Date: Fri, 23 Jul 2004 16:09:09 GMT
From: "anonymous4371@juno.com" <anonymous4371@juno.com>
Subject: OCEANUM   (authoritarian)

                            OCEANUM

                         by Bill Smith


     Surprisingly, even with the most modern spy satellites, not all
islands of the Pacific and Indian Oceans have been "discovered."  Some lie
far outside the observable "paths" of the satellites which generally cover
major shipping lanes, colonial possessions, or possible threats; others,
due to their lack of heat producing volcanos or man-made industry, simply
aren't detectable by infrared technology.

     Geoffrey Bowers was well aware of this when he deliberately purchased
an out- of-the-way island in the Indian Ocean which had plenty of fresh
water, fertile soil, no native population, and an obscure, totally
non-strategic location that literally guaranteed the rest of the world
would never notice it. After purchase, he had huge amounts of building
supplies delivered along with entire electric generation and supply
systems, including air conditioning, refrigeration, water desalination
equipment (just in case).  Since their were no deep sea docks, all this
materiel had to be delivered in small tenders and simply dumped in
temporary shelters on the beaches. The suppliers and carriers were paid in
cash promptly and just as promptly forgot all about the place when no
future orders came their way.

     But other much smaller ships, no bigger than tenders really, including
many a Arab-style dhow and Chinese style junk, began delivering goods
there, usually in the dead of night.  Again, cash changed hands quickly and
the small ships disappeared as mysteriously as they had first appeared.

     Within two months of these latter ship's visits, the island was
completely populated.  But the new population was entirely by Geoffrey
Bower's own design, a scheme he had carefully planned over the years.  For
everyone on the island, save himself, were slaves - fully owned properties
in a modern world.  They had been supplied by scores of clandestine dealers
operating discretely in Africa, Asia, the Middle East, Australia, Eastern
Europe, and the Americas. Geoffrey Bowers had spent years getting to know
these dealers personally, familiarizing himself when what they had
available, gaining information on what their stock was worth in today's
markets, learning the degree of training necessary to produce a good slave
in today's world, and, perhaps most importantly, developing their trust in
selling him "illegal" goods. He had spent as much time doing this as he had
in selecting "his" island to start with for the real estate had little
allure without its new population as far as Geoffrey Bower was concerned.

     Now, Geoffrey Bowers owned over 14000 acres, enough equipment and
supplies to build a small empire, and 650 slaves of practically every color
and nationality, although his preference for well built handsome black
males, based on his years spend in Brazil as an American ex-patriot where
his fortune was made as well as his natural sexual proclivities, was
clearly evident.  The total investment was approaching one billion
U.S. dollars, but no one ever claimed paradise was cheap. It was, Geoffrey
Bower reflected, the best money he ever spent.  He named his island home
"Oceanum" in honor of its Indian Ocean locale.

     As Geoffrey Bowers looked out from the veranda of his newly
constructed palace, he enjoyed the view: sweeping aspects of the Indian
Ocean, the white sand beaches, the swaying palm trees.  But most of all he
enjoyed looking at the slaves toiling everywhere he looked, their naked
bodies shiny with sweat, their bright stainless steel collars, and genital
bands glinting in the sun's rays on those where it clearly enhanced their
natural beauty, and, on a few, the polished rings piercing their tits and
nose septum where a "controlled" look seemed appropriate. Every slave had
his master's tag pierced through his left ear and his master's logo burnt
into his right ass check and left pectoral to indelibly remind those so
marked they were their master's personal possession and simply because
their owner like to see all his property properly marked. Each ear tag read
"Property of Geoffrey Bowers, Oceanum Estates" and that slave's personal
identification number in bar code format for easy swiping when inventory
was taken, food rations determined, medical procedures or modifications
employed, or disciplines recorded.

     Overseers, all slaves themselves, were easily identified by their
tight leather harness uplifting their muscular pecs, the thick genital
bands forcing their sexual equipment into prominent display and the
short-handled leather slave whips with knotted ends each carried in their
right hand as a symbol of their authority.  Through his binoculars, he
could see slaves hitched to plows, pulling wagons, stacking bales of straw,
weeding with hands and hoe, working the water wheels for irrigation, and
harvesting the crops now ready. To another side, he saw buildings being
constructed, the slave's naked bodies glistening in sweat as they struggled
to lift the building stones and cement blocks into position or crouched on
a boiling hot roof fastening shingles in place.  Nearby, he saw slaves
tending the palace gardens, cleaning the walkways and fountains, and
polishing the exposed metal.  Immediately around him, slaves stood in full
display of their bodies, anticipating to do his bidding with the mere flick
of their master's finger, a flick of his eye, or a barely uttered one-word
command.

     The only sounds were the occasional crack of the overseer's leather
whips, the groans of the slaves being disciplined, the constant creaking of
the carts and water wheels, the soft padding of bare feet working in the
gardens and palace halls, and the quiet breathing of the slaves attending
him. Even the beautiful young slave sucking him, on his knees between his
master's legs, kept the slurping, gagging, and choking sounds to a minimum
as he expertly swallowed his master's fully erect tool completely down his
throat before massaging it with his well-trained throat muscles.

     Geoffrey ran his hands through the neatly trimmed kinky black hair of
the sucking slave before gripping the back of the slave's head and pulling
the boy's face completely into his pubes so the slave's nose ring was
pressing against his body and the slave's breathing became labored as his
nostrils were covered by flesh.

     "Suck, boy," Geoffrey commanded as the slave, trained to not struggle
under these circumstances, intensified his efforts in working his master's
prick deep down his orifice.  Within seconds, the slave felt the first of
several hot eruptions flow down his open throat and trickle into his
stomach.  Just about the time the beautiful brown slave thought he would
pass out from lack of oxygen, the last of his master's cum had been sucked
out and the huge tool was dislodged from his throat.  He gasped for air,
but quickly began licking the prick clean of all remnants of cum and saliva
coating it, interspersing that task only with humbly thanking his master
for choosing him for his enjoyment and suggesting his master may want to
ass fuck him now if he would so enjoy.

     "Not right now, Pleasure....isn't it?" Geoffrey replied.

     "Yes, master," the young handsome slave replied, happy his owner
recognized him by his name.

     "But it's not a bad idea," his owner responded.  "I'll let Priapus
fuck you for my amusement."

     "Priapus," he said softly to a huge muscular black standing in full
display position right next to him with his arms positioned in back of his
head and his feet wide spread to show off his massive equipment, "fuck this
boy on the floor right in front of me with him on his back so I can enjoy
the look on his face as you pound every last inch into his butthole. All
the way, you hear, Priapus, and I want you pumping long and hard, but no
shooting off.... I'm saving your load for my entertainment after supper.
Just pump him until he shoots off this time around.  Pleasure or whatever
his name is can lick up his own cum off your black body for a little
afternoon snack."

     "Yes, master," the brown-skinned slave said as he quickly got on his
back in front of his master and, spreading his legs wide before lifting
them up to his shoulders, positioned himself so his master could witness
every aspect of not only the entry of the huge black prick into his ass but
the expressions on his face as his fellow slave's prick slid up his
chute. This was followed by the "Yes, master," echoed by the huge black who
quickly grabbed his organ, massaged himself into a full erection, and,
within minutes mounted the brown-skinned slave's body beneath him,
positioning himself to align with the proffered hole.  With a quick look
for approval at his master, he slowly forced his huge 12x5" erect shaft up
the boy's tight chute, never once hesitating despite the boy's squeals and
groans as he was skewered by the massive instrument.  As soon as it was
completely in, the boy beneath him gasped in pain, panting as he buckled
and struggled in his attempts to find an accommodating position for the
assault.  But the black slave had his instructions and he followed them out
precisely.  Without hesitation, he began pumping his massive prick in and
out of the tightly stretched chute as the slave boy beneath him whimpered
and moaned.

     "Open him up good, Priapus," Geoffrey Bowers commanded.  "He's fairly
new to his duties here and needs to learn how to take a nice big one
without all that carrying on," he commented as the skewered boy's eyes
bulged in agony and tears streamed down his cheeks as a reaction to all the
pain and humiliation he was experiencing.  But he never screamed in
rebellion or shouted out his rage at being raped like this.  He knew, as
well as any slave at the estate, that he was here to please his owner and
if this is what it took to please his master, so be it.  He had no other
options anyway as a slave.  Besides, he reminded himself as another wave of
pain threatened his consciousness, all slaves were fucked freely and openly
at any and all times in today's world.  It was just part of being a
slave. Sobered by these thoughts, he concentrated on relaxing his anal
muscles and controlling any unseemly display of his pain.  He had been a
slave long enough to know no one gave a shit about whether he hurt or not
as a result of a routine fuck and making a big fuss about it would
certainly lead to severe discipline in that it might ruin the enjoyment of
his master in his ravishment.  He forced himself to smile brightly, hoping
it would blind his master to his tears.

     "See there, Pleasure.  Once you're opened up properly, you learn to
enjoy a good fucking.  Now let's see you shoot a nice big load so you can
treat yourself to a little snack."

     The brown slave was hard as a rock as the huge shaft plummeted his
prostate over and over and, despite his pain, he felt his balls boiling
getting ready to discharge.

     "Yes, master," Pleasure gritted out between his clenched lips.  "A
nice.....big...  load..  for you, master.." he gasped.

     And within five minutes of frenzied pistoning by the huge black atop
him, Pleasure did shoot load after load of steaming hot sticky cum all over
the stomach, chest, and face of his sex partner.

     "Ugh....Ugh.,,," he gasped as his balls emptied onto the dewy black
skin atop him. When he was completely drained, Priapus, not allowed to
shoot off himself, withdrew his quivering erect tool from the stretched
hole and laid back for the brown slave to lick his own cum off of his
muscular body, now totally wet from his own sweat.  As the brown slave
lifted himself up and kneeled over his body to cleanse him, the feel of his
tongue on his sensitized skin made controlling his own orgasm difficult
indeed, especially as the beautiful brown slave licked every last drop of
the cum off of his nipples, lips, and still rampant prick.

     "Master, can I shoot?" the black slave pleaded desperately, knowing in
advance it would not be allowed.

     "Certainly not, slave," his owner barked back, obviously irritated at
this willful gesture on the part of a slave.  "I told you to hold it
in. I'm going to use you tonight and I want a full load out of you.  So
shut your mouth or I'll fit the electric shock dildo in you tonight to
amuse me.  I love to see you twitching and jerking around as you scream
from those shocks deep in your ass."

     Priapus shuttered as the remembrance of the last time his master had
disciplined him in this fashion.  It wasn't an experience he thought he
could live through twice and he made a renewed effort to avoid shooting
even though he had to clench his teeth, break out in another sex sweat, and
concentrate on the electric dildo shocker before rammed up his ass to
fulfill this command.  "Yes, master," he said humbly through his clenched
teeth.

     Pleasure promptly swallowed all of his own cum he had carefully licked
up, and, smacking his lips, resumed a kneeling position next to his master.
Priapus, still bone hard, rose and assumed his standing display position,
his sweaty body gleaning in the light.

     Again, the only sounds were a few whips cracking over some slave's
backs, some distant screams of torment as the knotted whips tore into the
slave's backs and the rustling of the palm's leaves in the afternoon
breezes.

     "Yes," Geoffrey Bowers mused.  "Oceanum is working out quite nicely so
far."

******
     "Pleasure" was the slave name given to MaQuille Adams shortly after he
had been purchased by Geoffrey Bowers, his current owner.  Right now, his
ass ached from the recent fucking, but actually it had been sore since he'd
first been made a slave - a phenomenon not unusual in young, good looking
slave boys, he'd discovered, who rarely made it through a day without at
least being fucked at least twice and often by the biggest studs around.

     But he hadn't always been a slave.  The first 17 years of his life had
been pretty normal - hanging out with the guys (all dressed exactly like
him with the kerchief cap covering his kinky hair, the low ride crew pants,
the exposed chest to show off his pecs and abs), shooting basketball with
his friends in the rickety old court in the project's park, 'making babies'
with the cunts who always wanted to get in his pants, and selling a few
drugs to keep him in beer and decent clothes and buy the 'ho's" a little
gift now and then.

     But suddenly that all changed.  On day, right in broad day light, he
was walking down a sorry looking street right next to the projects.  A
non-descript van pulled right beside him, a side door opened, two sets of
burly arms caught him unaware and jerked him into the van.  Even before
they were able to close the door, the van was underway and his arms were
shackled behind him as one of the thugs sat on his back while the other
guy, almost as quickly, manacled his ankles and then shackled his feet
together with a short chain between them.

     "What the shit?" MaQuille yelled, but that was the last he said
anything, because a ball gag was forced into his mouth and fastened behind
his head as a pair of scissors started snipping away his clothes.  Within
three minutes, the van was in another part of town, MaQuille was totally
naked, a heavy metal collar had been snapped around his thick neck, and,
once the thug was off his back so he could turn his head, he found there
were seven other blacks, as naked as he was, fitted with neck collars and
short- chained to the side of the van's walls with their hands and feet
shackled.

     "That's a full load," one of the thugs shouted to the driver through
the heavy wire mesh separating the driver from the cargo areas.

     "Got cha,'" came the reply. "I'm heading for the stockyards now."

     MaQuille couldn't believe what was happening.  The others chained in
the back of the van seemed to be as panicked as he was although their gags
prevent any communication other than the frantic look in their eyes.  They
all seemed to be in their late teens, were all blacks with nice smooth,
hairless complexions, , were all well built and muscular, and, as McQuille
studied them further, they were all strikingly handsome, and, since they
were all chained facing each other, he noticed they all sported long, thick
pricks and baseball sized balls - the kind of tackle a lot of men could
only dream about. "Well hung" didn't quite describe what he was looking at-
"phenomenal" would have been more like it.

     "Got some real studs this time," one of the thugs commented as he
casually reached over and wrapped his hand around the prick of the boy
chained nearest him.

     "Yo, bro," the other thug said, smiling as the chained boy being
handled struggled in his chains.  "Gang done well - we're going to make
some real moolah when we get these bastards broken and sold off."

     "Only problem - takes a month to break them in proper to get a good
price on 'em," the first thug responded.

     "My favorite thing is watching the sales.  It's amazing how you can
turn these boys around in just a month and see them up there showing off
everything they've got trying to get a buyer."

     "Well, can't blame them.  Anything beats staying at the stockyards for
further training," the first thug laughed as he began churning the ball sac
of the boy he was handling.

     "Can't argue with you there, bro," the other thug chuckled.
"Yessiree, can't argue with you there."

     "You know, we're lucky not to as good looking as these studs," the
first thug thought aloud.  "Otherwise, things the way they are in the hood,
we'd be too damn valuable to be let alone and we'd probably have a collar
around our neck just like these boys."

     "More than likely.  The prices these sexy boys bring just makes it
irresistible to not take advantage of the market these days - can't think
of an easier way to make the big bucks.  A hell of a lot more money in it
than drugs these days.  And, the way they run things down at the stockyard,
no one - not even you and I - could hold out for more than a week or two,
and after that...  Well, hell..  We'd be up there on the sales stand
showing off our ass and tackle just like these guys will, begging some rich
dude to buy us up as his personal slaveboy."

     "Or some of those super-rich white cunts you see coming to the
auctions these days," the other thug added.  "With their craving for black
meat, those bitches probably fuck those slaveboys to death within the
year," he laughed.  "What a way to go - fucked to death!"

     "I hear those bitches have these little private parties where they
parade these handsome heavy hung boys around bare assed naked and let
everyone feel them up to their heart's content before bedding them down,
right in front of everyone."

     "Well, they pay plenty for the privilege, as you well know. I can't
get over how much these boys bring in once they're properly trained to
slavehood."

     "Probably just as well no one ever claimed we were good looking - just
big and strong.  Hell, we're so unappealing apparently no one even checks
out the size of our tackle, not that I've got anything to be ashamed of."

     "Yeah, bro, I'm glad I'm ugly or I'd end up being sold off myself
probably.  But you notice our prick's are good enough to help train the new
stock," the first thug laughed as he reached down and squeezed his crotch.
"Yes sir, good enough to break them in," he laughed.

     The eight trussed up boys listened to every word of the ongoing
conversation and stared in disbelief at what they were hearing. Three
struggled in their chains, two began to sob, one looked like he was in a
trance, and two, to their total embarrassment, got bone hard.

     "Looks like we picked up two naturals," one of the thugs said as he
pointed to the two who were showing hard.  "Won't take too long to get them
properly trained.  They'll end up loving their new life if they get a good
owner who'll actually use them often enough."

     "Yeah.  They'll be sold off in two weeks.  The others will take a
little longer, but within a month or so, they'll all be showing hard every
time someone even looks at them," he laughed, "even that handsome dude
shooting darts with his eyes right now.  A good fucking will take some of
the vinegar out of him.  Looks like a real virgin, doesn't he?"

**********

     Geoffrey Bowers had heard about the gang's auction through his network
of dealers and was pleased with the offerings.  He bought up fifteen slaves
that day, including all eight in the van that had first "caught" MaQuille
Adams some eight weeks ago. All slaves offered at the auction that day were
fully "broken" and trained by now so they displayed themselves well,
thrusting out their dripping erect pricks on command, bending over to show
their now "broken in" holes, and letting the potential buyers paw and
fondle every part of their handsome muscular bodies without objection.

     Geoffrey Bowers promptly gave MaQuille his new slave the name of
"Pleasure" and named the heaviest hung slave that he had purchased,
"Priapus."  The other 13 purchases were given similarly appropriate slave
names before receiving their new owner's branded logo and their identity
ear tags.  They were told Master Bowers would decide later as to who would
be tit-ringed, nose ringed, and fitted with a genital cinch for display
purposes.  They were then, with the crack of a Mylar whip over their rumps,
herded into cargo cages for shipment via a small chartered plane to their
new owner's home, located, they were told, on a private island that wasn't
even known about on the maps and was totally inescapable. Once cramped into
the cages, as usual stark nude, the last thing they remembered was
receiving an injection into whatever body part was jammed against the
cage's bars.

**********
     Geoffrey Bowers enjoyed having a variety of different shades of Negro
slaves around him and his choice at the auction that day reflected that.
First there were the jet blacks ones; a mulatto or so; some "high yellers"
as the quadroons were often called; and, of course, the stock-in-trade
browns.  Some were polished and refined; some were "wild" looking; some
were already fitted; some were "au naturale." Some were clearly for work;
some obviously primarily for show. Some were kept half-dressed to add a
"tease" quality to their appearance; most were kept buck naked at all
times.  In all, the new purchases were much like his present stables of
slaves.

     Overall, Geoffrey tried to make sure all of his slaves "turned him on"
one way or another and displayed them accordingly.  After all, he had
purchased them for just that purpose - that and to use them sexually
whenever he had the urge, which was quite often, given the stimuli all
around him in his new home.  He even displayed a few slaves in bondage now
and then - it was a novelty factor and some of the slaves looked especially
appealing shown like that.

     He had been here over three years now.  In that time, his slaves had
built the palace, built their own slave quarters and sanitation facilities,
had put in a dock for smaller shipping vessels as well as a well hidden
airstrip for supplies (including additions and replacements of his human
stock) and occasional trusted and discrete guests, built him a
communications and entertainment center, turned thousands of acres into
arable productive land, and had even put in miles of paved road, perfect
for the numerous slave-drawn wagons and his own slave-powered rickshaw that
was so useful when touring the grounds.

     So far, no slave had died on him, although there were a few accidents
from time to time and the occasional temporary illnesses. But the stock was
all young and vigorous and full of vim and vinegar so replacement would be
many years down the road in all probability.  He'd lucked out (or been damn
good in his initial selection of the blacks) in that so far none of the
slaves would have to be replaced for insolence, poor attitude, inability to
do the commanded tasks, or resistance to the demands made upon the sexual
use of their bodies. To the contrary, most seemed to have settled into
their new lives remarkably well, taking pride in maintaining their near
perfect bodies, accepting their status as naked owned livestock, finding
what pleasure allowed them in the sexual use of their bodies by their
owner, and seeking out what every slave ultimately finds irresistible from
the master who controls every bite they eat, every drink of water, every
sexual outlet, every relief from the pain of the whip - the master's
approval of them as his slave.  By now, every single slave at Oceanum had a
single focus to his life: how could he better please his master and make
his master proud of him.

     By this time in their lives, it was hard for them to remember much
about their "free" days before enslavement other than to recall it was a
time they had to worry about where their next meal was coming from, often
fear for their lives from neighboring gangs, the constant threat of being
rejected by their gang, and even what to wear every day so they would
appear "cool." Even their social life then was marred by constantly having
to "prove their manhood" to their peers in one fashion or another, whether
it was fucking a bitch, running down fags, or talking about sports that
they had no interest in..  Now, none of that was any more significant in
their lives than the clothes they now had no need of. Living a slave's life
was certainly more honest, not to mention considerably more anxiety
free. All you had to worry about was doing what you were told immediately
and without question and you avoided the pain of the whip.  Once you
learned complete and total obedience, a slave's life was relatively smooth
and trouble-free.

******

     LeRoi Jones, as he had once been known, had been "different" from the
other boys ever since he was 15 or so and it was evident he was going to
have one of the biggest pricks ever fastened to a black boy - or any boy
for that matter.  Until he had been snatched out of the 'hood several years
ago, trained at the Stockyards, and then sold off to Master Bowers, his
life had been hell. For the first 15 years he felt no one gave a damn about
him and essentially he was right.  No father, a mother on drugs, a brood of
brothers and sisters who viewed him as a pest and just another competitor
for the little available food, things had really gone downhill when his
oversized prick led to a lot of teasing and ridicule by all the other guys
in his gang (whether through envy or just the fact he was different he
never could figure out), girls taking one look and refusing to risk getting
torn up with "that monster," and being nicknamed "BigDong" so everyone was
kept curious and eager to see the thing for themselves.  He ended up being
able to only screw the old worn old whores with the huge stretched cunts
who were so loose by now it felt like just dumping in a hole.  After a few
trysts with them, he preferred to just jerk himself off - at least wrapping
his hand (which only reached partway around the shaft) gave him some
pleasurable feelings before he shot out his load.

     But once he got to the Stockyards and was naked all the time, he began
to realize his curse was now his biggest asset according to handlers
assigned to train him.  During the next few weeks at the Stockyards, they
taught LeRoi how to keep it at least semi-erect most of the time for a good
showing, how to spread his legs and thrust his hips forward when ordered to
display so that it was easily handled and given prominence over his other
bodily features, how to hold still and smile when others stroked and
fondled his huge shaft, how to thank them when they "milked" him to sample
the amount, viscosity, color and taste of his cum, and how to indicate with
his body language that he would like nothing better than being sold for
their usage, no matter what they may have in mind.  LeRoi knew, compared to
the others, he was being trained as something "special" and it was the
first time in his life he ever felt he had anything really going for him
and that people actually valued him - even if was now a slave in a
stockyards being prepared to be sold. It beat being neglected and ridiculed
back in the 'hood. Besides, the handlers, the trainers, even all the other
naked trainees constantly around him now, were in total agreement: among
slaves, the bigger your equipment, the better.  You sold faster, you
brought a higher price, you created more market "interest," and buyers were
generally more satisfied with you.  All of that certainly added to a boy's
self-esteem and LeRoi suddenly found himself, for the first time in his
life, in a place where what he was turned out to be "best in show" as his
trainers put it. LeRoi loved being a slave once he understood his new value
and frankly, he would have volunteered to be a slave a lot earlier in his
life if he had only known about it. The so-called "lifting" and being
kidnapped to the stockyeards was, at least in his case, a stroke of
unmitigated good luck.

     When market day arrived, LeRoi got a lot of attention from the
prospective buyers just as his trainers had told him he would.  He was
stroked, squeezed, fondled, and rubbed until his whole prick and balls were
almost raw and certainly sore.  By the time of the big auction, though, his
handlers stroked him to a full, dripping erection before showing him on the
block and he remembered to pose exactly as they had taught him - with his
huge equipment thrust out fully between his widely spaced legs, dripping in
readiness, and with a big smile on his face as he licked his lips
suggestively and pleaded with his eyes.  As the price soared higher and
higher, it excited LeRoi all the more and by the time the price reached
$500,000, a high for the day, it was dripping profusely so it was running
down his thigh when he studied the looks of raw lust in the eyes of the
eager bidders.

     Geoffrey Bowers placed the top bid at $540,000 and LeRoi was led by
his collar leash down to his new owner.

     "I'm going to call you 'Priapus'," his new master said as he reached
down and took the huge swollen shaft in his hand and squeezed until a few
more drops of pre- cum oozed out.  "Seems fitting."

     "Thank you, master," LeRoi bowed his head as he had been taught.  He
had no idea of what or who Priapus was or meant, but he did know his new
owner could call him anything he wanted.  Priapus it was and he silently
repeated the name to himself so he'd be sure to remember it.

     "Kneel, boy," his new master ordered as he fastened the collar leash
to his belt.  "There's some more slaveboys I want to bid on this afternoon,
but don't you play with yourself.  What you've got in those balls belongs
to me now, boy, so you just save all that for your new master.  And I don't
like to see boys playing with themselves unless I order them to do it - you
understand, Priapus?"

     "Yes, master," LeRoi answered.  "Priapus be a good slave, master, and
do just what you say."

     "For $540,000, you better," Geoffrey Bowers laughed as he ran his hand
through LeRoi's close cropped kinky hair as if he were petting a dog.

     With that, Geoffrey Bowers bought up 12 more slaves that afternoon.
One by one, they joined LeRoi kneeling on the floor by their new owner,
their collar leashes fastened to their master's belt.  The purchases that
afternoon were all black, all built, all young, all extremely attractive,
and all well hung.  They were exactly what Geoffrey Bowers liked to
collect.

******

     Pleased as he was with his purchases at the Stockyards, Geoffrey
Bowers visited many other slave sales around the world as he stocked his
island retreat.  Within three months, he had bought up hundreds of slaves
similar to those he had purchased at the Stockyards, but adding specialized
stock as well:

     - those who had experience in slave handling and supervision who would
     organize the work gangs, determine and mete out appropriate
discipline,
     and serve as overseers;

     - slave management specialists, who would be responsible for
production
     of slave chow, the slave feedings, the individual slave food
allocations, to
     insure peak health, energy, physique, and skin tone, caging and
general
     hygiene in the slave barracks, bathing and enema schedules and
     supervision, and proper grooming of the slaves including body shaves,
     hair cuts, and the fitting of collars, rings, bands, brands, tattoo
     identifications, harnesses, mouth bits, and decorations as needed for
new
     role assignments, special occasions, parties, or celebrations;

      - specialized supervisory roles requiring unique training or
experience
     such as building and road construction; domestic service; production,
     packaging and sales of slave sperm to various breeding operations
     located in various areas of the world; operation of a fishing and fish
     processing facility; operation of farming operations for vegetable and
fruit
     production and preservation; sales of truck farm products; sales of
fish
     products; electronic specialists for installation and maintenance of
     satellite dishes, computers, and electronic data banks; air and sea
port
     installation and maintenance; and setting up and supervising the
bottling
     of "cum" (over and beyond the sperm sales division) for the health
tonic,
     condiment, breakfast food, and cosmetic skin cream markets.

     This buying spree had paid off.  The island was now fully stocked with
all the human resources it needed to be highly profitable with high quality
products to sell to a world market, most pleasant to live in, fully
self-sustaining, and a wonderful place to entertain others either out of
hospitality or with a profit in mind. Within six months, Geoffrey Bowers
was selling all he could produce at very high profits.

*****

     Over 50 of Geoffrey's purchases had come from a dealer in the Middle
East who had a huge selection of black slaves. That dealer was now on the
phone calling as a 'follow-up' to Geoffrey's recent purchases.

     "How are they working out, Geoffrey?  I thought I'd wait a month or so
to call so you could see how the stock you bought from me was settling in,"
the dealer explained, "I'm not bullshitting you, Geoffrey, but you bought
some of the best blacks I have seen in several years."

     "They're working out quite well I suppose.  At least, I haven't heard
a word of complaint from any of the supervisors of those assigned outside
the house, and those here in the house have met all my expectations so
far," Geoffrey responded, adding "that means, Jamil my friend, they're
taking all 12 inches without groaning too loudly."

     The dealer laughed heartily.  "I'm glad to hear my dildo training paid
off."

     "Shit.  The only dildo training those slaves got was you fucking them
silly every day with your own huge tool," Geoffrey laughed.  "At any rate,
they seem to know how to take a good fucking without much fuss.  As to
those I bought for outdoor assignments, you might not recognize them now.
They've all put on some real muscle, their color has evened up since
they're out in the sun a lot, and they've learned to work under the whip
fairly quickly so they're not dumb by any means.  I've been watching them a
lot with my binoculars and you can practically see them growing muscle
under the whip's discipline. The overseers like the looks of them - at
least, they seem to the way they keep fucking them throughout the day.  The
know, Jamil, you sold me some of those overseers - how in the hell do they
get it up seven or eight times a day to fuck those slaves under them?  Did
you give them a Viagra implant or what?"

     Jamil chuckled, happy to hear a satisfied customer report on his stock
in trade.  "Oh, Geoffrey, if you were out in the fields or barns or
construction sites with nothing to do all day but look at the rumps of good
looking slave boys, what do you think you'd do?  Especially knowing a good
fucking is essential in maintaining a proper overseer/slave relationship
anyway?"

     "I suppose I'd fuck slaves seven or eight times a day," Geoffrey
laughed.  "It would break the boredom."

     "Exactly," Jamil laughed.  "Geoffrey, if you run across some friends
looking for some fresh stock, I'd appreciate your mentioning me to them, "
Jamil said seriously. "In this business, we can't exactly advertise except
by word of mouth."

     "Be happy to, Jamil.  That's exactly how I heard about you - from a
friend of mine and I'm grateful to him for mentioning you."

     "That's what I like to hear," Jamil cooed.  "Say, Geoffrey, any chance
of ever waggling an invitation to see your operation?  I think if I
actually saw it first hand I would be in a better position to fulfill any
future needs you might have," he suggested tactfully.

     "You're just nosy, Jamil," Geoffrey replied, "and, besides, you like
to look at good looking slave meat any chance you get.  You don't fool me.
You think I didn't notice your hard-on the entire time you were showing me
your stock."

     "I was too polite to mention yours," Jamil chortled, "charming as it
was. But that's what told me you'd offer a fine home for any stock you
purchased - you appreciate good looking slave meat and respond
appropriately."

     "Well, I admit to that.  Back to your begging to take a look-see, I
was thinking about it anyway.  How about next Friday for the weekend.  I
think I'll invite a few other dealers I have purchased from while I'm at it
if they're free then.  That way, you can swap notes with each other about
the market in general, and I hope be willing to offer some suggestions to
improve things around here.  And your point about furnishing any new stock
requirements without my having to pick them out myself isn't a bad one,
although, Jamil, I enjoy looking prospective stock over, as you just
mentioned.  You apparently study your customer's crotches when they're
shopping."

     "We Arab traders aren't stupid, Geoffrey.  But we do study your eyes
too - not just your crotches.  Pupils wide open - you want that slave;
pupils constricted - no sale.  Crotch swollen - you're interested; crotch
normal - no sale probably.  We call it the wisdom of the East, Geoffrey,"
Jamil laughed. "At least I'm still in business."

     "I was thinking of inviting a dealer from New York over, the owner of
a breeding farm in Mississippi, also in the States, a dealer in Nigeria,
and a dealer in Kiev who specializes in Slavs."

     "Sounds real interesting.  I'd especially like to met the breeder and
that dealer in blonds. If the breeder is from Mississippi, he probably
turns out many a black for the market, but why the Ukrainian dealer,
Geoffrey?  I thought you just bought blacks.  Does he offer blacks way up
in Kiev?"

     "Not many, I imagine," Geoffrey laughed.  "But I was thinking of
adding a few blond boys here and there for variety.  Besides, have you ever
seen a black slave offered a blond boy to fuck.  They go crazy trying to
get to them.  I don't know what it is - just something different or some
inborn desire to try out a white or what.  One of my supervisors claims
"Once you've fucked a whitey, there's no going back" as if he is stating
some great universal truth handed down from generation to generation.  When
I asked the stud if he had ever actually poked a white, he admitted he
hadn't, but still insisted it was true because "everyone said so." where he
came from.

     "Where did the supervisor slave come from?" Jamil queried.  "America?"

     "Hell no, he was from deepest Africa and had never even seen a white
until he laid his eyes on the likes of me," Geoffrey burst into guffaws of
laugher.  "Do you think he was just saying he'd like to fuck me?"

     "Well, you are damn attractive," Jamil ventured.  "Geoffrey, on the
auction block, I wouldn't consider a bid under $1 million for you."

     "You must assess every damn body you look at, Jamil!  But I admit
you're quite a flatterer even if remarks like that make me feel like some
damn slave in one of your holding cells.  But I don't plan to be on your
auction block anytime soon so forget it.  Besides, where you live, how many
whites are offered?"

     "More than you seem to realize, Geoffrey.  We were hugely overstocked
with blacks when you were there.  But normally, it's about 40% white, 30%
Asian, and about 30% blacks."

     "Where do you get them?"

     "All over Europe, the U.S., Canada, Australia, even the Ukraine as you
just mentioned.  Where there are people, there are slaves, Geoffrey.  One
way or another."

     "Well, that's obvious," Geoffrey admitted, looking at the hundreds in
plain site as he was speaking on the phone.

     "Count me in for the weekend visit, Geoffrey, but how in the hell do I
get there?"

     "I'll fax you the coordinates for the autopilots.  The only way here
is by a small private airplane or a yacht. I assume you have both?  From
where you're at, it will take about two hours by jet; three hours by
turboprop; a good 24 hours by yacht.  The small airstrip is hidden, but has
marker lights which I will turn on if I know precisely when to expect you.
The same with the docks.  Hidden, but I can turn on the marker lights. And,
Jamil, no guests but you.  Sorry, but that's a condition I have to insist
on for both your security as well as mine.  We've both in illegal
activities as far as a good part of the world thinks, in case you've
forgotten in that slave-friendly environment you're in where my guess is
most people close their eyes to your little goings on with a little money
across their palm.  They don't see it as a moral issue like so many do in
some other priggish parts of the world today."

     "I'm going by boat, Geoffrey.  I can pilot the thing myself easily
enough with the autopilot and I enjoy being out in the Ocean.  All this
sand all the time makes me long for the water, I guess. And, Geoffrey, I
trust no one in the business I'm in - no one.  Just my customers who are in
this as deep as I am.  So, don't worry, I'm going all by my lonesome.  And
the other dealers will too - believe me.  We've all had a scape or two
along the way - an escaped slave before it was fully trained, a nosy family
member, a distraught parent, a hypocritical politician looking to grab some
cheap votes at election time (but who can close his eyes to the trade once
the vote is in and his palm has been.  greased).  Yes, we've all learned to
be careful - we have to."

     "Even the breeders?" Geoffrey asked, thinking of his potential
Mississippi guest.

     "Yes, even the breeders, Geoffrey," Jamil answered.  "There are plenty
of people around who think it is immoral to breed humans like other
livestock.  They understand it can be done easily enough - they just don't
like it to be done because it scares them.  The end product is a whole race
of people bigger, stronger, better looking, sexier, more virile, better
equipped, healthier, and more disease resistant than they are and they
can't stand the idea of that. It's a threat to their own puny little dicks,
their pathetic musculature, their chronic health problems, their obesity,
their need for drugs to even get it up - those bred slaves show them up
each and every time and they're not going to stand for it.  I know - I'm in
the breeding business myself on a small scale and even in my enlightened
country, I've run across the religious fanatics who claim I'm working
against God's divine plan.  I can imagine what it's like in Mississippi
with that bunch of crackerjacks."

     "I'll fax the position to you, Jamil.  See you Friday," Geoffrey ended
the conversation.  He had to get on with his invitation to the other four
guests he had in mind for the weekend.

*****
     All of the other four invitations were readily accepted.  Three were
coming by private jet, the Nigerian decided to come by yacht. Geoffrey
decided to let each guest pick a "personal attendant" out of his bevy of
indoor slaves to serve him during the day and a couple of other slaves of
his choice each evening so he would have three slaves to entertain or
service him during the night.  Each guest would have their own private
suite overlooking the Ocean.  During the day, he planned to take them on a
tour of his slave chow production facilities, his fishery, his farming
operations, his sperm packaging facility, and the milking barn for his cum
bottling plant.  That's about all the time they would have, he figured, if
he was to allow enough leisure time for casual dining and good conversation
among people with similar interests.  Toward that end, he ordered six
rickshaws to be made ready with steads selected and harnessed, the menus
for the weekend prepared in advance, and scheduled all indoor slaves to be
bathed, body shaved, and oiled daily, given a complete set of enemas every
morning and evening followed by a good lubing, and, to insure the slaves
were properly motivated to offer themselves enthusiastically to his guests
with no reservations, he suggested that slaves not chosen by his guests for
usage would face appropriate discipline as soon as they departed.

     Unbeknownst to each other, each of the guests brought a 'house gift'
with them.  Jamil, remembering Geoffrey's mentioning of some light skinned
slaves for a change of pace, had a Greek slave in tow - bright eyed, so
beautiful he was almost feminine, but decidedly all man with his heavy
equipment and massive musculature - as his gift.  The Greek boy had been
flushed out, oiled, shaved, and then crammed into a tight little cage for
the trip, but he didn't stay there long.  Once the autopilot was set and
the yacht was underway, Jamil fastened a leash to the Greek's collar and
first had the slave suck him slow and deep until he deposited a full load
in the slave's stomach.  An hour later, the slave was placed on back with
his legs over his shoulders and fucked for another hour.  By the time the
yacht was nearing the designated position, the Greek had drained Jamil five
times: two loads were now in his stomach; three loads were oozing out of
his ass.  Jamil ordered the slave to shave and then clean himself inside
and out, oiled and lubed him, and then fastened a big red velvet bow around
the boy's very ample genitals before recaging him.

     The New York dealer brought another black stud from the Stockyards -
this one relatively short, but with an impressive physique, startling good
looks, a cute rounded butt, and turgid sexual apparatus that seemed to
remain hard all the time.

     The Nigerian brought a jet-black boy no more than 17 who looked fresh
and unused - he was tall, well built, ruggedly handsome, and well equipped.
He was so black he appeared blue in strong light but his eyes were his best
feature: they were a startling bright green!  His skin, when polished with
a good coat of oil, looked like liquid coal. The dealer had seen fit to
equip him with a heavy tall collar, a heavy thick band around his genitals,
two large tit rings, and a large nose ring hanging down over his upper lip
- all in the exact green of his eyes!  The overall effect was
splendiferous.

     The Mississippi breeder brought a sample of his latest product which
would be marketed in about two more years on the open market.  The near
18-year-old prototype of the new breed (to be marketed internationally
within weeks) was a mustee, to be marketed as a 'white nigger,' who had all
the best features of blacks (the big muscular physiques, the disease
resistance, the endurance and strength, the early maturation rates, the
nice big sexual equipment and the strong sexual drives) with the more
refined features of whites (the fine textured silky hair, the light colored
eyes and hair, the thin lips and noses, the milky skin). Now fully mature
at 18, the slave displayed all the features of the new breed and, being a
bred slave, had been trained since birth.

     The dealer from Kiev brought his speciality: a round-faced sturdily
built brownish blond male with good musculature, massive pecs, outlined abs
highlighting a very small waist, a muscled bubble butt above massive
thighs, a long, thick circumcised penis, and bright blue eyes.  His slave
was well into his twenties and was fully mature, had a back and rump
noticeably scarred from rigorous training sessions indicating he had been
hard to break, and was fitted with several 'control' devices: a large ring
through his left tit, a leash ring fitted around his balls, a heavy thick
iron collar, and, even more prominent than his deeply burnt brands on his
right pec and left butt, a thick 3" nose leash ring fitted through his
septum. The slave's face featured high cheek bones, thin lips and thick,
heavy eye lashes. Other than the beautiful, shiny hair on his head, he
seemed to be naturally hairless save a small wisp under each arm and an
even smaller wisp right above his genitals. He was kept well oiled, so his
golden skin simply glowed under the light.

*****

     All five guests arrived as scheduled late Friday afternoon, each with
their house gift uncaged and walking behind them leashed.  Each had been
decorated for the event: Jamil's blond wore the red velvet bow around his
genitals; the black stud from New York had a "Thank You" card attached to
his slave collar just as the Nigerian's gift had a similar card attached to
his nose ring.  The bred slave from Mississippi was presented singing a
charming ditty "Welcome to my body," which was cute and clever.  The blond
slave from Kiev bowed upon presentation and handed the end of his genital
leash to his master's host, Geoffrey Bowers.

     "You didn't need to bring any house gifts," Geoffrey protested.
"They're all splendid specimens, but really.... .no gifts were expected or
needed."

     "Nonsense," the Nigerian dealer said.  "It's customary in the trade to
always give a small sample of your wares to a good customer."

     "Indeed," the Mississippi breeder added.  "For every 10 we sell, we
give one away now and then.  Helps the business in the long run.  People
don't buy unless they have some idea of what they're going to get for the
big bucks."

     "Well, you embarrass me with your generosity, guys.  But, I guess I'm
forced to give you my parting gifts now in this case.  I was going to give
them to you when you left Sunday, but I think I'll do it now.  Don't worry,
I'll put them back into their holding cages until you're ready to leave."
With that, Geoffrey, issued an order to his slave steward who appeared
within 90 seconds with five gorgeous black slaves - all naked save their
slave collars; all beautifully built; all exceptionally handsome; and all
magnificently equipped.  They were all primed to show hard and once into
the room, bowed to their master, and then immediately went into a 'display'
position with pelvis thrust out, legs wide spread, and hands behind their
head.  Remarkably, they were all within five pounds of each other and were
exactly the same height and general build.  Even their penises and balls
seemed identical in size and structure.

     "I was going to have you pick from my stock for your gift, but decided
it was more polite to pick them myself.  Therefore, they're all practically
alike as you can see and all are trained to perfection so I doubt you'll be
disappointed with them either in or out of bed.  My steward has the
transfer of ownership papers all prepared with your names all filled in.
Once you've looked your little farewell gift over, the steward will take
them to your suite for the duration of your visit, or place them in their
holding cell again - whichever you want."

     The guests looked their gifts over carefully, all being experienced at
assessing human flesh, and then announced, almost in unison, "Great gift,
Geoffrey, but like you said, hardly necessary.  But since you've obviously
planned this out, long in advance, place them in our rooms.  We'll pack
them up when we leave.  It will give us something to remember our visit."

     "Indeed," Geoffrey said.  "Steward, deliver these slaves to the
appropriate suites."  Turning to the newly gifted slaves, he admonished
them "Make sure you make my guests as happy as they've ever been.  Although
you belong to them now, I surely don't intend for you to embarrass my
hospitality in any way."

     "Yes, master," the five slaves said, their eyes submissively to the
ground, not yielding to the temptation to study their new owners at this
point.

     "Steward," Geoffrey continued as he turned to the five slaves just
given to him as house gifts, "take these new slaves up to my own quarters
and make them ready for my use tonight when I retire.  By morning, I should
be able to report to my guests as to their performance."

     "Yes, master," the steward said humbly as he quickly gathered up the
gift slave's leashes and jerked them away along with the five his master
had given to the weekend guests.  All ten slaves and the steward padded
silently out of the room.

     "Dinner at 8 after you've had a chance to freshen up.  Each of your
suites is equipped with two body slaves as well as the slave I just gave
you and all of them are fully trained to offer you the pleasures of their
bodies after such a long and tiring trip.  Dress is casual here - wear
anything you like or nothing if you prefer.  Doesn't matter, but it's
always wise to wear at least a little something so no one confuses you with
the slaves who I keep butt naked all the time save for their collars and
body fittings.  Dinner will be served, of course, but you'll have a variety
of choices, so don't feel you have to eat anything not to your exact
liking.  Dinner will give us a chance to relax and get to know each other a
little better."

     At that time, 10 very good looking naked slaves edged into the room,
each with a suite number attached to their collar.  "Pick a number and the
slaves will show you to your suite.  The suites are all alike so just pick
one.  The steward will make arrangements for any luggage you brought to be
delivered to your room if he hasn't done so already..  The pool is right
outside your suite if you would like to take a little dip.  If you have any
questions, the body slaves assigned to your suite can answer any questions,
I'm sure, as well as provide any refreshments or services you might prefer
at this time.  See you at dinner, gentlemen, 8 o'clock sharp."

*******
     All five slaves just given as housegifts to Geoffrey Bowers were now
in their new master's own suite, each fastened by their leashes to the
convenient wall hooks located throughout the apartment. They welcomed the
rest since during the trip here, their former masters had used them
practically non-stop.  Each slave's ass was sore as well as their jaws and
throat - both parts of their body had been stretched repeatedly during the
journey to this island retreat.  But now, of course, they had been flushed
out and relubed so they suspected it wouldn't be long until their new
master had a go at them.

     "Never been just given away as a gift," the Greek slave initiated
conversation with the other leashed slaves. "Always been sold off at
auction before and," he paused, "always brought a damn good price if I do
say so myself."

     "We're mighty lavish gifts," the Nigerian slave responded.  "My former
master, the dealer that brought me here, paid $400,000 for this slave's
body.  That's some gift if anyone asks me!"

     "Well, no one asking a slave anything, I imagine," the blond Slav
laughed, "but that's the same price I brought at the Kiev auction. If we're
all worth about the same, and from the looks of things I would say that's
about right since we're all what the dealers call 'prime meat,' there's
over $2 million dollars worth of slave leashed to the wall here.  That's
one hell of a gift.  Who is our new master anyway?  Must be someone awfully
important to warrant gifts like that."

     "Yeah, but did you get a look at those slaves he gave them?" the New
York black slave asked.  "Each one I saw looked like they'd price out as
high as us - maybe even higher.  Looks to me our previous masters got back
about as good as they gave."  Looking around at the three light colored
slaves, he added, "At least if you like black slaves."

     "Big market in blacks," the Mississippi boy said.  "The farm I'm at -
that's about all they produce."

     The blond Slav laughed. "Blacks in Kiev are a sensation.  They sell as
fast as they arrive and usually bring in a good $100,000 to $200,000
surcharge over we white boys.  I don't know why - we Slavs are just as well
built from what I've seen.  I suppose it the novelty of a body covered in
black hide and those big thick lips that are good for sucking, maybe. I'm
surprised they haven't tried to dye some of us Slavs black to get the
premium price."

     The Greek slave interjected.  "Well, we weren't given away to just
look pretty I bet.  My guess is we're going to have to prove our worth
before the night is over although my ass is sore as hell just from the trip
here."

     The Nigerian looked down at the band around his balls his leash was
attached to. "That dealer that brought me played with my balls all the way
here and they're sore as hell.  I just hope my new master decides to play
with some other part of me - even playing with my nose ring would be a
relief at this point."

     The black slave from New York asked the slave from Mississippi, "Are
you really a black boy like they claimed - just made to look white?"

     "They're going to sell us as 'white niggers' but one of the breeders
told me we weren't anything really but a bunch of 'octoroons.'  I didn't
know what that was, but I heard another breeder tell some potential buyer
that an 'octoroon' was 1/8th black and 7/8ths white.  Of course, we're
special bred to retain some of the dominant black traits buyers prefer like
muscular physiques and big dicks."

     "Any of you born free?" the blond Slav asked, "or you bred for the
market like me?"

     "I was free once," the New York black responded.  "Up until about a
year ago when I was taken off the streets and sent to this place called the
Stockyards that trained me to be a slave."

     "Me too," the Nigerian black said.  "I was kidnapped from my home
village about six months ago and sold to the dealer for training.  Happens
all the time in my country.  Hard to stay free if you're worth anything on
the open market. Dealer told me, if it wasn't for the slave exports, my
country would be in bad shape economically."

     "I think it's easier to be a slave if you were just born into it," the
New York black ventured.  "We free-born slaves have a hard time adjusting
to slavery and it involves a lot of punishment before we get broken to it.
You bred slaves never have to be broken - you never thought of yourselves
as anything but slaves from day one.  Makes it a lot easier I'd think.  I
bet you don't have to be beaten half to death before you accept what you
are."

     "We're got the advantage there," the Greek slave said.  "You won't see
any scars on my back and rump from being broken," he laughed.  "I was
broken the day I was born, I guess."

     All conversation stopped as their new master arrived along with two
strikingly handsome body slaves.  The new slaves jerked into display
positions as was appropriate when in the presence of their master.

     "I'm going to rest a while and won't be sampling what you have to
offer me until after dinner tonight.  But while I'm resting, it won't hurt
for you to offer a little demonstration of your talent with each other
while my body slaves are bathing and massaging me.  Black and white will be
the theme so I want to see the Ukrainian boy fucked by the black from New
York; the white nigger fucked by the Nigerian, and you, Greek boy, will be
fucked by my black body slave here that isn't massaging me at the moment.
Boys," he addressed his body slaves, "get these new slaves unleashed and
down on their hands and knees where I can see them fucking."

     With that command, the five new slaves were unleashed and properly
positioned and, for the next half hour, along with one of the black body
slaves, put on a show for their new master's amusement.  Those being fucked
squirmed and groaned as their sore asses were once again invaded but their
moans were quickly matched by the panting of those fucking them.  After the
black slaves had emptied their loads into the quivering white asses beneath
them, the couples were ordered to reverse their positions and the whole
procedure started off again, this time whites pistoning sore black asses
until they too collapsed on their partners back, spent after a complete
discharge well up the black's chutes.

     "Nice show," their new master said as he turned to his primary body
slave.  "Leash them back to the wall for now, but after you've bathed and
dressed me and I'm at dinner, bathe the lot of them inside and out and give
them a good lubing.  I want them fresh for my bed tonight."

     "Yes, master," both black body slaves said in genuflexion before their
master with their foreheads touching the floor, the new slave gifts aptly
impressed by this novel symbol of total submission to their current owner.

*****

     Geoffrey and his guests enjoyed the dinner that night at the Oceanum
estate.  It was served by a corp of beautiful naked blacks who never
spilled a drop, were always instantaneously attentive to the guest's needs,
and presented themselves provocatively so that the guests knew they could
use their bodies at any time if they so desired.  The food was exquisite in
both taste and presentation.

     "Don't be shy in using the waiters for your enjoyment," Geoffrey
urged, reaching out and grabbing a nearby waiter's dripping erect shaft and
stroking it suggestively.  They enjoy sucking or taking a good fuck.  Or
perhaps you'd enjoy having the waiters provide a little warm sauce to go
with your meal," as he wiped a drop of pre-cum off the end of the waiter's
now quivering shaft.  "Some of us like fresh cum as a condiment with our
meat and vegetables." That said, he demonstrated with the waiter in hand
and, within a minute, had a large amount of steaming fresh cum on his plate
right next to some jumbo shrimp.  "Perfect as a cocktail sauce," he said as
he dipped one of the shrimp into the frothy white cum and the drained
waiter, head bowed appropriately, stepped back behind his owner.

     With that encouragement, all of the guests took the black waiter
standing beside them and milked out some sauce for their plate as the
donating slaves arched their backs and moaned in the throes of orgasm.  But
none of the guests used any of the waiters to suck them or ordered the
waiters into a position to be fucked.

     "Why not fuck some of my slaves?  If you don't like the looks of this
batch, there are plenty more, perhaps more to your liking," Geoffrey
pleaded.

     "It's those damn autopilots, Geoffrey," the dealer from New York
blurted out laughing.

     "I beg your pardon, Sidney," Geoffrey arched his eyebrows.  "Did you
say autopilots?"

     "Autopilots," the dealer said again.  "With a modern autopilot on our
planes and boats, we're free to use the stock we brought with us.
Personally, I'm completely fucked out after the long trip and I imagine
that gift I just gave you is mighty sore in the ass," he laughed.

     "Yes," the Nigerian dealer added, "we never claimed the gifts were
virginal.  The boy I gave you could hardly walk off the boat by the time we
got here."

     "Nor mine," the Ukrainian dealer laughed.

     "I tested out the stamina of the new white nigger line myself," the
Mississippi breeder laughed.  "I'm well satisfied in that their stamina is
better than mine although," looking at the other dealers, "his ass is
mighty sore as well as his throat."

     "Perhaps you'll recover enough to enjoy my gifts to you after dinner,"
Geoffrey suggested.

     "Not a chance, Geoffrey," the Ukrainian dealer responded.  "None of
us, I would guess, will get around to that until tomorrow night at best,
but my best guess is that we won't really try them out until on the trip
home. It will give us something to thank you for on the way home."

     "Well, just as well, I suppose.  But in this recovery period of yours,
please feel free to sample anything that strikes your fancy.  They're all
available to you as my guests at any time."

     "That's what I call real hospitality, Geoffrey," the Nigerian dealer
exclaimed.  "Staying here could spoil me."

     "That's what Oceanum is all about - spoiling you," Geoffrey laughed.

     As each of the guests began enjoying the new condiment with their
shrimp, the conversation slowed down until each was completely full on the
delicacies offered flavored with the delicious cum sauce.  Twice the cum
sauce had to be replenished, but the attending slaves seemed to be
unperturbed as additional loads were pumped out of them.

     But eventually the talk turned to their main enterprise - the slave
trade - and before the evening was over, Geoffrey had a clear idea of types
of slaves available, the current prices, future supplies, and how the trade
was rapidly expanding due to ever increasing demand.  It was clear he
wasn't the only person around with the means and inclination to enjoy the
availability of slaves in today's world.

     As the guests began stirring in preparation to leave to their
individual suites, Geoffrey outlined the next day's tentative schedule.
"Tomorrow, assuming you'll all be getting up rather late, we can enjoy a
leisurely brunch at this same spot and then I'd like to invite you to see
some of the operations here if you're interested."

     They all nodded they would be and that the schedule sounded fine so
far.

     "I thought we could have a drive-by through the farming and fishing
operations in my slave-powered rickshaws which are a lot of fun and then
have a look-see of the sperm packaging operation that has turned out to be
so profitable, my own slave chow production facility manned entirely by
slave labor, and, finally, the cum sauce canning operation being marketed
under the "Oceanum" label.  By the time that's over, it will be time to
dine again, and by then, I figure you'll be eager to try out those
attendants assigned to your suites.  On Sunday, another late brunch, a
showing of all my stock so you can get some idea of future needs here, and
then I'd like to pump your brains about buying some white slaves if you
don't mind.  Then we'll get you off in plenty of time with your slave gifts
all cleansed, shaved, and lubed for your use on the long trip home and a
nice little picnic lunch packed on their back if you happen to get
hungry. "

     "Perfect," the five guests clapped their hands in unison.  "Sounds
perfect."

     With that, each guest went to their own suite, and Geoffrey began the
evening by unleashing the Nigerian boy just given him and taking the black
boy to his bed for a thorough fucking with the boy on his back and his legs
up over his shoulders.  After playing with his tits extensively as he shot
a big load up the boy's stretched chute, he then drifted off into a deep
sleep as his hands massaged the black slave's big heavily banded balls.
The other 'gifts' slept on the floor still chained to the wall by their
leashes knowing their time would come.

******

     Brunch went extremely well and all the guests looked refreshed from
their night's sleep.  As they finished eating, a fleet of six rickshaws
appeared at the side entrance to the dining hall, each powered by a
massively muscled black slave with a bright gold ring in his nose outfitted
in full leather harnesses across his chest, his wrist bands locked to the
pull stalks of the rickshaw, his huge genitals tightly banded to not only
project them outward but prevent them from flopping around between his
legs, and an eager look on his smiling face.  Each rickshaw was brightly
colored with a leather upholstered seat and a matching leather slave whip
in a holder to one side.

     "We'll use these rickshaws to get us around the estate," Geoffrey
explained.  "The slaves won't mind a little encouragement at times,"
Geoffrey laughed as he took one of the whips out of its holder and slashed
it through the air.  "In fact, they sort of expect it," he added as he
lashed the rump of the first harnessed slave in line who yelped from the
pain but never moved an inch. "Hear the pony whinny?" he asked as he again
lashed the slave and again the slave yelped which did, in fact, resemble
the whinny of a horse.

*****

     Geoffrey led the way to the first destination, the sperm production
and packaging facility since the morning production schedule was underway
at that time enabling the visitors to see the operation first hand.  Once
there, Geoffrey explained the operation to a most interested audience.

     "The Black Impregnator" packets of fresh frozen sperm were a big hit
from the very beginning, probably due to their clever packaging in their
large plastic disposable dildos with a plunger at the end.  The dildos are
8x3 so most slave women can handle them easily but still got a kick out of
their insertion; they are molded to exactly resembly a big black
circumcised penis in full erection; they are preloaded with enough fresh
frozen semen to insure a good impregnation' and theycome complete with a
plunger at the end which made sure all that semen is shot well up into the
receptive vagina.  Instructions with each pack include directions on
exactly when to insert the dildo based on time of month, body temperature,
hormonal readings; how to pump the dildo into the slave woman to stimulate
her ovaries; exactly when to hit the plunger based on the woman's clitoral
and vaginal lip swelling as well as her breathing rate, and how to test for
success after 24 hours.  Each kit includes a "reload" package in case the
first administration has been unsuccessful or the timing hadn't been right.
The kit even includes a coupon for a another free packet if all
instructions had been followed to the letter and no pregnancy had occurred
in a slave woman who has been proven fertile, has been administered the kit
at just the right time, has produced at least one child prior to this
administration; is in excellent health, and is in the 18 to 26 age range
considered prime for breeding. The "Black Impregnator"'s warranty is seldom
invoked, and ever increasing sales indicate it works.  Breeding slaves like
the product is they're not going to be allowed to fuck a real life in-house
stud, and the sperm itself is highly desirable - most owners want a big,
handsome, strong, well equipped, and sturdy slave to market in 16 or 17
years down the line regardless of their sex or exact color.  A lot of
breeders, it seems, want slaves these days to have at least some black
blood in them, but the biggest market for "The Black Impregnator" kits are
the huge Saudi Arabian breeding farms.  They never quibble as to the price
of the kits and have a standing order for at least 80% of the current
production.  It is, they claim, much cheaper than keeping studs in
residence and offers them a greater variety of genes.  As you are probably
aware, my friends, Saudi breeders have experienced many problems with
inbreeding their slaves in the past where brothers were paired with
sisters, sons with mothers, etc., through poor record keeping and sloppy
management.  The results have been too many cases of poor product quality.
The imported "Black Impregnator" kits, drawn from the output of thousands
of slaves from around the world, has eliminated that problem entirely as
well as practically insured bettering the breed in terms of size, stamina,
and appearance over the years.  Now, every 'outdoor' slave on the island
here is jerked off morning and evening by a fellow slave (Oceanum slaves
aren't allowed to touch themselves) into the small plastic tubes that are
quickly inserted into the dildos and then instantly flash-frozen for
preservation. The slaves you see here being milked love it - it's their
only sexual outlet usually so they really look forward to their twice a day
milking.  My 'indoor' slaves aren't milked for this operation.  I want them
hard up and dripping in need at all times for a good showing around the
manor house and, if I or my guests don't drain them, eventually we use them
for the cum sauce production which is done at another separate facility
right in the basement of the manor house.  The "Black Impregnator" is
providing a good steady income now, gentlemen.

     "How big, Geoffrey?" the Mississippi breeder asked, "if I may ask?"

     "Four to five million a year in sales," Geoffrey replied with a big
smile.  "You think, in a typical prison, more than that goes down the drain
every week. And how much of that precious seed do you dealers see spilled
on the floor every time you're showing off your stock to prospective
buyers?"  The secret is to get it packaged and on the market."

     "You're right, Geoffrey.  In the Ukraine, we tend to pen our stock
together in big holding cages and every night the dealers there encourage
the stock to play around with each other to keep them calm and manageable.
Imagine what we could get if we harvested that crop of seed each night
instead of watching them fuck and suck each other?  We could probably up
our profits 10 to 20 percent."

     "Probably," Geoffrey conceded, "although I'm not sure about the market
for the seed out of white slaves."

     "I'm not either, Geoffrey, but you know damn well some breeder
somewhere would pay a good price for it if he wanted light-skinned
outputs. Up until now, I think they just buy a white stud and put him to it
round the clock.  But all that does is produce a bunch of half brothers and
sisters and eventually, you're going to run into genetic problems.  I'm
going to look into it when I get home.  No use in all those Slavic slaves
thinking they can just shoot off any time they damn please every night in
the pens.  Might as well turn that to my profit."

     "That's my point," Geoffrey said, smiling.

*****

     The slaves pulling the rickshaws were scheduled to be milked by sperm
packaging plant attendants while they were standing shackled to their
conveyances and this was now in progress as the guests returned.  They
watched the huge blacks buck and heave in their shackles as the sperm was
pumped out of them by the well trained hands of the attendants.

     "Ever have a slave balk at being milked like this?" the New York
dealer asked.

     "No.  They look forward to it.  It's their only way to unload so
they're always eager to get milked," Geoffrey replied.  "Besides, black
male slaves basically see themselves as sperm machines anyway."

     The enormous blacks were flaccid by the time the guests again climbed
in and lashed the slaves across the rump to get them started. After the
slaves had been brought up to a brisk pace, they broke into a heavy, but
becoming sweat throughout their body, and their breathing turned into a
rhythmic panting.  The guests went through miles of farming and
construction sites fairly quickly at this pace, witnessing hundreds of
naked slaves working in gangs under the heavy lash of an overseer. They
marveled at the universal display of magnificent musculature, splendid
shiny black physiques, and unresisting cooperation with their overseers in
working to the utmost of their capacity under the motivation of the ever
present whip biting into their backs and rumps.  Although milked just a few
a short time before, most sported hard-ons sporadically as they built up
another huge load in their balls for the evening milking.  Most of the
slaves, overseers and workers alike, smiled and waved as the entourage went
zooming by in their slave-powered rickshaws.

     When they circled for a rest stop, Geoffrey explained the farming
operations carefully and pointed out that production was fully
self-sustaining, about 98% going into the production of slave chow (all
that was needed for Oceanum plus plenty left over for a most profitable
export) and 2% of the highest quality reserved for use in the manor house.
The fishery was even more profitable in that only 15% of the worst quality
was needed for local consumption (it was the main protein ingredient of the
slave chow produced) with the remainder all frozen and sold in European
markets. The exceptional catch was reserved for the manor house. Slaves and
their overseers working in the fishery usually stunk to high heaven but it
didn't matter even to them in that they soon got used to it and didn't even
smell each other in that they were kept segregated most of the time, even
the times they were milked for their sperm. Geoffrey pointed out that
slaves were ideally suited to working in fisheries or other situations
where smell was a real problem, like tanneries, chemical factories, or
garbage dumps, in that, first, they had no choice in the matter of where
they worked; second, they could not quit like so often happened in the free
world; and third, their naked bodies could easily be washed off as
necessary.  They did have to be well fed with slave chow, though, if you
didn't want them sneaking off and eating part of the catch.  Geoffrey
related a tale of where an owner thought it unnecessary to feed slaves
working in a fishery in that they could just eat what was left over from
the canning operations, i.e., the entrails, heads, tails, etc.  The slaves,
once hungry enough, did eat all the scrap as was expected, but soon
developed all sorts of skin and disease problems.  Turns out the diet was
so unbalanced the slaves all died off within the year and he had to replace
them with a whole new batch.  He didn't change his ways until eight batches
of slaves later when a visitor suggested their diet might have something to
do with their short life span rather than their natural obstinance or the
lack of enough lashes with the bull whip.

     "Live and learn," the Ukrainian dealer laughed.  "I wouldn't of
thought of it myself."

     "Yes," the Nigerian dealer said, "I admit I usually turn to the whip
when I encounter problems with slaves.  It usually is the answer, of
course, but in this case, you've made your point, Geoffrey."

     "Oh, I don't discredit the essential usefulness of a strong whip,"
Geoffrey laughed.

     "I didn't think so, going by what we just witnessed in your farming
and construction operations," the New York dealer chuckled.  "Those
overseers must go through a whip a day at the rate they were going, and
those slave's hides must be more leather than skin anymore to take the whip
as well as they do."

     "With the new Mylar whips, you don't have to worry about tearing up
their backs and rumps like you used to," the Ukrainian added helpfully.
"Nowadays, you can whip the hell out of them and hardly ever break the
hide.  But it hurts even worse, I understand, so the work output goes up.
A wonderful invention."

     "We use nothing but Mylar anymore here at Oceanum," Geoffrey said
proudly.  "Except when we want to hear the sound of a good bull whip in
action.  Nothing like it, really, Mylar or not.  The sound alone is
instructive with some stock, I've found, when you're breaking them."

     "Well, breaking them is one thing.  Motivating them to work harder is
something else, and there, Mylar is the clear winner," the Nigerian dealer
said.  "But like you, Geoffrey, we still like the bullwhip, judiciously
used, for the initial breaking of a new boy into his slavehood.  Like you
say, it's the sound that stays with them forever, not just the terrible
pain."

     The slave bearers were all breathing normally again, so the six
continued their tour of the estate in their rickshaws.  Every aspect of the
fishing and fish packaging operations were viewed directly from the
rickshaws where they could position themselves upwind to avoid the smell.
Again the slaves and their overseers took a moment to smile and wave at the
infrequent sight of visitors breaking the routine of their work.  As usual,
the guests marveled at the magnificent specimens of naked manhood paraded
in front of them in their backbreaking tasks. They noted that despite the
stench and smell, the slaves all, to a man, looked exceptionally healthy
and happy.

     The next stop was only a short distance away - the slave chow factory.
There about 30 naked slaves under the watchful eye of whip-yielding
overseers were busily making the island's main food supply.  An assortment
of vegetables and fish stock was being fed into huge grinders powered by
slaves chained directly to a grind wheel with whips constantly urging them
on to greater efforts.  Coming out of the other end was a thick paste like
substance to which other slaves were adding liquid vitamins, a low grade
antibiotic, and herbal supplements.  After a thorough stirring by yet other
slaves, the stinking substance was spread out onto huge metal sheets and
placed in a large continuous oven by a team of sweating slaves where it was
baked hard within 10 minutes in the intense heat. As soon as it emerged
from the hot ovens, the smell had been baked away, and another group of
slaves cut the meal into bite sized chucks before it was packaged into 100
pound bags by yet another team.  As the group watched, many of the slaves
doing the mixing wretched from the horrible smell before it was baked, but
their vomit just became part of the mixture. And one of the slaves, placed
in the back breaking task of pulling the grinding wheels, collapsed in a
pool of vomit despite the rain of cutting whips on his back and had to be
temporarily replaced.

     "What's your output, Geoffrey?" the Ukrainian dealer asked.

     "About five times as much as we consume.  We make some money off
exporting the product, although slave chow, as you know, has a pretty low
markup. It's so cheap now, you really can't charge much for it, but it sure
keeps slave maintenance costs down."

     "I'm always amazed that it smells so god awful until its baked.  But
using fish waste as the source of protein really makes it stink.  I see
some of the slaves can't stand it no matter how long they've been assigned
here.  I thought they'd get use to it after a while, but it doesn't look
that way," the Mississippian laughed.

     "We rotate the slaves around from job to job so they only have to work
at the stinking jobs about a third of the time.  Otherwise, we'd lose them
to malnutrition - slaves don't eat when they're vomiting from the stench,"
he smiled.  "So you mix it for a few hours, then you help bake it, then
back to the grinding wheel for a while, then you are packaging it.  That
way you're only sick part of each day and can eat up your own product the
rest of the time."

     "Clever, Geoffrey.  They all look as healthy as a horse.  Of course, I
notice it takes a steady whip to keep them focused on their work and their
backs look pretty sore.  Thank God for those Mylar whips once again of
those boys backs would be in shreds. All that screaming from the whips does
break up the monotony of the noise of the grinding wheels though."

     "Your chow seems to work well enough.  All of your stock practically
glows with good health, Geoffrey," the Nigerian said.  "Of course, slave
chow formulae are pretty standardized by now - its hard to go wrong with
most any brand as long as they don't skimp on the protein base.  Biggest
problem I see with slave's I get in is where their previous owners have fed
them table scraps or just make them swill on garbage.  That's a quick road
to skin troubles and ultimately damaging diseases.  False economy.
Especially with good quality slave chow as cheap as it is.  Of course,
slaves always want table scraps for the taste.  But why should owners cater
to their need for something with a little taste.  They're just livestock,
after all!  Some owners forget that because slaves look like free men that
doesn't mean they should eat like them."

     "Exactly," the New York dealer chimed in. "I feed nothing but
name-brand slave chow to my stock and strongly recommend it to my
customers. Feeding them anything else just leads to a lot of trouble down
the line and spoils them in the process."

     "Well, the formula we make here works well for us, but, frankly, it's
the same formula used world wide," Geoffrey said.  "Let's get on with our
tour in that slave chow production isn't the most exciting thing to look at
and I'd hate for us to get downwind from the smell.  It would ruin our
lunch."

     The rickshaws now began the long haul to the manor house and before
long, the guests were speeding along the smooth road at a remarkable pace
considering they were drawn by just one slave each, powerful and sturdy as
he was.  The route took them along the seashore and the smooth white sands,
wavering palms, and blue green water was breathtakingly beautiful,
especially collimated with the human beauty of the shiny black skin of
their handsome bearers, slick with sweat and with muscles bulging in their
efforts.  Within 40 minutes, they were back at the slave quarters adjoining
the Manor house and were quickly led down into a large lower level where
scores of naked slaves were masturbating into small sealable plastic cups.

     "The house slaves, unlike the field slaves we just visited earlier,
are allowed to jerk themselves off when given permission so they don't have
to pair up for a milking.  What we do here is take the slaves that, for one
reason or another, haven't been drained for at least 12 hours and have them
deposit a load of fresh cum for our condiment and sauce production facility
here.  Once their full output is in the little sterile plastic container
you see them holding in front of the shaft they're pumping, it is
irradiated to insure freshness, vacuum sealed, labeled "Oceanum Special
Sauce" and then shipped out all over the world.  It's marketed now in a lot
of gourmet shops around the world as well as available through the internet
and is used by a number of the best five-star restaurants in the world as a
condiment.  It sells for $30 a packet so the price is about in line with
Russian caviar, but we have no trouble marketing it at that price. It has a
shelf life of over three years once it's irradiated, and most people who
use the product don't have the slightest idea of what it is or where it
comes from.  All they know is it is different, delicious, slightly salty,
has a tangy, undefinable taste, and it is expensive and hard to find.
That's all it takes to create a fad, and right now, the special sauce is a
real fad and I imagine we could get twice what we charge if we wanted to.
With the house slaves, about a fourth of them get drained through other
usage at least once a day, but three-fourths of them don't and from them,
we're getting a clear $60 a day output just from their balls alone. If we
didn't milk them down here regularly, we'd lose all that extra profit.  Of
course, now, every time I see a slave shoot off from playing with him
upstairs in the manor, I think of that $30 we're losing by not packaging
it, but, what the hell, you can't always think of profit or you wouldn't
have paid so much for all those gorgeous bodies to start with.  You could
have bought up slaves costing half as much if all you wanted was to get
some work done economically."

     The guests watched the assembled slaves shooting off into the small
white plastic cups one by one, to be quickly replaced by yet another batch
of slaves already stroking their pricks into full erection for the upcoming
orgasm.

     "They don't seem to mind contributing to the cause," the Ukrainian
dealer said, "anymore than I find slaves seem to mind much being jerked off
by prospective buyers.  I suppose slaves appreciate the chance to unload,
no matter whether it's into a customer's hands or those little plastic
cups."

     "You wouldn't mind either if that's the only way you could get off,"
Geoffrey laughed.  "Around here, it is.  Unless, of course, you're lucky
enough to get chosen to please your master or one of his guests, and the
odds of that, with all the slaves I have in the manor house, is about one
in twenty, I imagine, even if I'm horny as hell and the house if full of
guests equally horny."

     "I'm sure they appreciate the opportunity," the Mississippi breeder
said.  "At my place, some of the studs aren't allowed to unload for months
at a time and go around hard and dripping constantly with need written on
their faces around the clock.  Kind of pitiful, really, but you've got to
let stud slaves know you're in control at all times.  Essential in the
breeding business you know."

     Jamil added, "I'm finding that in my small breeding operation getting
the studs under control is most of my problem.  The brood slaves don't'
seem to mind who they're mated with or how often they're mated.  It's the
studs that get to thinking they're running the show - like a rooster in
with a bunch of chickens.  I've been letting them jerk off when I can't put
them with a brood every day, but, from what you say, that's a mistake.
Just make them hold it in, no matter how often they're put to stud, and it
shows them who's running the show?  Is that what you're saying?"

     "Precisely.  Never let a stud do anything but stud.  If you don't have
a brood for him, tough shit.  He'll just wait until you do, even if it's
next year.  That's your prerogative as his owner and don't let him forget
it.  He's your property to do with as you see fit, after all," the
Mississippi breeder said sternly.  "Otherwise, you'll soon have a strutting
popinjay on your hands that thinks he's entitled to unload whenever he
wants."

     "This visit is proving most informative, Geoffrey," he smiled, "just
as you predicted."

     "I want each of you to grab two or three of those little white
containers all sealed up as a souvenir you can throw in your suitcase.  You
won't need it for supper tonight.  We'll have plenty of studs on hand to
furnish it to us fresh."

     "I'm about ready for a little nap," the Nigerian ventured.

     "I wasn't thinking of napping so much as fucking," the Mississippi
breeder laughed.  "Those attendants you have provided in our suites are
irresistable."

     "And I was thinking a while ago of how good it would feel to have a
pair of soft black lips wrapped around my own shaft," the Ukrainian smiled.

     "Well, then," Geoffrey said.  "I'll see you a dinner around 8 tonight.
Dress any way you want, of course, and I'll make sure we have some
interesting waiters on hand.  See you then," as he led them out of the cum
packaging facility and up to the entrance of the main manor house and their
own suites.  Each of the guests had two or three little white plastic
containers in the palm of their hands, each marked "Oceanum's Special
Sauce."  They obviously loved the idea of a novel souvenir of their visit
in addition, of course, to the handsome living and breathing naked black
slave they would be taking back with them.

*****

     Dinner that night was a repeat of the night before, except the naked
waiters were, as promised, different.  But different only in small details.
Their main features were identical: splendid bodies, handsome good looks,
exceptional genitals, and a willingness to please that was
unparalleled. Despite the heavy action in the guests' suites that
afternoon, three of the waiters were fucked, other waiters sucked two more
of the guests off, and almost every slave in the dining room was fondled
and played with throughout the meal until their balls and tits were swollen
and sore.  At one point, Geoffrey ordered five of the slaves to fuck
another five standing in attendance, and this led to bets being placed on
"first to orgasm" and "slowest to shoot off" among those order to fuck, and
"first to get an erection" and "first to shoot off" among those being
fucked.  Following this, they had a fresh batch of slaves suck each other
off and then had them reverse roles, but only after measuring the exact
length of erect pricks and careful weighing of balls fully aroused.  By the
time of the dessert course, Geoffrey served cum-flavored ice cream, a house
speciality, topped with, you guessed it - hot cum sauce directly from the
ever eager waiters who hadn't been used up to that point.

     "Thirty bucks a topping," Jamil exclaimed as he took his first
spoonful.  "Makes it taste all the better."

     "Well, Jamil," Geoffrey said as he ordered another fresh black slave
over next to him.  "My sundae going up to $60," as he motioned for the
young slave to start pumping his shaft to deliver a fresh load of hot cum
onto his ice cream.

     Everyone laughed, but followed his example, and soon five more slaves
were pumping a fresh load out of their balls to add another layer of hot
cum to the sundaes.

     After dinner, all retired to their suites and again, the furnished
slave attendants were pressed into full action to please their master's
guests.  Within two hours, every slave in a suite had been fucked in his
ass or his mouth (usually both), and most had been so stimulated they had
emptied their own balls in the process.

*****

     At the Sunday morning late brunch, Geoffrey had arranged for a full
viewing of his slave stock as the guests enjoyed their meal.  Arranged in
cadres of 20 slaves each, the overseers marched them group by group by the
diners, each group chained together by their neck collars and prancing in
full display position under the direction of the swishing Mylar whips of
the overseers who themselves preened and displayed themselves in the
procession. The hundreds and hundreds of smiling black slaves, each freshly
body shaved, coated with oil, and shining in the sun, made an impressive
sight with their magnificent muscular physiques, their handsome good looks,
and their semi-erect massive sexual organs dripping with pre-cum since
their milking had been delayed until after the display.  It was obvious to
everyone present that Geoffrey Bowers was an excellent judge of slave
flesh, especially black animals, and that he could afford to buy up the
best of the lot.

     When the parade was over and the slaves had gone back to their regular
work assignments, Geoffrey solicited his guests' reflections on where the
slave trade was headed and any advice they might have on the purchase of
white slaves.  He urged them to play with the naked attending waiters while
doing so.

     "White slave are basically no different than black slaves," the New
York dealer started out. "It's the training they've had; not their color.
I do think, Geoffrey, that blacks have nicer complexions overall, but it's
a bunch of crap about blacks being hung heavier or being better built.
Whites on a carefully controlled diet shape up just as well in the physique
department and there are plenty of heavy hung whites in the markets.  On
the other hand, as you can see for yourself all around you here, blacks
have nice rounded butts on the whole and generally have good lips for
sucking.  But if you want some blond or red hair, blue or green eyes -
you're generally going to have to go for white slaves.  As far as sexual
drive, that's all a matter of training.  Bred slaves are generally better
at getting it up and being totally uninhibited in bed. They've never been
exposed to all that sexual guilt and inhibitions that free men stick to.
You ever see a bred slave try to cover himself?  Of course not!  It never
occurs to them they have any privacy.  But you have to break a free man of
that nasty little habit when they're first enslaved.  Case in point!"

     "If you want some white stock around for variety, Geoffrey," the
Ukrainian dealer advised, "pick bred stock like the boy I just gave you.
White slaves like that won't disappoint you no matter what you ask of them.
A broken slave - well - there's always the chance they might start thinking
about when they were free and making choices of their own.  That's when the
resentment starts and pretty soon no whip on earth is going to get them
back to where they should be.  Stick with the bred whites unless you like
to court trouble."

     "Oh, I've had plenty of free born whites that never caused me a bit of
trouble," Jamil said.  "You've just got to let them know you own them now
and that once a slave, always a slave.  Once they understand who is master
and that being a slave is a permanent thing, they're fine.  It's all a
matter of letting them know they're no longer in charge of anything - least
of all their own destiny.  That slave I gave you is a case in point - he
was free born but that's all past history as far as he's concerned.  He'll
do anything to please you as his new master - anything at all without a
moment's thought.  Once broken - always broken if it's done right to start
with."

     "As far as the market goes," the Mississippi breeder broke in, "any
color of slave is selling briskly these days.  No matter how much we
increase the supply it never quite keeps up with the demand and that keeps
the prices high, but basically steady.  I know we're breeding five times
what we were 20 years ago and we still can sell every product we can turn
out.  Of course, each batch just keeps getting better and better as we
learn how to breed a better product and the market appreciates that."

     "More and more people are becoming aware that slaves are available if
you have the money it takes to buy one, and those same people are becoming
more aware of all the things slaves can do to make your life more
pleasant," the Mississippi breeder continued.  "Of course, the big appeal
of slaves is the ready availability of their bodies to pleasure their
owners, so there's more and more demand for good looking, sexually
appealing slaves.  The ugly work slaves of the past are actually going down
in price although there is still plenty of them available.  But we
large-scale breeders are concentrating on producing good looking well
equipped slaves that are good in bed as well as doing the jobs nobody else
wants to do, so that's where the market is headed - hard working slaves
who'll do any job but who are also appealing as a willing and eager bed
partner.  Breeders all over the world know that now and that's where
they're headed - so, black, white, yellow, or purple, slaves coming to the
markets in the near future will be big, muscular, strikingly good looking,
hung like horses, and lusty as all get out. That's the big ticket items of
the future.  The color of their hide is strictly a matter of personal
taste."

     "Your slaves here are prototypes of the future market except they're
all black," the Nigerian dealer interjected.  "You could sell some of your
stock off as breeders right now at a big profit, although milking them for
their sperm is probably even a better idea.  And selling their cum as a
speciality sauce is pure genius," he laughed.

     "Geoffrey, I must say I think you've covered all the bases.  I really
don't have much advice to give you," Jamil said. "If you want some white
slaves for variety like the boy I just gave you, give me a call and I'll
fix you up."

     "Me too," the Ukrainian dealer added.  "Like Jamil, I'm into breeding
my own now so I can control the quality."

     "Great advice, fellows, " Geoffrey said. "But its' getting late and
all good things must come to an end if you're going to get out of here when
I promised.  My steward has already transferred your luggage to your
conveyances along with the black slave I gave you whose already been
flushed out, lubed, and properly caged.  How about making this a monthly
occurrence.  I really enjoy your company as well as the good conversation."

     "You mean it?" the New York dealer gushed.  "I don't know about the
others, but I'd love it.  I think we've all learned a lot from each other."

     "A great idea," the Nigerian dealer chimed in, "and yes, you do learn
a lot.".

     "Count me in," both Jamil and the Ukrainian added.

     "Me too," the Mississippian said.  "But may I make a suggestion if we
all agree to meet again in a month with our wonderful host Geoffrey.  Let's
all bring him a nice white slave as a gift next time around if it's variety
he wants and," he winked, "Geoffrey, I expect another one of your blacks in
exchange."

     "You're on!" Geoffrey exclaimed.  "Any special requests?"

     "Speaking for all of us," Jamil joked, "I would suggest a good
looking, muscular, well built, heavy hung black with a perfect build whose
hard and dripping all the time.  Similar to every single slave on this
place that I've seen."

     "You'll get one - as long as you bring me a good looking, muscular,
well built, heavy hung white with a perfect build whose hard and dripping
all the time," Geoffrey laughed.

     The six men parted company, already looking forward to their next
visit to Oceanum.

THE END