he was both
well trained and still fully capable of giving a good fuck. I removed my
fingers and, with a pat on the slave's rump, indicated he should turn
around and kneel in front of me.  He instantly complied, whereupon I
inserted the fingers that had just been in his ass into his mouth.  He
sucked them in immediately and drew them deep into his throat as his
well-trained tongue massaged the fingers themselves.  His cheeks hollowed
as he maximized the suction.  I withdrew my fingers, knowing the slave was
perfect for my friend Ben's needs who liked to use his slaves orally as
well as anally, and indicated the slave should remain in place. The slave
promptly thanked me for inspecting him and, putting his head down in
submission, humbly suggested he would be an excellent slave for my friend.

     "This other slave was sold into slavery as a young boy?" I tried to
validate the information on the placard fastened to each cage.

     "Yes.  It's not too uncommon in Afghanistan.  Parents frequently sell
their older children to get money to feed the younger ones.  The ones sold
feel its noble and has earned them a place in paradise - the money from
their sale has saved their family from starvation.  They make damn good
slaves because they accept their slavery as noble and good.  You never hear
of them trying to escape or rebelling or, really, causing any trouble at
all."

     "Why is he down here in the basement and not up on the balcony?" I
asked as I lifted the slave's huge penis in my hand and began to stroke it
to a full erection.


     "He's blind.  That's why the price is so cheap on this one, but you
don't need eyes in your head to fuck well.  Afghan parents usually sell off
children with defects in that they view them as cursed by the devil.  But
that makes this slave all the more determined to serve his master well.  He
takes a fuck beautifully - I've tried him out myself and even I was amazed
how good he is in a master's bed and, as you can see for yourself, his
prick certainly makes up for his lack of vision.  'Allah takes away, but
Allah gives' as the old proverb goes."

     My stroking had paid off.  The blind slave's prick swelled to its
maximum size of a massive 12" x 6" and began to quiver in anticipation of
an impending orgasm. I continued stroking him, grabbing a small paper cup
the salesman handled me from a nearby dispenser. Within seconds, the Afghan
slave shot load after load of thick, hot cum into the cup, filling it
completely, while he gasped and moaned in the throes of full
ejaculation. When he stopped bucking in my hand and the flow ceased to a
tiny dribble, I lifted the cup and noted the sweet clean smell of his
output, the thick creamy consistency, and, after a tiny taste on my finger,
drank the entire contents down in one gulp.

     "Refreshing," I commented as I threw the paper cup in the nearby trash
can.  "Nothing like fresh slave cream for a little midmorning snack."

     "Thank you for using me, master," the blind slave said sincerely,
showing me he was well trained as a slave.

     "I have the same kind of snack most every afternoon myself," the Arab
salesman smiled broadly.  "Why not, with such a supply all around me?"

     I thought about Ben's peculiarities and whether he would enjoy the
novelty of a good looking half-Italian bred slave or the even greater of a
blind Afghan with a huge prick sold off by his parents. The price on both
was, truly, close-out prices - almost unbelievably cheap considering what I
had paid at Best Buys.

     "I'll take both," I said, thinking how tickled Ben would be getting
two gifts instead of one this Christmas.  "Get them cleaned up, inside and
out, and deliver them to my house tomorrow around noon," I ordered as I
gave the salesman both my address and my Visa card.

     "Thank you, thank you, master," both slaves said excitedly, realizing
they had been bought by a new owner as gifts for yet another unknown
master.

     "You've made a wise purchase," the oily Arab salesman said.  "I'm sure
your friend will be delighted with his new gifts.  And, if I may be so
bold, I certainly wish I had as good a friend as you - two handsome
slaveboys as a mere Christmas gift.  A most thoughtful gift, even if
extravagant."

     "My friend deserves it," was all I would say as I signed the Visa
charge and prepared to leave the tiny boutique of Arab goods.  I couldn't
tarry fondling the new purchases if I was to complete my Christmas
shopping.  I had to find a big Nordic type and a Polynesian beauty yet
before I was done.  I asked the swarthy Arab salesman if he had any
suggestions for finding slaves of that description.  He had two
suggestions, both original.  One was the city's Salvation Army store and
the other was the Humane Society.  He said that both places occasionally
had 'stray' slaves of unusual types up for sale in that their owners had
died and left their goods to the charity in their will; an owner had simply
tired of the responsibilities of slave ownership and had dumped them in the
woods assuming they would just die without an owner's care; or an owner had
donated them to these charities for the huge and immediate tax benefits
inherent in such an act; or, sometimes, a slave had run away from his last
owner (who couldn't now be traced) and had been found rummaging around in
garbage dumps or trying to sell his body on the streets, etc., trying to
feed himself whereupon the charity had salvaged them for sale.  He added
the charities often called him when they had obtained a promising Arab
slave they thought he might be interested in buying for resale.  The Humane
Society usually received abandoned slaves or runaway slaves that couldn't
be traced who were automatically slated for the dog food processors if they
couldn't sell them in a 30-day time period.

     When I showed interest, he even offered to call the two agencies and
see if they had any in stock that fit my description.

     "That's an excellent idea, and, I must say, quite thoughtful of you,"
I replied, whereupon he lifted the phone and quickly made two calls
describing I was interested in either a good looking young Polynesian male
or a blond Scandinavian male that was exceptionally strong and big. He
jotted down a few notes as he conversed.

     "Good news," he said as he put the phone down. "The Salvation Army has
had a Polynesian boy for over two weeks now that is eating them out of
house and home. He was willed to them by an old gentleman who used him as
both a nurse/valet and a favorite concubine. And the Humane Society has a
big blond man who apparently was abandoned by his owner, probably a
relatively poor owner who didn't have a clue when they bought the slave of
the costs of feeding and housing such a giant.  Slaves like that are like
St. Bernards.  They get bought up by teenagers and young girls as things to
show off to their friends and to get attention as well as get some real
thrills in bed, but, over time, the novelty wears off and the reality of
keeping those huge appetites fed and providing a good strong cage takes
hold.  About the first time the slave catches even a cold and becomes a
bother to their new owner, they find themselves abandoned down in some dump
or out in the woods somewhere. Why they don't sell them is beyond me, but
owners like that don't want all the time and bother that would entail.  I
think, sir, you could probably get a good price on either slave is you
pretended you weren't particularly interested. And, after all, the money
does go to charity and would be a tax writeoff for you."

     "I can't begin to thank you for going to all this trouble.  It's
certainly worth a try."

     "I hope you find what you're looking for. And, oh, by the way, that
blond slave down at the Humane Society was owned by a mistress.  I hope
that doesn't turn you off.  If he's well trained, as I suspect, it
shouldn't make a bit of difference if your friend wants him for his bed."

     "Shouldn't, I agree.  But thanks for the warming.  I'll see what his
attitude is about such things before I buy him, all things being equal."

     "Good luck," the smarmy Arab said as I left the boutique.  "I'll
deliver your two purchases tomorrow around noon."

            The Humane Society

     The Humane Society was just three blocks away from the Arab boutique
and, within ten minutes, I was entering the front door of the austere
building - unpainted concrete blocks, poured cement floors, well
ventilated, but not air conditioned.  Once inside, you were overwhelmed
with the noise of crying, howls of despair, whimpering, and the banging of
cage doors.

     But once they realized a potential buyer had arrived by the outdoor
door slamming shut, all of this changed instantly to a deadly silence
broken only by soft pleas to buy them, prayers to their gods, and hushed
entreaties about what a good slave they would be if you would but just look
them over.

     "Hello," the clerk said, a slave obviously since he wore nothing but a
thick slave collar welded around his neck.  "Are your familiar with the
Humane Society Sales Outlet, master?"

     "No, first trip here," I responded.

     "Master, permission to explain?" the clerk said humbly.

     "Yes, slave."

     "Anything purchased has a $500 charge to cover the costs of their
worming, food, and shots and another $100 donation to the Humane Society
which is, of course, tax-deductible to cover the costs of disposal if
necessary.  A few very rare items have a surcharge of $1000 in addition to
the aforementioned charges which goes to our building fund.  Of course, you
may donate anything above that you like to the Humane Society which is also
tax-deductible if you so choose. Items not purchased within 30 days are
disposed of via our standing contract with Acme Pet Foods with the
assurance they are euthanized right before final disposal to assure a fresh
slaughter.  There are no guarantees on stock, unfortunately, although you
may return a purchase for a 50% refund minus your donation within three
working days, master."

     "This euthanization?  How is that done?" I asked.

     "We don't use drugs, master, in that the drugs would effect Acme's Pet
Food.  So they are either electrocuted or have a sharp hammer blow directly
to the frontal lobes - the choice is up to the slave.  Almost all choose
the hammer blow, master - they claim it is quick and practically painless
where the electrocution, clumsily done, sometimes just fries you, but
doesn't kill you right off the bat, master."

     "And your choice, slave?" I ghoulishly asked, ashamed of myself the
minute I said it.

     "Oh, the hammer, master," the slave quickly replied, apparently
unperturbed by my insensitivity. "I've often been present at the
terminations, master, and the electrocutions are often botched and the
smell of the flesh burning is just gross, especially with the slaves
screaming, vomiting and shitting like they do when that happens."

     The kenneled slaves awaiting purchase nearby were privy to all this
chatter which only added to the urgency of their pleading to be bought as
they clutched the gates to their cages, white knuckled in their anxiety.

     As the clerk and I entered directly into the kennel area, the
offerings in the cages immediately stood up and displayed their bodies in
the standard full display position to best show all of their body or, in a
novel variation, pressed themselves against the front bars of their cage so
their tits and sexual organs could be thrust between the bars inviting a
viewer's manual manipulation.

     I laughed as I saw all those pricks and balls sticking out between the
bars, now swelling to full erection along with all those tits, similarly
rapidly becoming erect from the excitement of a possible sale.  Some
displays were indeed very impressive; it was obvious most of the slaves
knew full well what their saleable assets were and how to best display
them.

     "I'm looking for a big muscled Norseman with blond hair, some mighty
impressive sexual organs, a handsome face and physique, and a willing
attitude to please his new owner in all things.  I heard you have at least
one slave along those lines."

     The clerk's face immediately brightened.  "Indeed we do, master.  Got
him in 28 days ago so he only has two more days before termination, so I'm
sure he will do anything, master, - anything, to get himself sold.  He was
owned by an old mistress who up and died on him.  She had no relatives, no
will and had made no provisions for him and, after five days of no food, he
wandered out of her house looking for food in a garbage truck going down
the alley in back of his mistress' house. The garbage workers gave him a
few scraps in return for their use of his body and then, when he told them
his owner was dead, they brought him down here to us because they knew we'd
feed him and give him a little shelter.  Nice guys, because otherwise, he
probably would have just starved to death or got shot as a public nuisance.
If you will just follow me, you can look him over yourself."

     He submissively indicated I should follow him deeper into the kennel
area where we were bombarded with entreaties to be purchased, but the clerk
viciously poked them back and struck their waving hands and protruding
erect pricks with a cane he carried, obviously just for that purpose, to
shut them up.

     "This blond is mighty big, master, and the old lady who was his
mistress obviously bought him to serve as her pleasure slave judging from
his build and manly equipment - mighty big as I'm sure you'll agree,
master.  From what he told me, she only used him two or three times a day
and he was responsible for all the house and yard work, but, as you know,
master, that's a pretty easy life for a slave.  So I guess you would say
he'd been spoiled by the old lady. You can tell from his back and rump she
didn't beat him much, master.  But his balls have been worked hard, master,
from what he tells me.  She liked a full cup of slave cream each and every
day in addition to fucking her two, three times a day.  If you're looking
for a milk stud, he's got great possibilities, master."

     "I looking for a gift for a friend of mine who is into big, muscular
blonds that he likes to make submit to his authority.  He's black, rather
small, and I think gets a real kick out of bossing a big white blond around
whose twice as big and three times as muscular as he is."

     "That's the glory of slavery, master.  If you've got the money, you
can boss around most anything you want.  I assume he wants to fuck his
white slaves frequently?"

     "Yes, he sees fucking them as the ultimate domination."

     "Yes, master.  It is, isn't it?" the slave said without judgment.
"I'm sure that's 50% of why my supervisor fucks me every time he gets a
chance.  Of course," he giggled, "I make him feel so good, he forgets he
just wanted to show me he could as my master to start with."

     "Slave, do you think this blond being the one doing all the fucking
will ruin him for my friend's use?"

     "Oh, no, master.  A slave does what he has to do - especially," he
paused for emphasis, "when they only have two days left until being turned
into dog food.  Those garbage men said he was a damn good fuck when they
used him, so there you have it, master.  And that was right before they
brought him into the Humane Society, master."

     By this time, we have arrived at a cage holding a huge specimen of raw
masculinity with long flowing blond hair, the little amount of
yellowish-white hair on his body giving him sort of a golden sheen in the
bright lights, and with a huge semi-erect prick and big rubbery brown tits
pressed between the bars for best display.  The blond was handsome, all
right, and had a beautiful muscular physique.  It was obvious he had been
sold as a pleasure slave to the old lady based on his looks and appropriate
equipment alone.  His stance of wanton display denoted his full acceptance
of his status as a slave whose body was solely for the pleasure of
others. His brilliant green eyes under long dark lashes indicated he fully
understood his body and the pleasure it could bring someone was his only
hope of avoiding eminent termination.

     "Please buy me, master," the blond slave pleaded in as fetching a tone
as he could assemble. "I'll bring you more pleasure than you ever imagined
possible, master," he added seductively with lowered eyes.

     "Before the old lady, who owned you?" I looked the slave directly in
the eye.

     "A rich merchant in Copenhagen, master," the slave replied.  "He only
sold me because the new mistress offered him three times what I had cost
him.  He was fully satisfied with me as he told the new mistress who bought
me and I'm sure I brought him a lot of pleasure in the things he liked to
do with slaves."

     "Like what?" I asked.

     "He liked to be sucked off every morning, master, and then he liked to
fuck me right after dinner.  Then he usually took me to his bed for the
night for some heavy fucking if he didn't use one of his other slaves that
night.  Sometimes, master, he had me fuck one of his other slaves for his
amusement."

     "These other slaves you fucked - male or female?" I asked coldly.

     "That master only had male slaves, master," the slave asked, pinching
his lips as if that would prevent an answer that might irritate me and make
me lose interest in buying him.

     "And before that master?" I pursued the topic.

     "That was my first owner, master.  He bought me when I was 18 just
after I had been enslaved and trained by a Swedish slave syndicate.  I had
six months of thorough training as a pleasure slave before I was marketed,
master."

     "And before you were enslaved?"

     "Master, my parents had died and in my country orphans that are
underage are sold off to slave training schools who then market them around
the world.  I was lucky.  I took to the training easily and I didn't have
to spend much time in the holding pens awaiting my first sale.  The
merchant from Copenhagen bought me after only three days being displayed at
their sales barn."

     "You like being a slave, boy?"

     "I did until my mistress died, master.  After that I was so hungry and
worried that I would starve to death, until the kind garbage men brought me
here.  But, if you don't buy me, master, my life is over, so I don't think
I like that part of being a slave, master."

     "Well, that's not unreasonable," I commented as I indicated to the
clerk I wanted to inspect the slave more thoroughly outside of his cage.

     Once released, the huge blond stud threw himself to my feet and again
pleaded to be bought.  I ordered him to a full display position which he
promptly assumed once he had kissed the tip of my shoe and thrust his
sexual organs out as far as he could to facilitate easy handling of his
finest asset.

     "Easy slave," I chuckled.  "I want to see your facial structure, your
mouth, and your tits before we check you your manhood."

     "Yes, master," the slave said as he thrust out his chest, tensed his
muscles for a better display and spread his feet wide apart.  I felt the
bones of his face, checked out his teeth with my finger, noted the hole in
his septum where obviously a nose ring had once been fitted, felt his tits
until they were fully erect and slightly swollen, again noting he had once
been fitted with tit rings, and then reached down to grasp his big balls,
hanging neatly between his outstretched legs.  When I lifted his balls in
the palm of my hands he instantly thrust his pelvis forward to facilitate
my handling of him in this region.

     "Who ringed you?" I inquired as I churned the balls in my hands,
noting at the time he had also been fitted with a genital cincture at one
time by the friction scars from a tight banding.

     "My first owner, master.  The merchant from Copenhagen.  He liked all
of his slaves fitted out with nose rings, tit rings and a big band around
our genitals.  He liked the looks of it as well as used them to leash us
when he took us with him for walks around town, master."

     "How did you like being ringed like that?" I asked.

     "Master, at first I felt embarrassed but I got over it quick enough
when I saw most of the slaves in Copenhagen were fitted out that way.  You
get used to it quicker than I ever dreamed at the time they first fitted
me. And, of course, master, an owner has every right to decorate his
property any way he wants."

     "Indeed he does, slave," I replied.  "Indeed he does," I repeated as I
began to stroke the huge organ into a full erection.

     Within a minute of such manipulation, the blond slave was fully erect
(a stately 12" and so big around my hand couldn't go all the way around)
and began dripping precum profusely.  Satisfied he was easily aroused, I
ordered him to turn around and bend over for inspection of his hole.  He
immediately bent over, spreading his ass checks with his hands so I could
easily see all aspects of his anal opening which had obviously been used
quite a bit in his training, by his first owner, and most assuredly by the
garbage men who had brought him here. He took my finger probe easily, but
he was still tight and let out a small moan as I pushed my finger in as far
as it would go and wiggled it around.  I then withdrew my finger, ordered
him to turn around and kneel and then inserted the finger into his mouth
for cleansing.  He sucked the finger in without hesitation and sucked it
completely clean, swallowing the residue without prodding.

     "Your hole is still surprisingly tight, slave," I commented, "and you
seem to suck well too. I wonder if all that milking by your old mistress
has left you with very much in your balls."

     "Master, milk me now and you'll see I've got plenty for you - plenty.
All that milking only made me produce more cream, master.  Milk me and
you'll see for yourself.  No one's milked me since I been caged here, so
I'm sure I'm full to overflowing by now.  Please milk me, master.  My cream
is thick and as sweet as it comes, master.  And plenty of it, too, master,
any time you want it - day or night.  My mistress always said she could
sell me as a good milk stud if nothing else, master."

     "I don't doubt it, based on your comments, slave.  I've heard that
about milk studs anyway.  The more you milk them, the more output you get
the next time around.  I know cows are that way - no reason milk studs
would be any different."

     "No, master, no reason at all," the slave said contritely.  "This stud
will produce all the thick cream you want, master, anytime you want it," he
promised.

     "Well, then, that about wraps it up," I said, turning to the
clerk. "Can I keep the slave penned here until I'm ready to pick him up at
the end of the day?"

     "Certainly," the clerk said as the slave burst into tears of joy
muttering, "Thank you, master, thank you, master.  I'll be the best slave
you ever had, master."

     "Well, you better be or you'll find yourself right back here awaiting
shipment to the pet food company.  But you're not for me very long, slave.
You're a Christmas gift for a good friend of mine, a small black man who
enjoys big blond slaves he can fuck at will."

     "I'll be the best slave to you and then I'll be the best gift that
black man ever got," the slave sobbed in joy.  That new black master will
really be happy with this Christmas gift, master."

     "A nice little slave from the pound makes a wonderful Christmas gift,
master," the clerk commented with a huge smile, "although this little puppy
isn't so little when I look at that tackle of his - it's really
extraordinary, isn't it, master?"

     "Yes, he's really hung," I confirmed.  "My friend he's a gift for
likes his slave boys hung like that."

     I paid the Humane Society fees plus made a special "donation" of $5000
since the blond slave looked so promising. I didn't want to give that sum
to a vague 'building fund' so I asked if my donation could be used to cover
the cost of feeding the current residents for an extra two weeks and maybe
in that time they would find a buyer.

     "Indeed you can, master," the clerk answered immediately.  "What a
great gift for those caged in the holding pens here, master.  It gives them
two more weeks to attract a buyer before they're sent off to Acme Pet
Foods.  It's about the best Christmas gift those slaves could even dream
of, master.  Some of them will no doubt find a new owner and will have a
new life just because of your generosity.  Have you thought of just buying
$5000 worth of slave meat instead? For that kind of money, you can get at
least 250 slaves all wormed and ready for use."

     "A nice suggestion but I'd then have to feed and shelter them and I
don't want the bother.  Besides, a good 75% of them aren't worth taking
home and you know it. I have more slaves on my hands now than I know what
to do with."

     "I see your point master.  But your money will go to a great cause
right here at the slave pound.  The slaves will be calling you "Master
Santa Claus" before we turn out the lights tonight," the slave clerk
chuckled and looked at me in adoration, shyly suggesting that if I ever
needed a really good slave boy, he would be very cheap to buy.

     I snickered at his suggestion in that he was scrawny, not very good
looking, minimally hung, and well pass 35 if he was a day.  Compared to my
other slaves, the suggestion of my owning him was laughable. Indeed, the
pound owners must have found him to be an absolutely wonderful clerk or
surely he would have been dog food himself by this time.

     Despite the clerk's appearance, buying at this slave shelter certainly
proved to offer the best value around.  I vowed to check it out for further
purchases.  Meanwhile, I had the Polynesian slave to buy for John, my
friend into South Pacific fantasies.  And, luckily, the Salvation Army
Thrift Shop had one in stock according to the Arab's telephone inquiry just
an hour or so ago.  Surely, no one had snapped him up in that short a time.
I hurried out of the Humane Society as the scrawny clerk yelled "Merry
Christmas, Master Santa Claus," and within a block, found myself at the
Thrift Shop's door.

      The Salvation Army Thrift Shop

     A stout white-haired man in the traditional blue trimmed in red
Salvation Army Corps uniform met me at the door of the Thrift Shop with a
benignant smile.

     "Looking for anything in particular?" he asked.

     "Yes, Captain.  A friend called a few hours ago inquiring whether you
had any male Polynesian slaves and was told you had at least one.  I wanted
to look him over," I replied matter-of-factly.

     "Ah, a slave," he sighed.  "We always have a few here at the store
although we don't actually trade in them as the Corps doesn't want to get
involved in any of that.  Still, we get some as donations, left in wills,
and, well, a few left on our doorstep.  I wasn't the one your friend talked
to, so I don't know if the Polynesian slave you inquired about is still
here or not. But," he said pleasantly, "we'll soon find out if you'll just
follow me down into the basement where we keep the livestock."

     I smiled in return and we started out slowly to wherever the basement
entrance was located in the surprisingly large Thrift Shop.

     "Is the Corps opposed to slavery?" I eructated.

     "Yes and no," the equanimous corpsman responded quietly.  "No in that
we obvious sell them at whatever we can get when they are donated to our
Thrift Shops.  We justify that in that the profit from their sale goes
directly to our mission in helping the down and out.  For that, of course,
we are grateful.  And yes, we are opposed to the institution of slavery in
general in that the Corps feels it tends to bring out the dark side of
human nature - our need to dominate and our tendency to exploit others when
given a clear opportunity.  I'm sure you'll admit that slavery, overall,
does allow one class of people to dominate almost totally another class of
people - after all, that's practically the definition of slavery - and I'm
sure you'll also agree that many masters and mistresses exploit their
slaves for their own economic gain as well as their personal pleasure in
many cases.  Both the economist Adam Smith as well as the psychologist
Sigmund Freud both warned civilization as to those effects of slavery on
the culture and they had it right in most people's opinion.  Of course,
that's exactly the appeal of slavery to the vast majority of free people or
we simply wouldn't have re-instituted slavery after our brief respite from
the institution, now would we? "

     "I see you've thought the issue out," I commented. "Since the Corps
predates the re-institution of slavery, has it affected your operation
much?"

     "A good question in that most people don't realize how much slavery
does re-focus our mission.  In fact, I suppose you could argue that slavery
has helped us focus much better on those who need our type of help - the
free in need, so to speak.  Before slavery, we spent most of our resources
working with drug addicts, alcoholics, the chronically unemployed and
debt-ridden, parolees, as well as those chronically ill, in marital
difficulty, and so forth.  Since slavery became legal once again, those
having continual problems with drink, drugs, debts, and breaking the law
are mainly court-sentenced to lifelong slavery so they become the owner's
problem, not society's and, incidentally, not the Corps' either. It cleaned
out the prisons and cleaned out most of our emergency care facilities.
What's left are the free people who aren't criminals and therefore not
subject to being enslaved, but who have plenty of problems anyway.  You
know, drug problems but they've done nothing illegal to date; the same with
alcohol; the ones who can't hold a job down; and those who can't seem to
live with others satisfactorily.  That's what we focus on now and I must
say we now have the resources and time to work with those free people very
well.  We're more effective; we have a lot more resources available; and
our respectability has gone up in that we've eliminated the criminal
element of our service population for the main part.  People give more
generously if they know none of their funds are going to help the
'hopeless' as they put it."

     "Yes, but those 'hopeless' are now society's slaves," I noted, "so
they are still around."

     "Indeed they are, but they are now the responsibility of their owners,
not society's at large, and their owners have unrestricted power and
tremendous incentives to change the slave's behavior.  And change it they
do, because it's to their direct benefit to do so, both economically and
morally.  Actually owning a person gives you the power to change a person
greater than any other arrangement I can think of.  The Corps and other
social agencies never had that power and so our ability to change a
person's behavior drastically was nothing compared to a slave owner's who
can kill his property if he or she so deems."

     "So you're saying slavery is a real good in this world, at least for
those who had adjustment problems of one type or another?"

     "In a sense, yes.  But there's the downside as you'll soon see for
yourself in even the slaves we offer here in the Thrift Shop.  To get them
to 'adjust,' their previous owners have sometimes beat them with whips into
a scarred semblance of their former self; have burnt them with brands and
electric prods; have shocked them half insane sometimes; have starved them
into a dog's compliance; and, at the very least, have shamed and humiliated
them until they don't even think of themselves as human anymore.  Some of
them have been bred like animals for their owner's profit; some have been
turned into whores for their owner's pleasure; some have been given as
gifts at their owner's whim; and some have been used merely as naked
objects to display their owner's wealth and power to a ever fascinated
audience.  The Corps can never approve of that, of course, but is powerless
to do anything about it, so we end up selling donated goods to support our
mission without much comment one way or the other."

     "At least you're totally honest," I complimented the older man. "And
your analysis of contemporary slavery isn't too far off the mark," I added,
"although the majority don't see anything wrong with the ways slaves are
trained or treated.  You left out that slaves aren't really the same as
other humans - after all, basically they're just property."

     "Yes, just property," the Captain agreed.  "Otherwise, we wouldn't
have them for sale, now would we?"

     With that last comment, we finally got to the entrance to the basement
labeled "Livestock in Basement."  As we descended the steps, the familiar
odor of naked animals in holding drifted to our nostrils.

     "We keep all the slaves in small cages suspended from the ceiling down
here," the Captain explained as we quickly had to duck around first one
cage and then another as they seemed to be hung from the ceiling almost
randomly at eye- level.  Each cage was a rounded dome, like a huge bird
cage, small enough to force the slave to either sit on his haunches, kneel
on his knees, or lie down curled up in a fetal position. The bottom of each
cage was lined with newspapers while a water and food cup was attached to
the sides of the thin wires making up the sides of the cages. Each cage had
a large locked side door which allowed easy cleaning of the cage as well as
allow for entry and exit of the slave when needed. There were no more than
40 cages or so hanging down from the ceiling beams hither and yon.

     Although the light in the basement was pitiful, one could still make
out the cage's contents after your pupils adjusted.  It was quickly
apparent why most of the slaves had been donated to the Thrift Shop - they
would bring next to nothing at a proper slave dealer's auction.  Most were
in their 40s or even 50s; practically none were good looking or had
appealing physiques; and most looked totally worn out from overwork.

     "I don't want to be rude, but who would buy slaves like this?" I
asked, "at any price?  It would cost more to feel them then they're worth."

     "In your opinion, sir," the Captain responded.  "But, judging from
your clothes and conversation, you've obviously got money - after all,
you're in the market of buying a slave as a Christmas gift for a friend.
That's takes some real money if the gift is going to be anywhere
half-decent.  These slaves you're so disdainful of are a dream purchase for
the lower middle-class who couldn't begin to afford any other aspect of
slavery.  Even with slaves like this, they can hold their head up high and
claim they're a slave owner with all the 'rights and privileges thereto
appertaining.'  And you'd be surprised how much work you can get out of
this offal even if they are old and worn out - enough to do most of the
household chores, enough to work a long day in the mines; enough to get
some sexual pleasure if there's no other options in your life; and enough
to make you feel like your life has been a big success now that you own
another human being to do as you say.  It's a psychological thing as much
as a work thing in my opinion.  We don't have any trouble selling even the
ugliest, most worn out slave down here if it's cheap enough.  They won't be
in these cages more than a few days before some happy, though relatively
poor, customer is leading them home on a leash for all the world to see
their latest acquisition."

     "Ah, here it is," the Captain said as he abruptly stopped in front of
an unpainted cage way back in one of the basement corners - "the Polynesian
is still here, I see."

     I glanced into the cage and saw a brown body curled into a tight fetal
position, obviously asleep.  He had had a bowel movement onto the newspaper
lining and the smell was horrendous.

     "We only clean the cages once a day," the Captain explained.  "It gets
a lot worse than this before the morning cleaning," he added as he took a
nearby prod and poked the cage's inhabitant until it jerked awake, got its
bearings, and then stretched as best it could within the cramped
confinement.

     "You want to see him out of the cage?" the Captain asked.  "It's easy
enough," as he poked in his pocket for the appropriate key.

     "Not necessary," I replied resolutely. "He may be Polynesian, but he's
in his mid 40s if he's a day and he's so ugly I doubt if he was decent
looking as a virgin boy."

     "You wanted a good looking younger boy?" the Captain asked.  "Sounds
like you had more than work in mind for your purchase," he added non-
judgmentally.

     "Yes, Captain," I added.  "I wanted a good looking young Polynesian
boy who was well-trained to give as a Christmas gift to a friend whose into
South Seas fantasies.  And," I chuckled, "those fantasies aren't about the
nice weather or the sandy beaches of the South Seas.  It's all about a
beautiful brown boy offering up his bodily charms to fulfill my friends
most erotic yearnings. He's not looking for a common laborer or an estate
gardener, I'm afraid.  This slave won't do at all."

     "I understand," the Captain said benignly.  "That's the only
Polynesian we have, so I don't want to waste your time by inviting you to
look around, although you are welcome, of course.  You never know what
might interest you."

     "I want to give you a small Christmas donation for your time and
trouble, Captain," I responded as I turned toward the stairway upstairs.

     "We never turn a donation down," the Captain laughed.  "I'm sure you
know it will go to a good cause."

     "I have no doubts about that, Captain.  I've never heard a living soul
say one bad thing about the work of the Corps."

     "That's good to hear," the Captain responded.  "Again, let me thank
you for your generosity."

     "I haven't given yet," I laughed.  "You may think me Scrooge-like when
you see my donation."

     We quickly worked our way through the smelly suspended cages and up
the basement steps to the desk located at the front of the Thrift Store.  I
whipped out my check book and wrote a check for $1000, handing it to the
Captain.

     He took a quick look at the check and raised his eyebrow in surprise.
"That's a nice donation, sir.  No one is going to accuse you of being
Scrooge," he chucked.  "My sincere thanks on behalf of the Corps."

     "I'm glad I'm able to give," I said as I shook his hand and quickly
began to exit, still in the market for a young good looking, sexy
Polynesian slave for my friend John.

     "Don't interpret this as an endorsement of the slave trade, but I
understand the 'International Markets' outlet just two blocks down the
street on the left specializes in Asians and Africans being marketed."

     "Thanks for the tip, Captain.  I appreciate it.  Two blocks straight
down and on the left, you say?"

     "Yes and thanks again," the Captain said softly.

    The 'International Markets' Shoppe

     Sure enough, five minutes later, there on the left side of the street
was the storefront clearly marked "International Markets."  There wasn't a
hint as to whether it was selling furniture, clothing, or slaves, or
perhaps all three.  But a quick visit would solve that question.

     The minute I entered, the answer was everywhere: chained to podiums
down central aisles and against every available wall were yellow, brown,
black and tan slaves of every description - all completely naked and all in
a full display position as would befit a slave up for immediate sale.  All
the goods immediately visible, at least, were premium goods: young,
handsome, muscular with good physiques, shaved skin that glowed with good
health, thick head hair that was carefully groomed and literally shone with
a natural luster, and, importantly, thick, long, well-shaped pricks and big
firm balls either erect or semi-erect in the excitement of displaying
themselves.  There didn't seem to be a salesman not with a potential client
at the time so I unhesitantly proceeded to browse among the multitude of
offerings: Chinese that came as huge studs or as dainty playthings;
Japanese that were so muscular they were frightening to ones who resembled
delicate toys; handsome Indians a rich brown but amply endowed; sloe-eyed
Malaysians and incredibly sexy-looking Indonesians; some Middle Easteners
that were so handsome they took your breathe away; some Africans that were
bluish black and so masculine they looked appealingly brutish; other
Africans that obviously had Arab blood in that with their tobacco brown
skin and light colored eyes; still other good-looking Africans with
magnificent physiques whose sexual organs were so oversized they appeared
almost freakish. All specimens for sale were collared with their wrists
fastened to the collar's side rings to insure a full body inspection,
banded around their genitals to guarantee a prominent display, and chained
by their feet to convenient rings set into the floor wide enough apart to
make sure their legs remained wide spread and their genitals fully
available for inspection while they were being displayed.  None were
muzzled so their facial features could be fully assessed and so they could
answer a potential buyer's questions, and every hair on their bodies had
been shaved away from their eyebrows down so no bodily feature was hidden.
By each of the offered slaves, there was a small shelf holding a picture of
the slave before his body shave, a one- page summary of the slave's origins
and training as well as special talents, the usual "good health" warranty,
and a suggested sales price if a buyer wanted to buy the slave outright
before auction.

     Every slave offered was strictly high quality and it was hard not to
stop and fondle some of the offered goods which many customers were doing
rather extensively with first one slave and then another being milked to a
full orgasm as customers commented freely to one another on the thickness
and quality of the output as well as the slave's reaction to being handled
in this fashion. Each and every bodily attribute was being assessed, talked
about, rubbed, squeezed, pinched, and stroked as the offered goods stood
smiling stoically as their bodies were manipulated and assessed openly. The
verbal inquiries between customers and goods were almost comical.

     "Says here you're a bred slave.  Does that make you a better slave?"

     "I think so, master. But I don't really know because I've never been
anything but a bred slave, master."

     "You like getting fucked regularly, slave?"

     "Yes, sir, if that's what my new owner wants, master, I guess I do,
master."

     "Claims here you've only been a slave for three years now.  Is that
enough time to get you trained properly, slave?"

     "I imagine so, master.  At least, my trainer said I was well trained
now and would make a good slave."

     "Yes, yes, slave.  But are you trained well enough to where you'd
never want to be free again?"

     "We can do that, master?  I thought we were slaves the rest of our
lives, master, and we didn't have that kind of choice, master."

     "You don't, slave.  But if you could be free, would you want to give
up being a slave?"

     "I suppose it depends on who buys me, master.  A good master would
give me a good home and take care of me fine.  A bad master who just hurts
me all the time and doesn't feed me and doesn't take care of me in any way,
I imagine, master, I wouldn't like being a slave all that much - given a
choice, of course, master," the slave added, fearful he might have said too
much.

     I wandered through row after row of beautiful flesh and then I saw
exactly what I had been looking for: a perfect present for my friend John.
The 20-year-old was from Fiji in the South Pacific, was born and raised as
a slave at one of Fiji's famous slave breeding facilities, was fully
trained as a pleasure slave for both males and females, and was one of the
best looking pieces of brown flesh I had ever seen.  He was about six feet
tall, had a well defined, but not overly muscular physique with great
'puffy' pecs, a washboard stomach, a very tiny waist, a strikingly handsome
face with sparkling black eyes, beautiful long black eyelashes, and
chiseled features, and, best of all, completely banded for full display, a
circumcised prick and balls so huge they were just short of being
grotesque.

     The Polynesian saw me staring at his naked body and gave me one of the
sexiest smiles I've ever seen in response as he jutted his pelvis out a bit
to display his sexual organs even more.

     "I'm a pleasure slave, primarily," the Polynesian said huskily with a
suggestive look.  "You'll never regret, master, buying this boy for your
bed."

     I was simply speechless, overwhelmed with his natural beauty as well
as his complete openness as to what he was being sold as.

     "I'm looking for a Christmas gift for a good friend of mine, someone
about your age who is really into Polynesian boys," I finally stuttered out
to the slave up for sale.

     "Master, I would make a most thoughtful gift for your friend,
although," he winked suggestively, "I was hoping you would find the time to
bed me down before giving me away.  I would certainly be honored to be used
by someone as appealing as you, master."

     I felt my prick go to full erection inside my pants and was sure my
excitement was noticeable to other customers circulating throughout the
room.  With this last utterance, I felt the pre-cum soaking through my
Jockey shorts.

     "Ah, I see the slave interests you," a sales clerk finally approached,
looking intently at the bulge in my trousers and smiling as the inevitable
wet spot began to show.  "Don't worry, sir, this slave has that effect on
everyone," pointing to his own noticeable bulge.

     "Is the posted price negotiable?" was all I could come up with at the
moment.

     "We usually knock off 20% for an immediate sale; 25% if there's no
loans involved.  That would make this boy's price about $180,000 fully
discounted. - $225,000 on the installment plan. Look him over good, sir - I
think you'll find him faultless and fully trained to your satisfaction. If
you like, you can try him out over there in that cubicle over there -
complete privacy for a more intimate inspection."

     "I'm interested," I said breathlessly.

     "In buying him or inspecting him?"

     "Both, if my private inspection proves satisfactory."

     "Of course, sir," the salesman said as he quickly unlocked the ankle
bracelets from the restraining rings but left his wrists chained to his
collar.  "He won't need his wrists loose for a private inspection," he
smiled, "no matter what you may have in mind, sir."

     With that, he shoved the clean smelling slave into my arms and pointed
to the nearby cubicle.  "When you're through, I'll be waiting right here to
see where you want to go from there."

     With that, the slave led the way to the cubicle.  "On my knees,
master, or on my back, or would you like me on all fours, master?"  It was
obvious he had considerable experience in being 'inspected' in the private
cubicle.

     "On your knees and suck until I say to stop.  Then on your back with
your legs spread - I like to look at a slave when I'm fucking him."

     "Yes, master," the Polynesian slave replied with a huge smile on his
face as he immediately sunk to his knees and began fumbling with the front
of my trousers, but I waved him away and took them completely off.  Within
seconds, my prick was lodged well down his throat and the well-trained
slave was sucking it all the way down lustily without hesitation.  Within
minutes, I felt an imminent eruption and quickly withdrew.  Intuitively,
the slave quickly positioned himself on the sturdy cot provided, his legs
wide spread and lifted for my immediate entry as he looked enthusiastically
at my huge erect prick waving in front of me, still slick and glistening
with his saliva.  When I entered with one huge thrust, he moaned softly and
closed his eyes briefly in pure ecstasy as I sunk all the way up his hole
and began thrusting full length.  He opened his eyes and smiled, gently
lifting his hips to allow my deeper penetration into his body.

     "Thank you, master," he moaned as he timed his thrusts upward with my
downward ones.  Within minutes I felt my orgasm race down my shaft and deep
into his rectum in spasm after spasm as I emptied completely into him.

     With barely the strength to withdraw, I finally did whereupon the
slave instantly bent down to suckle my cock completely down and clean it,
swallowing any and all residue with loud slurping noises to signify his
enjoyment of cleansing his recent user. When finished, he lowered his
handsome head submissively and again humbly said, "Thank you, master, for
allowing this slave to pleasure you."

     I motioned him out, now glistening with sweat and rank with the smell
of being fucked, whereupon the salesman, as promised was right outside,
obviously with ear range of everything that had gone on inside the small
cubicle.

     Looking at my flushed face and the steaming body of the Polynesian
slave who had cum running down his legs, he said, in a clear
understatement, "I take it you found the slave satisfactory, sir?"

     "I'll take him.  Where do I pay?" I gasped.

     "Right over here at the cashier, sir.  Do you want to take the slave
with you or shall we hold him for you or can we deliver him - we deliver
free of charge as long as its within the city limits, sir."

     "I'll have him delivered," I said flatly.

     "Fine.  Just give the cashier your address and a convenient time of
delivery and it will all be taken care of.  The slave will be delivered to
you completely cleaned inside and out as well as freshly shaved complete
with your ownership papers and bill of sale."

     "Then that's it once I've paid?"  I asked.

     "Yes sir.  It was a pleasure doing business with you and look me up
again if you have need of another slave in the future.  My name is Sam -
I've been here for years and I hope enjoy a good honest reputation.  I'll
appreciate any business you can throw my way - I work on commission."

     "I liked doing business with you, Sam.  You're straight to the point
and no nonsense trying to sell me goods I'm not interested in."

     "Thanks for the compliment, sir.  And, remember, I'd appreciate any
future business from either you or your friends."

     The last of my gifts had been bought and it was still only 3:30.  A
quick drink at my favorite bar to celebrate completing my Christmas
shopping and then home to start planning how exactly when and where I was
going to give my gifts to my friends.  That would be a few weeks away, yet,
I figured, and would give me a good chance to sample the goods myself
before "wrapping them up."  After all, no one said I was going to give
virgins away.  Knowing my friends, they wouldn't want virgins anyway.  With
that bunch, the better broken in the better, I figured..

       Finished Shopping for the Day

     I got my drink and prepared to pick up the purchases I hadn't arranged
to have delivered.  First stop was the Humane Society where I picked up the
huge Nordic stud who was in a small pen at the pick up area covered by the
standard disposable paper delivery tunic covered with advertisements for
the Humane Society. Almost all dealers nowadays garbed their deliveries in
some sort of cheap disposable covering that advertised the store while
covering the slave's bodily attributes from the little old puritanical
ladies who often took offense at slaves being displayed out on public
streets totally naked.  A short plastic leash was attached to his neck
collar for my convenient in getting the purchase home.

     Next, I went to Best Buys pickup desk and, sure enough, leashed to a
wall hook there, was my black stud from the Cameroons garbed in a
disposable Best Buys paper poncho with the sash I had requested penned
neatly to the poncho.  The clerk gave me a complimentary Best Buy plastic
leash which I fastened to his genital ring for the trip home which sort of
defeated the modesty of the poncho as the leash tended to pull the poncho
up most of the time so that his genitals were often on full displayed if
you were looking. So what, I figured, this slave, of all slaves, certainly
had nothing to be ashamed of in that part of his anatomy and frankly,
something that big should be shown off at every opportunity.

     Finally, I hit Harness & Barnes where both my purchases were awaiting
me at the pickup counter, fastened by their neck collars to adjustable wall
hooks.  Both were covered in thin plastic delivery ponchos with the Harness
& Barnes' logo plastered all over them: "Another quality purchase from
Harness & Barnes" intermixed with "Season's Greetings." The clerk fastened
a neck leash to their collars and handed both leashes to me with a cheery
"Merry Christmas, sir" noting with considerable interest the other
purchases in tow: the big black stud and the magnificent Nordic stud.

     "You've been busy shopping I see, sir," he commented. "Looks like
you've got your hands full but these two leashes can fit easily in your
left hand and I'm sure these Harness & Barnes products are so well-trained
the leash is primarily symbolic.  "You won't have a bit of trouble with
them.  In fact, if you want I can just fasten their next leashes to the
collars of those two slaves you already have in tow and I'll be a lot
easier for you."

     "Good idea," I responded the clerk quickly fastened one of the neck
leashes to the collar of the black stud in two and the other neck leash to
the collar of white stud in tow.

     "There now," the clerk said with considerable satisfaction.  "That
will make the trip home considerably easier."

     "Thanks," I said as I signed the delivery receipt.

     Slaves in tow, I hustled home only to find a strange box had been
delivered by UPS in my absence.  It was from my friend Ben and had been
shipped all the way from Tunisia.  I wondered what the heck was in it.

   A Package with a Novel Christmas Gift

     When I arrived home, my slave overseer greeted me with his usual
genuflexion of obedience while the four slaves I had just purchased and
brought home with me stared in amazement at the huge black slave, clad only
in a tight 4" shiny heavily engraved brass collar that I had purchased in
India recently and a matching 1" band tightly wrapped around his huge
genitals.

     "Master?" my black overseer asked in seeking instructions without
moving from his prone position in front of me.

     "Sebo, take these four new purchases down to the slave quarters, throw
away those ridiculous coverings the stores put over them, cleanse them
inside and out, feed and water them, and then separately cage them for now.
I'll probably be using them at some point after I've rested up.
Eventually, I plan to give them away as Christmas gifts to some friends of
mine, but that doesn't mean I won't want to enjoy them in the interim."

     "Yes, master," the black overseer said promptly, again without moving
from his prone position.

     "Now rise, take these leashes from me, and start instructing these new
properties on what to expect as part of my stable here."

     Sebo instantly leaped to his feet, his huge prick and balls waving
around in front of him in the process, and quickly took the leashes from
his master's hand, jerking the new slaves closer to him in the process.

     "Master, a package arrived while you were gone.  I put it in the study
but haven't opened it, master, without your permission.  But I'll be happy
to do so if you so desire, master."

     "Get those slaves caged while I'm going to the bathroom.  Then come to
the study so you can open it for me after I've seen where it's from."

     "Yes, master," Sebo responded as he swiftly led the four new purchases
out of the room and toward the subterranean slave quarters, ripping the
flimsy paper coverings off of them as they proceeded with the admonition
"you won't be needing anything covering your bodies as long as you're in
this house.  The master likes to see what's his - all of it, all of the
time" - as the new slaves eagerly glanced around the rather grand house
they were now in. Their return to full nudity after the brief sojourn of
their trip home didn't surprise them.  As slaves sold for their looks if
nothing else, they expected nothing less based on their experiences to
date.  And if the spectacular nakedness of their new overseer was any
example of what to expect in this new home, they all worried that they may
not measure up to the standards this new owner obviously expected of his
personal slaves.

     I was curious as to just what the package contained and quickly went
to look it over in the study.  The heavy cardboard box was about a 36"
cube, seemed to be in good shape, and, upon closer inspection, was sent
from Rabat, Morocco by my friend Ben who I knew was on a tour of North
Africa over the past few months.  On the front, he had written, in large
letters, "Merry Christmas" - a slogan that probably didn't mean much in
Islamic Morocco.  When my overseer Sebo came into the room, panting
slightly from his obvious run up from the slave quarters, I motioned for
him to open the box which he quickly did, barely challenging the great
strength inherent in his muscular body.  I peaked inside and found an
envelope on top obviously containing a card of some type.  I ripped it
open, expecting a Christmas card.  Instead, it was a handwritten note.

          "Found this in a small village near Marrakesh and just knew
     you would enjoy it.  I've never seen anything quite like it and I've
     been told it was made around 1920 or so.  It's called an 'abd kursi'
or
     sometimes an 'abd mastaba' which is a rather common piece of
     furniture in these parts, but it's the cedarwood construction and the
     leather upholstery that really distinguishes it.  An 'abd kursi' or
'abd
     mastaba' ('abd' means slave in Arabic while 'kursi' means stool and
     'mastaba' means bench) is a cleverly designed piece of furniture that
     you attach slaves to for ease in fucking them.  That explains its
     adjustable height from the floor and the tiltable top.  The leather
     straps attached to each of the stool's legs are to attach the slave's
     wrists and ankles so he's always in the perfect position for a good
     fucking.  Those legs, as well as the frame, are made of solid cedar
     from the Atlas Mountains and are still aromatic after all these years.
     But it's the upholstery that really makes this one of a kind: the
     tanned hide of the front torso of an obviously very muscular black
     slave complete with his large black nipples, his owner's brand on his
     right pec, his belly button, and stuffed with foam rubber so his pecs
     and abs are just as prominent as when the poor bloke was alive and
     breathing.  They tell me the slave's skin was tanned right there in
the
     village using the traditional medium of slave urine and salt.
     Whatever it was, its still in remarkable condition after all these
years
     and looks like it was from a slave just losing his skin yesterday.  A
     slave mounted on the stool for fucking gets the illusion he's placed
     on the torso of this big black slave which must surely add to his
     thrill of being fucked.  The villager I bought it from told me tanning
     and using slave hides for upholstery was quite common at that time
     and was eagerly sought out by discriminating buyers in both Africa
     and Europe.  They were used for sofas, office chairs, dining room
     chairs, etc., until the art of tanning slave hides got lost with time
as
     the tanners got older and older and, unfortunately, kept the exact
     procedures secret.  If you look closely, you can still see the scars
on
     his upper chest where his slave collar rubbed as well as a stray whip
     scar on his lower abdomen.  Like any good leather, you just wash it
     with saddle soap occasionally and, once a year or so, soak it with
     neat's foot oil or any good leather preservative.  With that, they
     assure me it will last a lifetime.  Enjoy and Merry Christmas.

                                   Ben

     P.S.  That same dealer had a small decorative pillow made out of a
     white slave's hide that had faded yellow with time.  He said white
     hides were never practical: the skin was just too thin to hold up to
     any sort of use; they turned yellow in the tanning process and even
     darker over time; and white hides were primarily limited to
     decorative pillows, etc., in that they usually torn when stretching
     them as upholstery. The pillow he had for sale was obviously made
     out of a slave's back and rump and was so thin you could see
     through it except where the skin was scarred by the whip and,
     consequently, was thicker."

     I had Sebo lift the stool out carefully and place it on the floor.
Sebo, an African himself, knew instantly what it was and grinned from ear
to ear. But then he realized what the upholstery actually was and gasped in
that the hide and physique displayed by the underlying padding was almost
identical to himself.

     "You've been used on one of these stools, Sebo?" I laughed when I
noticed his reaction.

     "Yes, master.  Many times, master.  But.... but..  I've never seen one
upholstered with anything but camel hide," he replied in a strange, almost
evanescent tone.

     "What do you think the upholstery is, then?" I teased.

     "Looks like a black slave's skin, master, all tanned and stretched
over the stool just like a camel's or sheep's hide.  Even complete with
those pretty brass studs all around the edge to keep it in place, master."
Tears were streaming down Sebo's face as he stared at the clearly outlined
muscular torso staring up at him, complete with the owner's brand mark, the
holes in the tits where the slave had obviously been once ringed, the
ribbed abdominal muscles, and the whip scar far down the hide's abdomen.

     I noticed Sebo's eyes welling up and couldn't resist asking, "And who
does it remind you of, Sebo?"

     Sebo drew in his breath quickly and whispered, "Me, master.  It looks
just like me, master."

     "It does, yes... but you don't have that whip scar .... yet.... and
your brand is not only bigger but a little neater," I commented.  "Sebo,
those new slaves you just took down to the quarters... Get that big blond
stud I just picked up at the Humane Society, flush him out until he's
completely clean inside, and then bring him up here and use him to show me
how you fasten a slave to this stool properly.  Then, since I'm all fucked
out right now from testing out that Polynesian slave I bought for my friend
John, I want you to fuck that big blond Norseman so I can see exactly how
this new device works."

     "Yes, master," Sebo replied hoarsely, keeping his head down as best he
could, fitted with a 4" neck collar, so his owner wouldn't see him crying.
He quickly exited the room to do his master's bidding.

     I busied myself filing away the certificates of ownership for the new
slaves so they would be handy when I gifted them to my friends.  I placed
the sales receipts in my "in basket" in case any of the purchases proved
unsatisfactory over the next few days and I might want to return them for
one reason or another.  Sebo returned with the blond giant leashed behind
him, the newly purchased stud still wet in a few spots from the hosing down
Sebo must have added after the series of enemas and which had escaped his
quick toweling down of the slave's body.  The blond slave glanced at the
new piece of furniture in the middle of the floor and gasped as he realized
just how it had been upholstered.

     "Never seen a property's hide put to some practical use, slave?" I
confronted the blond.

     "No, master," the slave responded, trying to hide his horror.

     "Well, you're going to get very familiar with that upholstery before
the afternoons over," I laughed.  "Sebo, show me how you fit a slave to the
stool."

      Demonstrating the 'Abn Mastaba'

     "Yes, master," Sebo said as he jerked on the blond's leash and lead
him to a position directly over the stool and motioned for the slave to
kneel at the end of it by pointing to the exact spot on the floor he wanted
the slave to kneel.  "Kneel, boy," he commanded with another jerk of the
leash, "and pay close attention.  We don't want to tell you how to mount
the stool correctly the next time the master chooses to use his new piece
of furniture."

     "Yes, master overseer," the blond replied, not sure of how to address
a slave who was obviously in charge of him now.

     "Just 'sir' or 'bossman, sir' or 'overseer, sir' will be appropriate,
slave.  'Master' is reserved for free men, not the likes of a slave in
charge of other slaves," he noted.

     "Yes, overseer sir," the blond replied quickly.

     "Now lean all the way forward until your neck is completely off the
stool and your body is up tight against the stool's surface - in this case,
a previous slave's torso nicely tanned into leather.  Then put your hands
down through the leather loops there on the side by your head and I'll
fasten your arms down tightly with those leather straps that are fastened
to the stool so you can't move your upper body at all."

     The blond slave knelt forward as commanded, scooted forward a little
until his neck collar was well off the stool and put his two arms through
the front loops as he lowered his body completely onto the contoured hide
beneath him.  He felt the former slave's brand touch his own skin, felt the
puffy pecs and the once-ringed tits press into his own pecs and tits and
then felt his washboard stomach fit into the grooves of the former slave's
own rippled middrift.  He shivered as he thought he might end up being
memorialized in this same fashion - a piece of upholstery for somebody's
new furniture.  Sebo quickly fastened his body tightly using the leather
arm straps provided on the stool.

     Sebo then stood up, thrusting his pelvis forward in judging his
organ's height, and then cranked the stool's top up by the handy wheel
alongside the stool until the blond slave's ass opening was directly in
front of his own tool. He then tilted the front side down until the blond's
ass was higher than his head and shoulders.  The stool was small enough
that the slave's legs were hanging freely at the end of the stool.

     "Now spread those legs wide apart, slave, and we'll strap them down in
that position using these straps here at the rear of the stool."  He
quickly fastened the straps around the blond slave's thighs until the slave
was completely restrained. The blond slave tried to wiggle in this totally
open and completely vulnerable positon and found he was immobile.  "There
now, you're in a perfect position to fuck," Sebo said proudly.  "See,
master, how easy the stool is to use and it positions a slave perfectly for
a good fucking.  After a few times on the stool, this blond slave will have
learned to position himself perfectly and all you'll have to do is just
tighten up those arm and leg straps, or, may I suggest, master, letting me
do it for you."

     The blond slave held in this lock tight position felt totally helpless
(as indeed he was) and it was obvious what this innocent looking piece of
furniture was designed for.  Anyone strapped to that black leather torso
making up the top of the stool could expect nothing except a through
fucking by someone or other, probably a long fucking based on the time it
took to get you in just the right position, and probably a fucking that
would allow maximum penetration by whoever used the slave fastened to the
stool.

     "Let's see it in action, Sebo," the master chuckled.

     "Yes, master," Sebo said as he quickly stimulated himself manually to
a full erection (he was already three-quarters erect just knowing he was
going to be allowed to fuck the magnificent blond specimen strapped beneath
him), positioned himself at the hole now available to him at just the right
height and with the legs spread wide apart to allow full access, and, with
no hesitation, plunged his huge shaft all the way into the blond's well
revealed hole.

     "Oh...Augh," the blond screamed as his face contorted in pain.

     "Didn't you lube him?" I asked Sebo.

     "Yes, master, but... I am big, master... ", Sebo responded as he
remained still fully embedded to allow the blond slave beneath him to
stretch a little in accommodating his huge size.

     The slave's screams turned to moans and tears began to spill down his
cheeks as he began to accept the fact he was in for the screwing of a
lifetime since the position he was in allowed much deeper penetration than
usual.  Sebo, sensing the slave's acceptance, began pumping steadily into
the slave's hole, making sure his master could view all the action
easily. The blond slave sighed submissively - this was the fourth time he
had been fucked today: twice by two potential purchasers before he had been
fucked by his new owner shortly before being sold; and now by his new
owner's overseer, obviously cherished for his huge manhood and his ability
to fuck almost instantly on command.

     "He's still fairly tight, master," Sebo reported, "although it's
obvious he's been fucked regularly by previous owners. He's nice and
responsive, though - a think the pain helps him in this respect - and I
don't feel any resistance - not that it would do any good at this point,"
Sebo chuckled as he increased the pace and depth of his steady pumping.

     The blond slave being fucked so vigorously felt his own torso pressed
deeply into the "upholstery" of this ghastly new piece of furniture and
reflected on the life of the black slave whose hide he was now resting on.
Was he too fucked at an owner's whim?  Was he bought to be given away as a
gift to an unknown master?  Had he been beaten or shocked or starved into
compliance as he had been in his original training back in Copenhagen? Had
he once been owned by a mistress who milked him regularly like a dairy cow?
As he groaned anew at the pounding invasion up his hole, he concluded the
dead black slave was probably no different than the live black slave
fucking him right now at his owner's command although it was hard to
imagine any slave, then or now, had a bigger prick than the one pounding
into his hole right now.  Hell, they even looked alike as least as far as
their torso's matched up. He wondered if he too would someday end up as
unholstery for someone's new bench designed to fuck slaves on and tears of
a slave's accepted hopelessness spilled down his cheeks as the fucking
gained in intensity.
      "Do you want me to hold my orgasm, master, or shall I shoot into the
slave when the time comes?" Sebo asked unemotionally.

     "Oh, I don't think I'm going to be using you tonight, Sebo, so you can
go ahead and shoot your load.  That way, I won't have to look at you all
evening dripping and quivering like when I've kept you from unloading for a
week or so.  Besides, we can see how well the blond slave can soak up a big
load before making a mess with it running down his legs."

     The fucking grew in intensity on three fronts: (1) the blond slave
being fucked groaned louder and louder as he unconsciously struggled
against his restraints and thought of the black slave's hide he was now
rubbing against so intimately; (2) the black slave fucking thought of the
many times he himself had been strapped to a similar device to be fucked
raw and then began to bellow animalistically as he became engulfed in the
conquest of the new blond slave, his jet black skin literally gleaming as
his body reacted to his intense sexual excitement; and (3) the owner of
both slaves performing sexually for their master felt his own organ harden
and press against his pants as he thought to himself that having sex
performed to your exact specification is one of the great joys of slave
ownership.

     Soon, the black slave howled in conquest as he pumped load after load
of his seed into the submissive blond bound to the 'abd' stool just for
this purpose.  Upon withdrawing his huge organ from the well-used chute of
the blond, he immediately loosened the straps restraining his blond
partner.

     "Up on your feet, slave," the black overseer ordered, "and thank your
master for this opportunity of showing you how his new 'abd' stool is
properly used."

     The blond slave staggered to his feet after retracting arms and legs
from the restraining straps and felt, once again, hot cum running down his
thighs.  As feeling returned to his arms and legs, he quickly knelt before
his new owner.

     "Thank you, master, for allowing me to show you how a slave can be
used on your new stool."

     "Yes, slave, it seems to work out quite well in helping to fuck a
slave properly," I commented as I reached forward and ran my hand through
his beautiful blond hair.  "If you're lucky, I'll fuck you myself on the
stool one of these days."

     "Thank you, master.  I look forward to serving you on your new stool,
or.. " he paused politically, "any other way the master would honor me by
allowing me to fulfill your wishes."

     "Well said, slave," I complimented him, his body still tremoring from
the recent assault on his body.  "It's obvious you had some training at
least."

     "Yes, master," the blond said humbly.

     Just then the door bell rang, and Sebo quickly wiped off his body and
headed for the door, stark naked as usual.

      Another Unusual Christmas Gift

     He returned with a minute. "UPS just delivered another package,
master.  This one is just a small box though, master."

     I took it from him, as the blond slave remained on his knees in front
of us, cum oozing out of his ass prolifically.  It had been insured for
$10,000 and was shipped from a merchant in Dubai.

     "I wonder who sent this?" I asked more to myself than anyone as Sebo
fastened a leash back onto the blond slave's collar.  I slowly opened the
small package and, again, found a letter folded on top of the contents.

     "Ho and Merry Christmas!  On vacation here in Dubai and found
     these doodads in an jewelry shop catering primarily to slave owners.
     Thought of how nice they would look on Sebo or whoever you have
     around the house now.  As you'll see, it's a matched set of earrings,
     tit rings, and genital ring all made out of solid 18- karat red gold
and
     fitted with about 18 karats (total) of peridots which show up so well
     on black or brown skin.  Got a similar pair for Jocko, my own
     favorite black stud (well, this week!) except his are yellow gold and
     fitted with about 20 karats of citrine.  Looks great on him, the
orange
     and yellow contrasting nicely with his jet black hide.  By way of
     explanation, I bought Jocko just this week at a local dealer here in
     Dubai.  He was amazingly reasonable considering his looks and
     equipment, but blacks seem to have gutted the market here which
     drove the prices down making him a great buy (I could afford to
     jazz him up a little with the expensive jewelry).  Seems those
     infamous Nigerian breeding farms have over produced once again
     and so the consumer benefits until they cut back production. Due to
     their value, I suggest you have all this stuff welded on so it doesn't
     get lost or stolen.  It will be easy enough to cut off when you sell
the
     properties it's attached to. As you can see, the genital ring is
     designed to fit around the shaft of the slave's prick as well as clear
     around his balls with the jewels placed on the sides most likely to
     show.  It's all pretty heavy so it will take the lucky slave a day or
so
     to get use to the weight - especially on their tits - but any slave
     decked out with this stuff is bound to be one proud stud.  Should be
     home in another week or so.  You'll love fucking Jocko - he'll make
     you forget all bout Sebo! He's about as tight as they come and is
     hung like a bull. Have a Great Christmas.  Thinking of you, buddy.

                                   Bret"

     I took the beautiful jewelry out of the box which had been carefully
lined in black felt and examined the brilliant ensemble.  Turning them over
in my hand, I separated out the earrings and held them up to Sebo's lobes.
They were, indeed, stunning against his black skin.  Then I pressed the
jeweled tit rings up on is prominent tits so see how they would look once
installed.  Again, spectacular, although, as Bret had pointed out, they
were heavy and would have to be installed extra tight to prevent them
sagging.  Lastly, I took out the genital ring and, holding it up to Sebo's
currently ringed apparatus, knew it was large enough to fit but, at the
same time, realized Sebo's current genital ring was nothing to be ashamed
up - the delicate engraved metalwork matched his beautiful collar
perfectly.

     "My friend Bret thought these might look nice on you, Sebo, but I
really like you in that tall neck collar and genital ring you currently
have installed that gives you a nice controlled look.  Besides, Bret
doesn't realize your present fittings cost as much as he insured this stuff
for.  Actually, I ended up buying two slaves for Bret - that big black stud
from the Cameroons and that Latino with a touch of black who's a nice shade
of brown.  I've no intention of giving him both of the new slaves - I was
planning on keeping the extra one around as sort of a "spare gift" for the
unexpected occasion and, frankly, to offer a little variety to fucking you
all the time, Sebo."

     "Yes, master," was all Sebo could think of to say.  "Another slave
around the place would be nice for you, master."

     "Well, you could fuck him for my amusement now and then yourself,
Sebo," I laughed. "You know I enjoy watching a little heavy action from
time to time."

     "Yes, master," Sebo answered enthusiastically, his prick swelling at
the suggestion.

     "I think, at least for the time being, I'll have this new stuff welded
onto the new Latino slave so he'd add a little decoration around the house.
This pretty green and red gold would look good on his rich brown skin.
He's a looker to start with - this stuff will really set him off.  Sebo,
I'll call a slave fitter to come over here tomorrow morning to weld this
stuff on the Latino slave.  You be sure to have him completely freshly body
shaved and cleaned out and lubed before he arrives.  You know how these
fitters expect to be tipped by use of the slave they're fitting before they
leave.  It's sort of disgusting in that some of those fitters are so damn
ugly, but it's the tradition around here.  'Fit 'em and fuck 'em' might as
well be written on their bill," I added disgustedly.  Now take this blond
slave back to the pens, flush him out, feed him again, and cage him for the
night.  Then flush out that Latino I've been talking about.  If I'm going
to keep him around a while, I might as well see if he's worth keeping.
Send him to be bedroom right after dinner and the evening shows on TV.  By
morning, I can give a definite answer as to whether he's worth $10,000
worth of jewelry or not!  He'll have to give a mighty good suck and offer
up a mighty good fuck to warrant that kind of jewelry.  You better tell him
that when you're lubing him up."

     "I will, master," Sebo said, "but some of those newly enslaved Latin
boys, with their old fashioned ideas of 'machismo,' tend to be
temperamental, master, in my experience, especially when they're ordered to
service a master instead of a mistress.  Like you say, I'd make sure he's a
good bed buck before I put that kind of money on him, master."

     "Well, I made you earn that fancy collar and ring, didn't I, Sebo?" I
laughed.  "Not too many slaves are running around this city with a pricey
4" collar with a matching genital band.  It sets you off, Sebo, but you are
one damn good bed buck if I do say so myself."

     "Thank you, master," Sebo said modestly.  "I sure try to please my
master," he added, "but if there is any way I can serve you better, master,
all you need to do is ask, master, as I'm sure you know.  This slave exists
for your pleasure, master."

     "Yes, you do," I said promptly.  "As do all slaves."

     "Yes, master," Sebo agreed.

     "We'll be busy tomorrow planning my Christmas party where those
purchases of mine will be given away, Sebo, so make sure you get them
completely douched, shaved, and fed tonight before you go to bed, cage them
separately so they don't fool around with each other, and, remember, first
thing in the morning, we'll have the slave fitter come over for that
Latino. And around noon, the rest of my Christmas gifts will be delivered,
so make sure the extra cages are cleaned out and ready by then. But, before
that, I'm all charged up again. Take this blond slave back to the quarters,
quickly flush him out and relube him and then bring him back here and
fasten him to this new 'abn mastaba' as I want to fuck him myself. And when
you strap him down, make sure the stool is just the right height for me and
what you think would be a good tilt for me once I mount him.  After that,
come back in an hour or so and unstrap him to take down to the quarters for
feeding and another cleanup."

     "Yes, master," Sebo said as he quickly jerked on the blond slave's
collar, ordering him to follow him to the slave's quarters.  The blond
stared fleetingly at the black upholstery on the stool he'd been strapped
to and realized he was going to be fucked for the fifth time that day and
the second time where he would be rubbing up against the torso of a slave
who had been skinned and tanned decades ago. Again, tears followed down his
cheeks from the humiliation and shame most slaves had given up years ago.



        Trying out the Nordic Blond

     The Nordic slave squirmed painfully despite the restraining straps as
I rammed into him after having adjusted the 'abn mastaba' to my exact
height and a comfortable position.  I realized his ass was probably very
sore and raw after the recent fucking by Sebo's gigantic shaft despite all
the lubrication my overseer had applied well up his chute.

     "This stool does make it easy to get deep penetration," I commented to
the slave beneath me, "and it is comfortable to fuck a slave like this."

     "Yes, master," the blond slave groaned, his face contorted in pain as
he once again felt the tits of the long dead black slave 'unholstery'
underneath him rub against his own tits.

     "Of course, getting fucked by your owner always means more to a slave
than just being fucked by anybody, like my overseer."

     "Yes, master," the blond whispered between clenched teeth as his new
owner began pumping in and out of his aching chute vigorously.

     "When an owner fucks a new slave, it tells that slave his master
accepts him as being his property.  That's always comforting to a slave,
I'm sure, and makes them feel more secure and useful in their new home."

     "Yes, master," the muscular blond responded as he gasped with each new
plunge of his master's shaft, surprised that the master's shaft was almost
as large as his own when fully erect.

     But the slave's endurance wasn't put to much of a test that afternoon.
The new master emptied into him within minutes and the ordeal was quickly
over, followed by the obligatory thanking of his master for using him and
then waiting a good 50 minutes strapped to the stool's grotesque leather
upholstery with cum oozing out of his hole before Sebo reappeared to
release him, take him back to the slave quarters and rinsing him out once
again.

             The Latino Slave

     After din