Date: Fri, 22 Jul 2005 17:15:00 GMT
From: "anonymous4371@juno.com" <anonymous4371@juno.com>
Subject: Bates Training Center (Authoritarian)

BATES TRAINING CENTER

by Bill Smith

[Comments are always appreciated, even to let me know someone is actually
reading this making the time and effort of posting worthwhile.  Send to
anonymous4371@juno.com.  Thanks.  Bill Smith]

*****************************************************************************

    It was the first time I had ever been in a lawyer's office.  The letter
had arrived only three days ago informing me I needed to meet with a
Mr. Ashcroft Lindsley, owner of the local prestigious law firm bearing his
name. The letter only stated "concerning the matter of your great-uncle's
estate."  I was aware my great-uncle had died recently, but I had only met
the aged man twice in my life and could barely remember what he looked like
at this point, let alone what he did for a living although I was well aware
he was a community leader and highly respected throughout the Pittsburgh
community.  After receiving the letter, I phoned the law office
immediately, talked to an extremely polite male secretary, and scheduled an
appointment with Mr. Lindsley.

    I arrived at the elegant law office exactly as scheduled and was
promptly shown into Mr. Lindsley's plush office by the secretary and
introduced with my full name, Jonathan Randolph Bates.  The secretary was
worth the visit alone.  He was a slave, of course, as was most office help
these days.  His tightly fitted collar, though, was a tasteful, but
expensive, silver.  It was 3" tall which forced his handsome head into a
constant upright position, making sure you could appreciate his deep blue
eyes, his long black eyelashes, his high cheekbones, and his thick, fine
black hair tastefully cut in a short Marine-style which emphasized his
rugged jawbone and overall masculinity.  Below his collar, he wore a
skin-tight light blue T-shirt which displayed his well defined pecs and abs
along with the firm's logo and below that he had been squeezed into a pair
of light blue tights similar to a ballet dancer which fully exhibited his
muscular bubble butt and every detail of his huge basket more so than if he
had been naked.  His feet were shod in the latest fashion: slip-ons made
out of tanned jet black slave hide.  As the slave secretary served me
coffee during the brief wait for Mr. Lindsley, I could study the slave's
physique thoroughly, including his genitals which obviously swelled as he
became aware I was inspecting all aspects of his body with my eyes.  He
lifted his eyes briefly for full eye contact, letting me know in that quick
moment that he was pleased I found him worth looking at and he was
available if his master so allowed.

    "What a whore," I thought to myself, but quickly checked myself in
evaluating his motives.  After all, slaves had no choice in either their
sexual preferences or activities and simply did what they were instructed.
At least, that's what all my friends' slaves did - the only slaves I had
really paid much attention to one way or the other.  "Why is it I'm so damn
poor I can't even afford one runty slave, let alone something like the
magnificent piece of meat flaunting himself in front of me in an outfit
that seemed more revealing than if he had been butt naked?"  I pondered
silently as the slave's pleasant scent of sandalwood reached me in stooping
over to refill my coffee cup.  His swollen genitals were once again
practically thrust in my face as he assumed a stance right in front of me
with a big smile before returning to his desk. If I owned something like
that, I'd have those clothes off of him and have him bent over that desk of
his for the best fucking of his life before the slave would even know what
had happened.  Lost in the reverie of the moment, I imagined what it would
be like to thrust deeply into the boy and hear him moan as I pumped deeply
into him.  Then strangely, I wondered how the slave felt being paraded
around like this, obviously available for whatever client Mr. Lindsley
"gave" him to that particular day.  Was he embarrassed or was he long past
that?  Did he begrudge his status, or had he learned to actually enjoy
being desired and wanted?  Did he resent being fucked or whatever whenever
his master decided, having no choice of with whom or what he would be
doing, or did it matter anymore?  Is it possible he had learned to accept
his fate and actually enjoyed having a life well-ordered, reasonably
secure, with no concerns about getting enough to eat, having a roof over
his head, getting fired, getting laid, or not being able to pay all his
bills - all concerns I had to face each and every day. Was it possible that
slaves actually were the ones better off in the long haul despite having
their hides turned into shoe leather upon their death?

    My reverie ended with the secretary politely escorting me into
Mr. Lindsley's plush office and introducing me using my full formal name.

    "Jonathan Randolph Bates, master," the slave said humbly as he assumed
a kneeling position by the side of the desk, keeping his eyes on the floor
in front of him, but spreading his knees wide to fully expose his
beautifully displayed basket

    "How good of you to come in so quickly, Mr. Bates.  I assume my slave
here has offered you coffee and anything else that might add to your
comfort?" Mr. Lindsley started out, with a knowing look at the end of his
last statement.  "The slave has earned quite a reputation in seeing to my
client's personal comforts," he added as he reached down and ran his hand
through the slave's hair, similar to patting a dog.  "He rarely gets a
chance to serve a client as young as yourself and I'm sure he would delight
in the novelty of servicing you compared to his usual obligations.  Isn't
that right, Pleasure?"

    "Yes indeed, Master," the slave answered, looking up quickly at his
master and unconsciously running his tongue across his lips.  "I would love
to service the young client if you want me to, master."  Pleasure's voice
was deep, humble, soft and, surprisingly, sounded totally sincere.  I was
unaware such good looking slaves could be trained to that level but then, I
really knew very little about slaves or the training they had prior to
being placed into service.

    "Pleasure is from right here in Pittsburgh, Mr. Bates, in case you were
wondering."

    I wasn't, but found the information interesting.


    "He was sold by the Allegheny Youth Commission shortly after his trial
- a 16-year-old drug runner in the slums. After a good year of training,
the firm bought him for the office staff and I've had him almost as soon as
he arrived here from the sales barn.  He's a good secretary and almost all
my clients appreciate his other talents.  We frequently sent him out on
overnight or even weekend loans to clients who throw a lot of business our
way.  He comes back a little tired looking but I've never heard a
complaint."  He again reached down to the slave's face, lifted his chin up
and inserted a finger into the slave's mouth who promptly began vigorously
sucking on the inserted finger.  "See, even now, he's eager to go.  Damn
well trained if I do say so myself which gets to why I asked you here
today."

    "I was wondering..." I drifted off as the slave keep nosily slurping on
Mr. Lindsley's middle finger, now thrust all the way down the slave's
throat.

    "Well, Pleasure here was trained at Bates Slave Training Center -
surely, you've heard of it?"

    "Sure, who hasn't?" I responded, wondering what the most respected and
by far the largest training facility in the city had to do with my being in
Mr. Lindsley's office.

    "Haven't you ever wondered about the name - Bates?"

    "I lot of people carry that name, Mr. Lindsley."

    "That's true, but in this case your family name of Bates and the Bates
Training Center are directly connected," Mr. Lindsley continued with a
sense of delicious irony in his voice.  "Your great uncle, Randolph Bates,
owned and operated Bates Training Center part and parcel.  He was the
biggest and probably best slave trainer in this entire region.  At least
most people thought so.  Bates' products are coveted throughout the United
States and most people are willing to pay huge premiums to own a Bates'
trained slave."

    "I know the reputation, Mr. Lindsley - who hasn't?  But I never
associated my great- uncle as that Bates!  He always seemed so quiet and
unassuming.  The thought never crossed my mind that Uncle Randolph had any
money or anything, let alone be an esteemed slave trainer."

    "Well. he was.  And his reputation was well earned.  Look at this boy
kneeling in front of us sucking my finger like his life depended on it.
He's a product of your great-uncle's well- regarded training techniques.
If Pleasure here is like all the other Bates' trained slaves I know of,
he'll stay just as good a slave 50 years from now as he is now.  That's
what your great-uncle produced: slave training that lasted a lifetime.  Add
to that the fact Bates' Training only picked the best stock to start with
and that meant you got a very handsome, muscular, well hung and always
cooperative and willing slave for the considerable dollars they cost.  This
boy here is a perfect example: he's about as good looking as they come,
he's always cooperative and interested in doing what you want the best he
can, and, as you can see through his tights, he's about as well equipped as
slaveboys get, even those specially bred for the market as out and out sex
slaves. Incidentally, Bates' Training not only trained bred slaves as well
as acquired slaves, but your great-uncle was spearheading a drive to set up
their own breeding facilities at the time of his unfortunate death."

    "He was always so quiet and unpretentious when I met him.  I never
imagined he had any money, let alone a reputation as one of Pittsburgh's
outstanding entrepreneurs and a leader in slave training. He never said a
word about it - at least to me.  But why would he?  I wasn't anything to
him probably - just a poor boy struggling to feed his face down in the
low-rent district."

    "Don't run yourself down, Mr. Bates. Your great-uncle apparently saw
right through that facade and, although he could have easily left his
estate to charity, left it entirely to you as his only living relative.  I
mistakenly assumed you already knew you were your great-uncle's only heir,
Mr. Bates.  He left everything, his entire estate, to you."

    "You're kidding," I stared at him.  "I can't even remember what he
looked like and he barely knew me at all."

    "Well, he knew you were his only living relative," Mr. Lindsley smiled.

    "Without appearing crude, did he actually have much of an 'estate'?" I
asked with obvious discomfort.  "I've heard of Bates Training, of course,
but does that amount to much?"

    "Indeed it does," Mr. Lindsley said.  "Considerable."

    I sat in shock for a long while trying to digest this momentous bit of
good news while Mr. Lindsley passed the time playing with the slave
kneeling beside him, now ordered to quickly strip out of his tight fitting
clothes so he was totally nude before his master.  Mr.  Lindsley lost no
time in fondling his slave's tits until they were swollen and erect,
running his hands all over his well muscled body, and finally, stroking the
slave's rigid penis until it was fully erect and dripping.  When I still
didn't respond to the news, Mr. Lindsley calmly pumped the slave until the
slave's body stiffened and a full load of steamy hot cum was delivered into
Mr. Lindsley's well manicured hands.  Mr. Lindsley took his time licking
the cum off his hands bit by bit, obviously enjoying this afternoon snack,
before ordering the slave to don his outfit once again. I overheard the
attractive slave thank his master humbly as he was struggling back into the
skin-tight clothes, just what for I couldn't figure out.  Finally, I spoke.

    "Mr. Lindsley, I know nothing about training slaves - hell, I don't
even own one - never could afford even an old broken down one, let alone a
product of Bates' Training where even I know only the best are processed."

    "Don't worry, John. The trainers in place, all slaves owned by your
uncle, are well versed in how to run the place and your uncle left full
instructions.  There's a lot of ins and outs to the business, I understand,
but he stated in his will that he was fully confident that you could manage
it quite well upon his death."

    I continued to stare at him in disbelief.

    "Your great-uncle Randolph has left you an estate of over 36 million
dollars, mainly in slave stock on hand and a magnificent training facility
right here in Pittsburgh.  The estate includes 80 highly experienced
trainers, all Mr. Bates' personal slaves themselves, as well as 312 premium
slaves in various stages of training, including 45 completely trained and
ready for immediate sale.  That's not including his beautiful manor house
in downtown Pittsburgh completely staffed by slaves, including six male
pleasure slaves Mr. Bates kept for his personal use.  I assume you knew
your uncle was never attracted to females in any way, even to the point of
leaving no immediate heirs.  But he was certainly known about town for his
taste in beautiful male slave boys and made no secret of the fact he used
them frequently within the privacy of his own home.  In fact," Mr. Lindsley
chucked, "his friends often referred to him as 'Randy Randolph'.  He was
only 61 when he died and was still going strong.  Frankly," Mr.  Lindsley
smiled, "he died about as happy as a man can be - fucking one of his
pleasure slaves - I understand.  They've got the slave he was fucking
locked up in a separate cage with Randolph's cum still up his ass until the
inquest has been completed so that there is no question that there was no
malfeasance in his death.  He died as a real man - exerting his authority
over this property for his own pleasure.  A good end for a man of your
great-uncle's stature in the community if I do say myself."

    I sat there drinking my now luke-warm coffee mulling the whole
situation over.  I was well aware of slaves, of course.  Everyone was.
They were everywhere, doing most of the hard work, keeping the parks clean,
attending their mistresses and masters - it was impossible not to notice
them.  It was common knowledge anyone with two pennies to rub together -
which didn't include me - had a slave or two around for his sexual
pleasure.  But the truth was only about the upper third of the free
population could afford even one slave, let alone a whole parcel.  That
luxury was restricted to the truly wealthy - the upper 5% or so who seemed
to have whole squadrons of them around for one thing or another.  And most
corporations, along with most industrial operations, including almost all
construction and maintenance firms, now depended on 100% slave labor to
keep operating cost competitive.  No one could deny we lived in a slave
society, especially now that it was estimated about 65% of the total
population were slaves - either born into it or enslaved since birth on one
legal pretext or another.  And all those slaves, especially those recently
enslaved, had to be trained to their new status.  That's where facilities
like my great-uncle's were essential in the society.  Everyone knew they
were needed, highly profitable, and appreciated for the quality of their
output. Being a slave trainer was a highly esteemed position in society,
even higher than a slave dealer.  Both professions offered essential and
needed services, offering services that were the "oil" that kept the
society running smoothly: supplying highly trained and well conditioned
slaves where they were needed and where they would serve with a minimum
amount of disciplining and supervision.  I knew the Bates Slave Training
Center was highly respected for the quality of the training it provided.
The center had the reputation of turning even the most rebellious newly
enslaved rogue into a compliant useful servant for life no matter what the
slave was called upon to perform in his new life.  True, Bates slaves were
expensive to buy, but they only trained the best of the lot and their
training techniques seemed to last the slave's life.  It was money well
spent when you bought a 'Bates slave.'.

    Mr. Lindsley was still enjoying his afternoon snack of hot slave cum on
his fingers while he gave me time to absorb all that he had said.  Finally,
he stood up and led me to a small door from his office I hadn't noted
before because it seemed to be part of his wall-to-wall bookcase.  Swinging
back a section of the bookcase, he led me through the hidden entrance.

    "I thought you might like to see one of your great-uncle's properties I
had moved to a holding cell I have right here close to my office.  I
usually keep one of my own slaves in the cell for use by some of my clients
who prefer something different from my secretary, but today I had the slave
your great-uncle was fucking when he died transferred here for the
conveneince of the inquest and so you could see one of your newly acquired
properties up close and personal so to speak.  You know, John, you're going
to have to get use to inspecting a lot of your new properties and here you
can begin the process in total privacy.  Besides, I thought you would find
interesting just exactly the type of slave your Great-Uncle Randolph
enjoyed bedding down."

    Just on the other side of the door was a small cell holding one of the
six slaves my Great- Uncle kept for his personal pleasure.

    "This slave was one of your Uncle Randolph's favorites, Jonathan.  I
know because I was one of your Uncle's close friends and he often loaned me
the use of his personal slaves.  I've enjoyed this boy many times myself,
but no one will fuck him until the inquest is over and your uncle's cum has
been extracted from his ass to verify exactly how he died and when.  You
can tell the exact age of cum as long as it's kept nice and warm like in a
boy's ass," he added casually.

    I looked over the young slave boy, chained by his wrists and ankles to
manacles in the holding cell for full display.  The slave looked terror
struck, not knowing what was going to happen to him.  Would he be put to
death for 'causing' his former owner's demise in the excitement of fucking
him, sold off quickly to an out-of-town buyer to avoid any embarrassment to
his former owner's heirs, or sent back to the Training Center that had
produced him for retraining as an anonymous draft slave and then sold off
at the next auction.


    He was still fresh looking despite all the experience my uncle had no
doubt put him through and, despite his pensiveness as to his unpredictable
fate at this point, was still extremely sexy. His blond hair, brilliant
blue eyes, pouting lips, magnificent musculature, creamy, hairless body,
strikingly handsome face, and well-shaped exceptionally large sexual organs
(even now fully erect and dripping) was practically the epitome of
masculinity in a young, appealing body. I felt myself getting hard just
looking at the slave and wondered what it would be like to pound the boy's
ass myself or have him on his knees sucking me off. There was little doubt
as to why the boy had been chosen and then trained as a pleasure slave.

    Your great-uncle sure knew how to pick a boy, didn't he?" Mr. Lindsley
said, staring pointedly at the arousal clearly visible in my tented
pants. "Don't be embarrassed.  I've never seen a free man yet who this
slave doesn't turn on.  Believe me, he's as good in action as he looks.  I
know - I've bedded him down at least a dozen times over at your
great-uncle's estate."

    "I wonder where he came from?" I asked innocently enough.

    "Right here in Pittsburgh.  Your great-uncle bought him at a court sale
a couple of years ago.  The boy had stolen a pack of cigarettes from a
convenience store as I recall and you know yourself what the laws are now.
The so-called larceny didn't matter according to your late great-uncle.
The boy didn't have a pot to pee in anyway - his parents had died in a car
accident a few months before his crime and he didn't have any money to live
on so he had resorted to selling his body to feed his face.  Actually, he's
better off as a slave than he was hustling out on the streets - better fed
and cared for anyway," Mr. Lindsley said convincingly. "Without that nice
body he would have starved to death long ago and this slave knows it" he
added as he reached down and stroked the boy's prick whereupon it quickly
became fully erect and started to drip. "Knowing what your assets are is
half the battle in a slave selling himself on the open market.  John, after
you've had a chance to use this boy yourself to your complete satisfaction,
you can put this boy up on auction block for sale and I would judge you'll
get at least $1 million for him, maybe more if you body shave him and get
him properly collared, tit-ringed and a good cinch fitted to show off his
package.  You might even consider nose-ringing him - it's quite the fashion
nowadays.  My friends tells me a lot of masters are having their pleasure
slaves fitted with one currently.  If you decide to sell him, I may buy him
myself," Mr. Lindsley chuckled as he continued to stroke the slave boy,
"but I'd definitely give him a full body shave and get him properly
ringed."

    "Your uncle was strange when it came to his personal bed bucks.  He
liked them 'au natural' as he called it - no body shaves, no rings or bands
fitted on them, not even a proper slave collar. Hell, he even kept a full
bush on them for some unknown reason.  Not collaring the slave is against
the law as you know, Jonathan, but your uncle insisted it wasn't necessary
in that they would never leave his manor house anyway and he loved seeing
all of their neck muscles when he was fucking them.  He even left the hair
around their assholes. Claimed the hair held the lube in them better after
they were flushed.  Crazy stuff like that!  Doesn't matter now, though,
does it.  I'm sure he'll be shaved and fitted completely before he's ever
put back on the marketplace.  Well trained white boys like this are
bringing top dollar now, John.  Look, he's dripping steady already just
from us talking about him - that's the sort of thing buyers like when
they're looking to purchase a new boy for their bed."

    My eyes were fixated on the slave's dripping erection and I was
transfixed by the overall beauty of the slave's body.  I couldn't imagine
what it might be like to have such a boy at my complete disposal as,
apparently, my great-uncle did each and every day.  I couldn't remember
ever seeing a slave this attractive, but then, of course, I rarely saw
slaves at all in my miserable existence and the ones I did see were the
cheap, low quality draft slaves cleaning up the garbage or unloading
delivery trucks. Their often naked bodies were usually so ugly, you
diverted your eyes when you came upon them.  It was a blessing when their
owners gave the ugliest ones a few rags to cover themselves, thereby
sparing the free citizens forced to look at them when they weren't in their
"kennels."

    "I've made sure my day was free for your visit, John, in that I was
sure you would want to visit the source of your new-found wealth."
    "Well, Mr. Lindsley, I suppose I should," I said still in shock.  "But,
as I said, I know nothing about slave training at this point and I'm not
sure I would know what to look for," I apologized.

    "You don't need to know anything yet, John.  The trainers in place
there now, all long- time slaves of your uncle, know their trade very well
and will be glad to explain any of their procedures you're interested in.
I can give you an general overview in that your great-uncle and I shared
many things over the years, including his concerns about the slave training
business and where it was headed.  That's why he entrusted his will to me.
Besides, if the general manager is in, he can tell you anything you want -
his knowledge in the area of slave training is encyclopedic."

    "Well, if you overlook my naivete in all this, I'll take you up on your
kind offer.  That is, if you feel you can spare the time," I smiled for the
first time at Mr. Lindsley.

    "Spare the time?  Your great-uncle paid me well, John, including making
sure the will's terms were met.  Meaning of course, that he wanted YOU to
take over and run Bates Training."

    "It's still hard to believe, but I suppose we should get started," was
all I could say. "I've got to start somewhere and now's probably a good a
time as any."

    "That's the spirit, John," Mr. Lindsley said enthusiastically. Without
hesitation, we returned to his office, he ordered the kneeling slave
Pleasure back to his desk, and led me down to the parking lot to his brand
new luxury car.  We quickly headed to Bates Training, only a couple of
miles from the law office.

    "We'll look at your great-uncle's manor house later, John," Mr. Lindsey
said as the powerful car sped to its destination. "Wait till you see the
staff there at the house.  Your Great- Uncle Randolph liked having the best
looking slaves available around him at all times and his personal pleasure
slaves are all as good looking as that young boy back in the little holding
cell off my office."

    When we approached Bates Training, the first thing noticeable was a
handsome male slave chained to a podium right outside the entrance
advertising the wares to be had inside. The slave, looking to be in his
early 20s, was held in place by a short leash attached to the end of his
sizeable penis.  His body was totally shaved with the exception of the dark
thick hair atop his head while a heavy collar, arm bands, a body harness,
and low boots gave him a totally controlled look.  He was semi-erect even
now exposed to the world at large and smiled brightly as we approached the
front entrance. Mr. Lindsley informed me he was an imported German slave
and, now that he was fully trained, would fetch close to $1.2 million when
auctioned.

    "Buy me, masters.  You won't be disappointed, masters," he pleaded
politely in a soft voice as we approached the front entrance.  "I will do
everything to please a new master," he added.

    "This is your new master, slave," Mr. Lindsley said harshly. "He just
inherited you."

    The German slave promptly fell to his knees and touched his forehead to
the ground in full slave obeisance.

    "Display," Mr. Lindsley ordered and the slave immediately put his hands
in back of his neck, rose full height and thrust his pelvis out as he
spread his legs far apart.

    Mr. Lindsley hefted the slave's balls and then stroked the slave's
ringed penis until it was fully erect and the chain leash was pulled into
suspension.  "Assume your sitting position, slave," Mr. Lindsley ordered as
he released the slave's sexual organs.  "We don't have time to fuck you
now."

    "Yes, master," the slave replied humbly as he again sat down at the
entrance with his knees spread wide to fully display his sexual organ.  But
he glanced admiringly at the young Mr. Bates, making sure his new owner
knew he would be happy to service him at any time.

    "Randolph's agent found this slave for sale in Istanbul.  He had been
highjacked from a bar there when he drunk a beer with some knock-out drops
in it.  Before his capture by the Turkish slavers, he had been a sailor
onboard a German freighter knocking about the Mediterranean.  But when the
barman found out he had no family and had just been fired from the
freighter, he called his slaver friends who had him naked and caged by the
time the knock- out drops wore off.  Within a day, he had been sold to your
uncle's agent and the next thing he knew his cage was being unloaded here
in Pittsburgh where his training began.  It all turned out quite well,
didn't it?" Mr. Lindsley said giving the slave a final look as we entered
the front entrance of the training establishment.

    "John, let me give you an overview of the training procedures before we
go into any detail.  That way, you'll know what questions to ask."

    "Sounds good to me, Mr. Lindsley.  It's hard for me to believe I
actually own that handsome slave exposing himself there at the doorway."

    "Well, you do, John, and hundreds more just as good looking and
appealing as that piece of meat," Mr. Lindsley said.  "Get used to it!"

    With that, we entered the facility itself and a whole new world was
opened to me.  Unexpectedly, I found myself erect and dripping during the
entire tour as I looked over all the new "property" I had just inherited.

    "Here's where the new stock arrives," Mr. Lindsley said as we looked at
a white slave short-chained to a loading pallet which could be handled by a
fork-lift.  The slave was muzzled, collared, and chained in such a position
that he could not move from his kneeling position.  He was obviously
muscular but nothing probably like he would be after some heavy forced
exercise routines imposed on almost all slaves in training prior to their
sale.

    "When he's released, he won't be able to walk for several hours due to
the cramping caused by the short-chaining, but he's already learned he's
not in charge anymore.  That's important as a first lesson for any slave.
This particular slave isn't much, really - probably Class C, but he's worth
training in that he's young enough to get a lot of use out of him over a
lifetime."

    The slave was a little old, but one could see that once shaved,
cleaned, and fully trained for service, he should still bring a good price
on the auction block.

    "This is a good example of a Class C slave," Mr. Lindlsey said as we
stopped by the pallet holding the chained shave.  "He doesn't reek of
youthful vigor; he isn't strikingly good looking, his body isn't
breaktaking muscular or well defined, and his sexual organs, although fully
adequate, are not colossal.  Class C slaves, fully trained to immediate
obeidence of any and all demands without hesitation, do offer a long life
span of service, good value for the investment in their purchase, and can
easily be converted to draft slaves once their sexual appeal fades.  They
generally bring around $300,000 to $400,000 at auction if completely broken
to their slavery and fully trained.  If training is incomplete, they are
sold off in lots as laborers, usually worked in chain gangs under a steady
whip - you've probably see the gangs yourself working on the roads and such
with a heavy whip biting into their back and rumps fairly steadily to keep
them at it.  If they end up that way, their only sexual outlet is servicing
their overseers who rape them on a regular basis," Mr. Lindsley chuckled,
"so they're far better off if they shape up to avoid that plight.".

    "Where did this one come from?" Mr. Lindsley asked the intake
supervisor, himself a Bates Training slave.  The slave being discussed
couldn't answer.  The muzzle strapped around his head would prevent any
talk until he was either completely voice-trained or his vocal cords had
been snipped, not uncommon in slaves where speech wasn't required in their
work.

    "England, master," the supervisor slave answered.  "Mr. Bates bought
him from the prisons over there.  He knocked up a rich banker's daughter
over there and was charged with statutory rape whereupon the courts
sentenced him to slavery for life."

    "Stupid, wasn't it?" Mr. Lindsley laughed.  "With all the slave girls
available in England these days, everyone of whom you can fuck with
impunity, why in God's name would he pick a free girl to fuck?"

    The slave overseer rolled his eyes in full agreement but otherwise
didn't comment.  Love wasn't a motive as far as slaves were concerned.

    "Well, he's more likely to be fucked himself now than run around
fucking someone," Mr. Lindsley laughed.  "He'll learn all about that during
his training, John.  One of a new slave's first lessons, after he's been
broken to his new status, is how to suck properly and take a good fucking.
For most of them, it's a whole new experience and tells them clearly they
are slaves now, put on this earth to bring pleasure to whoever buys them."

    As they entered another room, Mr. Lindsley announced that processing
slaves is a science now - highly refined and fully perfected. He then
introduced me as the new owner of the firm to the head manager, Brett
Alcorn.

    Mr. Alcorn respectfully showed me the basic procedures new trainees
underwent as part of the initial basic training.  "In the first stages of
processing a new slave, he or she is taught to cooperate with anything
asked of him through the administration of severe electric shocks.  The
administration of severe pain is an old, but still highly effective
training tool," he explained, "especially when it is delivered for no other
reason that just because you now a slave.  In fact, a slave learns that
pain can be administered anytime for no other reason than it pleases your
new owner.

    "Next, a new slave's body is completely shaved with the usual exception
of his head hair.  There's something about taking a man's hair away from
him, going clear back to the Old Testament stories about Samson losing his
strength when his hair was shirred.  Slaves are true to that legend - when
you shave off their chest hair, the hair under their arms, and especially
the bush surrounding their sexual organs and their asshole, they end up
looking like a child in their opinion.  That's exactly what we want - they
are a 'boy' again just like they will be called from now on.  Besides,
shaving them bare fully exposes their sex and not only makes it appear much
larger, but makes the slave feel totally vulnerable.  When we then ring his
tits so they're permanently swollen and enlarged, install a tight clinch on
his genitals forcing them to protrude out for all to see and feel easily
and making them appear much larger, often band his wrists and ankles so
restraining chains can be easily attached, and usually even pierce his
septum so a nose ring can be installed, at least for training.  He
definitely can't help but feel exactly like an animal because he associates
a nose ring clearly with all the farm animals he's seen up to that point if
he'd never been around slaves before.  But the heavy metal slave collar
does more than anything to teach a slave his new status in the world: it
marks him as a slave; he's collared like most other livestock, and it's
heavy enough to constantly remind him he's now the property of someone
else. It's amazing how these simple procedures teach a new slave his body
is no longer his own and changes his whole prospective on his situation.

    "Next, painfully loud audio mantras are fed to the trainee around the
clock through earphones locked on him along with random administration of
electric shocks while he strapped tightly down so he can't move.  The
mantras include: 'Your body belongs to your master,' 'your body will be
used to please your new owner,' 'you must always instantly obedy any order
given you,' 'you are never to talk unless your master or mistress orders
it,' 'you may never touch your sex unless your master order it,' etc.  When
the slave screams in agony from the shocks, it's a great time to check out
their teeth since their mouth is wide open anyway.  Investment in dentures
always pays off - buyers are turned off by bad teeth in a new purchase.

    "After 48 hours, most slaves are in total shock and are psychologically
beginning to accept their new status. They're now 'ready' for the real
training to begin.  Of course, bred slaves can skip all this and go
directly into specialized training.  But a captured slave can always be
broken to his slavery - it's just a matter of time and knowing the right
techniques to employ."

    By that time, we were passing a station where naked slaves were again
strapped down to tables, obviously in the 'shock' stage the supervisor had
described with their eyes distant and their bodies totally tensed.  One of
the slaves nearest me was magnificent: a young blond with a great build,
well defined pecs, a huge prick already semi-erect and drop dead looks.  He
had the looks most people fantasize about.

    The manager saw me looking at the prone boy and could tell I was
excited by his looks.  "Don't worry, Mr. Bates, we'll have this one fully
trained and over in the manor house for you in no time at all if your
interest holds," he laughed.  "Your great-uncle would have push a 'rush'
tag on this boy's training if he were still around.  He's just the type,
with his looks and equipment, the 'big boss' liked as his personal pleasure
slaves," he informed me with no embarrassment in his voice.  Prudery wasn't
a useful concept in the slave training business apparently.

    Overall, Brett Alcorn's explanations were terse, informative, and gave
me a good overview of the basic procedures. My 'inherited' manager never
talked down to me despite my total ignorance in the area and always managed
to convey great respect for my position as the new owner of the enterprise
despite my obvious youth. What struck me was how he viewed his work totally
objectively, seeing the 'stock' being trained as nothing more or less than
livestock being readied for market.  When I commented on this, he answered
with his characteristic bluntness.

    "But that's exactly what they are, Mr. Bates.  Livestock."

    "Well, yes, Mr. Alcorn.  I'm new to all this.  Please excuse my naive
questions."

    "Mr. Bates' great-nephew has never owned slaves until now, Brett.  As
he'll be the first to tell you, he has a lot to learn," Mr. Lindsley
explained.

    "Well, Mr. Bates, no matter what they might have been before, they're
slaves now and the best thing they can do is learn how to be a slave.
That's why we are so proud of our work here at Bates Training.  We enable
the stock here to live out a useful and happy life in their new
circumstances."

    By now, we were in a area filled with small cages, each filled with a
new 'servant in the making.'  Shaved, banded, and evaluated, the caged
slaves were being given a break before starting their really serious
specialized training. We stopped next to a cage containing a 19-year- old
white slave who was well hung, but was too skinny - he needed to build up
his musculature considerably during his training in that he was tagged to
be trained as a potential pleasure stud.

    "If this boy takes to his training well, he should sell for around
$800,000 if he reaches Class A Stud levels in his training program,." Brett
Alcorn said with enthusiasm. "We'll bulk him out and teach that prick of
his some new tricks he never knew anything about."

    "They're resting up for evaluation, which is the next room to the
left," Brett explained as he led the way into a totally white room filled
with bodies strapped face up on examination gurneys.  Each slave was
surrounded by white robed physicians, psychologists, and nurses all wearing
surgical masks and rubber gloves.  Totally compliant now, the slaves were
being thoroughly examined for general body health, musculature, sexual
excitability, and semen output according to Mr. Alcorn.  He explained the
evaluation team then devised a physical training program to be run
simulatenously with their psychological training.

    "It's a slave's potential that counts.  Any slave can be conditioned
into superb musculature and prodigious sexual output if they have the
potential presumably spotted by the slave catcher or one of our purchasing
agents.  But you'll got to have a customized training program to do that
efficiently.  That's what they're doing here."

    We stood by one table as a slave was quickly 'milked' by a nurse to
obtain a semen specimen while another nurse took a blood sample from his
arm.  A doctor was checking the slave's eyes and teeth while they were
doing this.  Although strapped tightly to the examination table, the slave
nevertheless tried to arch his body and gasped as he reached orgasm and a
huge load was delivered into an awaiting vial. His face was scarlet in
embarrassment at being 'milked' in public with all sorts of onlookers.

    "He's a shy one," Brett Alcorn laughed at the slave's flushed body.
"He'll get over that soon enough - they all do quickly enough.  Personal
modesty is totally inappropriate for a body that belongs to someone else
now," he stated as if the truism should be self-evident to any slave, even
a brand new one.

    "Assuming they weren't born into slavery, as apparently this slave
wasn't judging from his inappropriate blushing, what are the major events
in their training experiences in your opinion as far as accepting their
slavery, Brett?" I asked.

    "First, Mr. Bates, from their viewpoint, is the experience of being
constantly nude which embarrasses them and makes them feel vulnerable.  But
they get used to that amazingly fast as long as they are around other naked
slaves all the time.  But when they are forced to be nude when around
clothed trainers or potential buyers, they feel like animals - it's the
comparison or them being naked and free people being clothed that makes
them feel that way.  It's a great lesson for slaves to learn - they are
just like animals now!

    "Second, I suppose, is the installation of the slave collar which is
heavy enough to feel it all the time and fixed in place permanently so it
marks them as a slave for life.  Somehow, they act differently after
they're collared - it's a distinction that marks them for what they are - a
slave and it's a powerful lesson to them.  When you add to that the tit
rings, nose rings, ear rings, genitals bands, and all the other slave
control devices, they learn their body belongs to someone else now and
consequently can be decorated or altered any damn way their new owner
desires - just like any other piece of livestock.  Take a nose ring for
example.  Once that's installed, what's the difference between you and a
horse or a boar pig or a cow?  You can only imagine what a genital ring
does to their thinking. Even their most private parts are now subject to
the whims of their owners and can be displayed any way they so please. I've
seen boys who don't' seem embarrassed by anything we do to them - ring
their tits, collar them, even nose ring them.  But fasten a tight band
around their sexual organs which forces their manhood out for all the world
to see and hook a leash on it - even the boldest, brashest slave stops
strutting around and begins to realize what being a slave is all about.  We
generally have a female trainer lead them around on a genital leash after
the male trainers done it, so they get the point they're just property now,
not people.

    "Third, branding is a life altering experience for most new stock.
It's not only a traumatic pain experience, it's also a psychological
turning point.  Once branded by an owner, you are clearly marked as
property - your body is the possession of your mistress or master and the
brand with its ownership mark shows the whole world you belong to that
person from now on.

    "Fourth, again from the slave's viewpoint, is having to stand
absolutely still while anyone can feel any part of your body, squeezing it,
pinching it, prodding it, stroking it to their heart's content while you
just stand there absolutely still.  It's a solid admission you now belong
to another person and are totally in their control, even if the other
person chooses to stroke you to full orgasm right in public, force a
baseball bat up your ass, or whip you just for the fun or it.  You're
nothing but a body to play with and standing on display while a person
feels you up to full arousal is a tacit admission you have accepted your
master or mistress and his or her total control over your body.  We use
both female and male trainers for this so a slave gets used to being
handled by both.

    "Fifth, is taking responsibility for your body's cleanliness.  First,
we have to strap a slave down to give him his enemas and then watch his
humiliation as he empties himself in public.  Most free people really cling
to their privacy when it comes to shitting.  But when he learns he must
administer an enema to himself over and over until he runs clean and them
lube himself in preparation for being fucked in order to get fed, most new
trainees simply can't believe we expect that of them.  But after a few
forced enemas where he's strapped down and a few days without food for
refusing to give themselves enemas, even the most recalcitrant slaves come
around and learn to always present themselves to their owners throughly
cleansed inside and out and with their holes lubed for action.  Besides, if
you're even been fucked dry, that is without any lube, as most slaves are
at some point or another in their early training as an object lesson, a
slave will do most anything to earn the privilege of having access to some
good lubricant.  A dry fucking isn't easily forgotten and takes several
days to get over for most of the new slaves.

    "When you put it all together, both what is done to them by us, plus
their perception of what is happening to them, you can see processing newly
captured slaves is a science in itself, just like Mr. Lindsley said
earlier."

    With that, Brett showed me more of the operation. In the next room were
again row after row of stacked cages, each barely able to hold one body.
Inside each of them knelt a slave now through with evaluation and awaiting
his branding.  Each cage held a shivering body with his scrotum now already
tightly banded, his tits sore from their recent ringing, and his asshole
shaved and open for future usage and with their wrists and ankles chained
to the parameters of the cage.  The majority, with newly installed nose
rings, were fastened to the cage bars with the new device so they couldn't
move their head in any way. Each had their ankles chained far apart in the
cage so their holes were fully exposed for viewing, a humiliation they now
knew would be routine in their lives as slaves.  Sweat ran off their
trembling bodies as they anticipated being branded with the Bates Training
logo on both their left ass check and their right pectoral. After that,
they would be clearly and permanently marked as property and every slave in
the room knew there would be no going back from their new status now.

    I heard stomachs rumbling amongst many of the cages and asked
Mr. Alcorn about this.

    "New slaves are not fed until 56 hours after processing begins to that
they learn their bodily needs are solely dependent on their owners from now
on.  They've been here about 48 hours now, so they are ravenously hungry
and will be fed after they have recovered from their branding.  If we fed
them before they're branded, they throw it all up anyway from the severe
pain and make quite a mess.  But after, they can digest it fine. When
finally fed, they are ravenously hungry, as you can tell from all the
stomach rumbling now, but they must eat their food and water from a bowl on
the floor without the use of their hands like any other animal.  Throughout
training, they will be fed nothing but a nourishing diet of high protein
slave chow designed to build up an excellent musculature and good semen
production while keeping them slim and attractive.  Overweight slaves are
quickly brought down to the rigid specified weight limits by imposing the
low calorie version of slave chow as the only alternative to starvation.
Unless they are sold to a fairly inexperienced owner, they will be fed
twice a day only slave chow from dishes on the floor the rest of their
lives - a procedure almost all slave owners follow as a constant reminder
that the slave is nothing but livestock now and consequently is fed like
livestock.

    "Soon after being introduced to the feeding regime, they are introduced
to their personal trainer, another slave who specializes in 'breaking' new
stock to the demands of the marketplace. The personal trainer has been a
slave for years, of course, and has long ago adjusted to being collared,
genitally banded, tit ringed, branded, and usually nose ringed.  Before the
training is over, a strong bond forms between a new slave and his trainer -
he identifies with him since they are both slaves and a transference
process takes place which helps the new trainee adjust rapidly.  One of the
hardest things for the trainee to do at this time is adjust to his collar,
his rings, and the tight band around his genitals which constantly force
them into being displayed and easily accessible.  When they see their
trainer, similarly banded, is able to disregard the banding and even walks
normally with his balls held so high up, he realizes he will adjust also,
just as he is already probably getting used to his collar.  Just to make
sure, the trainers usually thrust their genitals in the trainees face as
often as they can to show the new slave it's just part of being a slave.
That bond gets so strong over the months of training that the trainees
often break down in tears when they are separated from their trainer prior
to sale. It's like losing a father to them."
    We were passing into the room where slaves, now branded and
recuperated, were being given their first meal of slave chow with their
hands manacled behind their back, forcing them to eat with their mouth in
the bowl like any other livestock would feed.  The slaves were having
difficulty sucking up the water to alleviate their desperate thirst and
using their teeth and tongues to pick up the morsels of dry slave chow
which they soon learned to wash down with gulps of the water.  The fresh
brands were seeping and raw on their butts although we couldn't view their
branded pecs well due to their feeding.

    "The brands will scar over soon enough," Mr.  Alcorn said.  "We do a
neat job here and within a week it will just leave a nice brown mark,
clearly visible to most anyone, marking his new ownership.  See how they
take to the feeding?  Hunger is a powerful motive and can turn even the
most sophisticated young man into the livestock he really is soon enough.
Slavery is really revealing a boy's true nature to himself, some wag said a
few years ago.  A lot of truth in that.  Slaves are just animals - nothing
more, nothing less - but mighty useful once they're trained properly," he
added with some pride.

    "See this slave here," he pointed to a very handsome slave with his
face stuck into the feeding bowl eating as fast as he could without the use
of his hands.  "He's just turned 20, is mighty good looking when we let him
stand upright and show himself, is very well hung if you look down there
between his legs, and will develop a good physique with proper diet and
exercise.  When fully trained, we plan to sell him overseas - with your
permission, of course - probably to a Middle Eastern market where his
pearly white skin and other attributes will command well over $1 million
dollars.  Mr. Bates, you're going to find that profits in slaves are
enormous if you know the trade wll.  Most stock is either stolen from the
streets at no cost, bought from local jails or state prisons at little
cost, like this boy here, or are products of slave breeding farms where
they have been reared at minimum cost."

    "I looked inside the cage and saw the young man, now totally
concentrating on getting food into his gullet at long last, was indeed most
appealing from a purely physical viewpoint.

    "What will be do once he's sold in the Middle Eastern markets?" I
asked.

    "Well, any slave worth a million dollars is going to have to earn his
keep, believe you me," Mr. Alcorn laughed.  "Most likely, some oil rich
billionaire will have him in his bed most of the time and when he isn't,
he'll be running around the palace stark nude as a pretty decoration to
impress his friends.  If he lucks out, the old fart will have some sons who
will give him a really good fucking from time to time.  Most likely,
though, he'll have lots of company.  Most of those oil men like having a
whole bevy of white boys at their beck and call and, when bored, have them
put on little entertainments for them, like screwing each other and sucking
each other off.  Hell, they even have slaves doing that as dinner
entertainment, I hear.  Of course, we have lots of local customers doing
the same things with their slaves.  Just part of being a master, maybe," he
conjectured. "Tomorrow, with a full stomach and a night's good rest, the
new slaves will start their sexual training."

    Just as he said that, an obviously exhausted, but extremely attractive
young Hispanic slave was being led out of a cage by a leash attached to his
newly installed collar.  He placidly crawled after his trainer on his hands
and knees, his shaved butt and banded genitals in full view.

    "That boy is on his way to getting something other than a dildo shoved
up his ass, probably for the first time in his life.  They take a prick up
their chute for the first time a lot better if they're totally exhausted
and too tired to fight it.  It's the next step in a slave learning how to
take a good fucking.  The initial step is anal stretching and getting used
to being penetrated.  Most slave training facilities, us included, start
this process with a dildo fitted overnight - each night brings a larger
dildo being rammed up their hole.  In an amazingly short time, a slave gets
used to being penetrated in this fashion and accepts being fucked as a
slave's lot in life.  Of course, most new slaves who were reared where
slaves were around know they're going to get fucked as a slave.  It's just
part of being a slave in this country at least - I suppose most
countries. They know it's coming and they might as well accept it now
rather than fight it which won't do them a bit of good.  The bred slaves we
process don't need any of this type of training - they've been stretched
and then fucked long before they arrived here and think nothing of it
now. It's just a normal part of their life as slaves.  That's the way it
will be with the newly enslaved when we're through with them.

    "Once training is started, slaves are fucked around the clock by
trainers and each other until their holes are fully stretched and they are
fully acclimated to taking a master's cock whenever requested with no
hesitation."

    We had entered yet another room devoted to sexual training.  At one
stall, a white slaveboy had mounted a black slave's rump and was busily
humping away up the black's asshole.  The black was learning over a bench
so his ass was perfectly positioned for the white's entry with his hands
bracing his body in the desired position.  As we watched, the white slave
pumped a full load up the black's ass and then quickly withdrew and placed
himself over the bench with his legs widespread and his body braced for a
good fucking.  The black, most eager now that he was on the delivery rather
than the receiving end, quickly inserted his giant tool up the white's well
lubed hole and began pounding the white ass vigorously as the white slave
moaned beneath him.
    "No prejudice here," Mr. Alcorn smirked.  These new trainees will trade
around fucking each other until their holes are fully stretched and
practically calloused from overuse.  Any ideas about not being fucked as a
slave is ancient history by the time they leave this room."

    At another stall, a huge black trainer, himself a slave of course, was
plowing into a new blond trainee. The fucking was vigorous with long deep
thrusts that forced the blond boy's legs wide apart and left him tense and
groaning in obvious pain. The stud was pure black, a mountain of muscle,
and fully enjoying this opportunity to unload into a fresh white boy. Sweat
over his entire body made his body glean in the bright lights as he took
the young boy stretched out before him face up.

    "You're tearing me in half.... Please, sir.... Please.. You're going to
ruin me.... Oh..  I'm being torn up insides...Please, master... Stop...,"
the slave whined as the fucking grew even more intense.

    "Shut up, boy, of I'll feed you several more inches and you'll really
feel it," the black stud counseled as he thrust in even deeper. "Just relax
that ass and you'll find you can take even the biggest ones with getting
torn up.  I learned that real fast when I was first being trained like
you."

    Taking the threat seriously, the blond boy bit him lip as tears spilled
down his cheeks, but he did shut up and just lay there moaning softly as
the black prick pounded harder and harder into his fully-stretched hole.
Until the black rapist mentioned it, it never occurred to him that the
black had probably been exactly like him just a few years ago - flat on his
back taking a really big one up his butt and probably felt the same way at
that time - like he was being torn in half.

    "That's the fourth time that blond boy's been fucked already this
morning, each time by that big black stud who is simply inexhaustible, it
seems.  The black's equipped well for the job of really opening these boys
up.  When he pulls out, you can see he's over 12" long and a good 6"
around.  A boy knows he's been fucked when that stud plows him.  The blond
better get used to it.  A North African brothel has already made a deposit
of $150,000 just to hold this new slave for later purchase, but, if you'll
like the boy for yourself, Mr. Bates, we can easily suggest a replacement
for them.  It will be O.K. with them, I'm sure, as long as the replacement
is young, blond, good-looking, well muscled, and heavy hung. We've got
several in stock that fill that bill right now."

    "I don't want to interfere in the business until I know what I'm
doing," Mr. Alcorn, but I must say that black stud has one of the sexiest
bodies I believe I've ever seen."

    "He's a keeper, all right, Mr. Bates.  We'll make sure he's around
whenever you would like him.  An excellent choice, if I do say so,
Mr. Bates.  I fucked that black ass just two days ago as a little diversion
and he's as good as he looks - maybe better.  He really knows how to work
those ass muscles of his to give you maximum pleasure and his mouth is like
smooth velvet.  Well trained, if I may brag a little.  I trained him myself
when he first came in."

    Turning to the other side of the room, a hugely equipped white slave
was being deep throated by a muscular black, equally well hung. A trainer
with a whip was lashing the black until he, gagging and choking, had
swallowed the entire shaft being shoved down his throat.  The trainer made
him hold it there until his throat adjusted to the assault and then, with
the urging of the whip, the black began sucking for all he was worth using
his stretched throat muscles to massage the huge shaft within him.  The
white slave was arched over the black's mouth, his pelvis thrust forward as
he gasped at the intense pleasure he was receiving.  The white's body
suddenly stiffened, his pelvis shot even further into the black's face, and
the white's entire body shuddered as he unloaded down the black's throat in
one huge pulse after another.

    "Learning to suck well is as important for a new slave as knowing how
to take a good fuck," Mr. Alcorn announced.  "No one wants a slave who
doesn't have considerable skill in sucking their master off.  Before they
graduate from here, they can swallow the biggest pricks around clear down
their throats without gagging, sucking those pricks so well their owners
think they are in heaven, and swallow the biggest loads without spilling a
drop."

    By then, the white slave was on his knees in front of the black who had
just sucked him off and had his mouth wide open for the black slave's
gigantic prick to slide down his throat.  A minute later, he had fully
swallowed the giant instrument and the black was bucking away, literally
'face fucking' the young white slave until eventually he too stiffened,
thrust his pelvis forward all the way, and moaned as he discharged a full
load down the white's gullet.

    Mr. Alcorn drew my attention to yet another black slave on his knees
just beginning to swallow the huge prick of a black trainer.  "We've taken
the collar off this young black for his initial oral training so there's no
interference with his throat muscles in learning how to suck a master's
dick all the way down.  This boy will be muscled out over the next few
months as he develops unparalleled sexual skills to increase his
marketability despite his just average facial features.  Actually,
Mr. Bates, he's already sold.  We're just finishing up the training before
he's delivered to his new owner, a 55-year-old black millionaire, who wants
a well muscled black slave that's very well hung.  He's going to use him as
a 'display slave' on his estate where he'll be paraded around stark nude as
well as a well-trained pleasurable bed partner.  According to his new
owner, this slave will be kept naked continually, he's going to get loaned
out frequently to sexually service his owner's numerous friends and
business associates, and he's going to get 'milked' quite a bit in that his
new owner likes fresh cream out of a black slave as a major condiment
during his meals.  It's good to know exactly what an owner wants before the
training is completed.  That way we can tailor the slave to his new owner's
exact specifications.  We'll have him fully trained in another two or three
months."

    "Over here are the fucking benches we find so useful in training the
new slaves, Mr.  Bates.  Ten days after induction, a slave has been fucked
over and over on these benches by a variety of slave trainers until the
event has become almost routine outside a constantly sore asshole which is
now stretched to accommodate even the huge thick shafts of super-sized
studs put to them in their training."

    Indeed, the room resounded with the moans of numerous slaves bent over
the benches having their asses pounded by huge studs intense in training
the young trainees.

    "This slave here," Mr. Alcorn said, pointing to a slave stretched
across the leather- covered bench literally gasping as he was rigorously
fucked by the 12x5" prick of a slave trainer, "is on his 14th fucking today
alone. His hole is sore and swollen from such constant usage but he's
learned offering his ass up for a good fucking is the only option given him
now or in the future.  Consequently, you'll appreciate the fact he's
concentrating now on learning how to offer his user full pleasure in
fucking him as well as learning to enjoy it himself when it doesn't hurt so
bad.  That's what his personal trainer is whispering in his ear right now
as the stud is fucking him - he's giving him little hints on how to best
please his new owner when taken to his bed and telling him to relax so he
can enjoy the experience."
    "Oh, I haven't shown you the maintenance room yet, Mr. Bates,"
Mr. Alcorn said, again with obvious pride.  "Keeping yourself clean inside
and out is an important lesson for any slave."

    We entered another large room in which slave after slave was positioned
on rubber sheeted mats with their smoothly shaved, nicely shaped butts
thrust high up in the air, one slave to each small cell so equipped.
Sticking out of the displayed holes were the ends of inserted nozzles
attached to small water faucets in the sides of each cell. The slaves, face
down, were moaning softly as the warm water filled their guts.
Periodically, one slave after another would pull out the enema hose and
rush to a communal toilet, a mere hole set in the floor in the middle of
the surrounding cages.  There he would squat with his legs widespread and
empty his bowels with the usual accompanying farts and grunts.  As soon as
he was finished, he would return to his cell and reinsert the nozzle for
another douching of his innards.  Only when the water ran crystal clear on
expulsion did he head for the showers.  Throughly scrubbed, he then dried
himself off and applied a scented lotion to his entire body until it
gleaned.  Again returning to his cell, he then lubed his chute carefully
with K-Y jelly to ease entry for his forthcoming user.

    "Nobody keeps a slave around who fails to keep himself spotlessly
clean," Mr. Alcorn opined. "Toward that end, we teach every slave to keep
himself pristine at all times, both inside and out, and lubed for action at
any time.  In fact, the first thing a slave is taught to do when his owner
is through using his body is to come down here, clean himself inside and
out, and prepare himself for the next usage with a good relubing and
application of fresh body lotion. A trainee soon learns a dirty slave isn't
worth feeding and, after missing a few meals for being slothful, he decides
it's a lot easier to keep himself pristine at all times then suffering
hunger pangs.  It's an important lesson for a slave to learn, Mr. Bates.
Their body is for the enjoyment of their owner and it's a slave's
responsibility to keep that body as fresh and appealing as he possibly can
if he wants to earn his keep.  Same goes for the mandatory exercises that
keeps that body in good shape - exercise or go hungry.  It's the slave's
choice."

    "Well, not really," I countered.  "You set the parameters of the choice
for the slave."

    "Of course, Mr. Bates.  I can see you have an intuitive grasp of what's
involved in slave training, sir.  Yes, we set the parameters.  Of course we
do.  That's our responsibility in training them for a contented life in
their slavery.  It's their responsibility to realize their bodies belong to
whoever buys them and they should keep that body as appealing as possible
at all times.  Otherwise, they're likely to end up in the construction
chain gangs or chained to an assembly line bench.  We're offering them a
cushy position as a Bates-trained slave who understands a discriminating
buyer wants a slave's body for the pleasure it can offer him or her, not
solely just for its labor potential."

    I looked again at the scores of well-muscled bubble-butts sticking up
in cell after cell with an enema tube sticking out of it while other slaves
were scrubbing, shaving, and applying lotion to their well sculptured
bodies, all in an effort to maintain their appeal to an owner.  Still
others were on exercise machines keeping their muscles in perfect tone. I
marveled at how young men, just months ago free, were now deeply engaged in
turning themselves into valued bed partners of their potential owners,
willing to be fucked or suck at an owner's whim.  Then I thought of all
those free young men sweating away at football or basketball practices,
exposing themselves to agents and alumni in the locker rooms stark nude,
and risking lifelong painful injuries every time they played for the
amusement of others. Or a free young actor willing to sleep with an agent
or producer just to get a two-bit minor part in a movie.  What was the
difference?

    All three scenarios involved trading your body to fed your face -
whoring.  Of the three, the slaves before me seemed more noble.  At least,
they could pretend they had no choice in the matter and, as I took in the
maintenance room supervisor with his whip in one hand and an electric prod
in another, they really didn't have much choice unless they liked
intolerable pain, chronic hunger, and the constant threat of being turned
into dog food.  I wondered what I would do if I had been enslaved for one
reason or another (it didn't take much in Pittsburgh these days)?  I'll
probably have my pretty little butt sticking up in the air with a tube
sticking out of it, I mused.
    As if reading my mind, a slave nearby, his handsome face ground into
the mattress as his gut filled with water for the fourth time, gave me a
quick smile as he blushed in embarrassment in being observed like this.  I
smiled back letting him know I was aware he had no other choice.  He softly
moaned from his expanding gut with a look of understanding.  Again he
smiled, acknowledging that somehow I knew where he was at and it was
appreciated.

    Mr. Alcorn didn't miss much and witnessed the silent exchange.  "These
boys are coming around right on schedule," he said happily.  "Before they
know it, they'll be flaunting all they've got on the auction block trying
to get a good owner who'll know how to use them properly.  It'll be a good
home for them and a nice profit for us," he beamed. "A win-win situation if
there ever was one."

    We entered yet another room filled with numerous small cages, each
filled with a manacled naked slave.

    "Once training is complete, all our slaves are caged for shipment to
the auction barn."  Pointing to the nearest cage containing a very
attractive boy, Mr. Alcorn elaborated.

    "This young white boy, only 18, has been in training for four months as
a 'pleasure slave' and knows he will be sexually servicing his owners as
long as his looks hold out.  After that, he'll probably be resold as an
ordinary house servant or perhaps even as a draft slave for heavy labor.
So he considers himself lucky to be marketed as a sex slave where he knows
his life will be relatively easy as long as he does exactly what he is told
at all times with an eager, anticipatory attitude of wanting to please
regardless.  Isn't that right, boy?" he asked the cages slave.

    "Ah...ah..." the slave made a strong noise while shaking his head in
the affirmative.

    "Oh, I forgot..  This slave was silenced during training."

    "Silenced?" I asked.
    "Yes.  He was responding too slow to our voice-training procedures, so
we clipped his vocal chords - that shut him up!" Mr. Alcorn laughed.  "We
always get a few who just can't learn to keep their mouths shut and no
owner likes a gabby slave running off at the mouth.  It's simple enough to
just cauterize their vocal cords - that solves the problem.  Sex slaves
don't need to talk anyway."

    "I never... well I ... I never knew they did that to slaves," I blurted
out.

    "Common enough," Mr. Alcorn said.  "Most animals don't talk anyway and,
if anything, it teaches a good lesson.  Do as you're told, or by God it
will be done to you."

    "How many slaves here are .... silenced?" I asked.

    "About 10 to 15 percent, I'd wager.  But we're thinking of increasing
it.  We found it brings a premium up on the auction block which just proves
my point.  Owners don't want a slave with a mouth going all the time.
There's better uses for that mouth, especially if they're a sex slave," he
laughed.

    "Pardon my naivete again, Mr. Alcorn, but exactly what is
'voice-training'?"

    "One of the basic aspects of slave training, Mr. Bates.  Learning to
speak only if answering a direct question or in acknowledging a command,
and, even then, as briefly as possible with your eyes cast downward and in
a humble manner indicating total obedience."

    "This slave looks almost exactly like a boy we sold to two professional
football players, one white and one black, a number of years ago for a
pretty heady price. They liked nothing better than sharing a compliant,
well trained, handsome slave boy in their bed.  The slave was fucked six or
seven times every night and sucked off their friends during the day and at
parties - lots of use.  By 32, his looks and sexual stamina began to fade
and his two masters traded him in here on a new young slave who looked just
about this boy we're looking at right now.  We resold the trade-in as a
house steward/driver to an old Asian man who only used him once or twice a
night.  But I knew his new job would require a lot more hard work around
the clock that he had living with the football players.  His 'glory days'
as a pampered pleasure slave to two well-built but demanding masters were
over.  But that's the fate of every slave as their bodies begin to lose
their appeal, isn't it?"

    The caged slave was mute but not deaf.  He looked up at me with total
resignation as his prick swelled to full erection and started to drip.

    "Don't worry, boy, we'll get you a good master who'll appreciate what
you've got to offer," he said as he reached through the cage bars and
squeezed the slaves' swollen balls.

    The slave looked up with tears in his eyes.

    "Look, Mr. Bates, he's overcome with gratitude.  Typical of a
Bates-trained slave."

    In another cage, a slave had drifted off into a deep sleep.  He was in
full restraint, which meant he had already been 'dressed' for the auction
just about to start in the next room. The 20- year-old white male was now
collared, tit-ringed, and genitally banded.  His wrists were both banded
and chained to his collar while his ankles were hobbled together with
another set of bracelets connected by a short chain.  The septum separating
his nostrils was now fitted with a large brass ring which hung down over
his upper lip and gave him a totally controlled look.  The Bates brands on
both his right butt and left pectoral were clearly visible with the scarred
skin making a nice contrast with his otherwise smooth, hairless hide.  The
physique enhancement program had clearly worked on this slave: he was now
well muscled, well- defined, and perfectly sculptured. As we studied him,
his facial features were outstandingly handsome as were most aspects of his
body.  His 12x6 prick was semi-erect even as he slept and was well trimmed,
his recent circumcision having completely healed, leaving a very nicely
shaped organ which was appealing in and of itself.  His only defects were
smaller than average balls, and a small scar above his left knee from an
old football injury.

    "How much will a good looking young boy like this bring at auction?" I
asked Mr.  Alcorn.
    We'll soon see," Mr. Alcorn laughed as he led me into the next room
featuring plush carpeting, air conditioning, excellent stage lighting and
comfortable chairs.

    Indeed I did see.  The caged white boy was the first up on the block,
turning this way and that to best display his body before thrusting his
pelvis forward to best display his sexual apparatus and then bending over
with wide spread legs and pulling his cheeks apart to best display his
closely shaved asshole to the audience.  On cue, he pumped his own shaft to
a full erection and proceeded until he shot a full load out toward the
audience in a wide spray, an act greeted with enthusiastic applause.  The
auctioneer then had the slave get on his hands and knees and lick up his
own cum as the auctioneer slowly twisted a huge 12 x 6 dildo up the boy's
hole as the boy grimaced in his acceptance of the intrusion.  Once fully
inserted, the auctioneer pumped it a few times as the boy gasped while
clinching his ass muscles to demonstrate his high level of training. As the
dildo was withdrawn, the boy stood up, thrust his pelvis out once again to
the audience and smiled broadly. He was obviously extremely well trained.

    The audience appreciated this training so clearly evident in the boy's
behavior and the starting bid of $550,000 was only a start.  His youth and
vigor, his high level of training, and the promise of years and years of
satisfying service for a master or mistress led to ever higher bids.
Finally, the winning bid of $851,000 was made by a couple of old maids in
their fifties who planned to each utilize his sexual services three or four
times a day.  They said they would give him to their brother, a 50-year-old
widower when they tired of him where he would serve as housekeeper, cook,
yardman, butler, and, of course, his sex slave, since the brother always
appreciated a good looking male body.  After their brother was bored with
him, he could always sell him off to a public brothel or as a draft slave
and still probably get a most decent price.

    "Well, you've seen the whole operation - from intake to final sale,"
Mr. Lindsley said after the first sale had been completed.  "I have to get
back to the office now, but I'm sure Mr.  Alcorn will be able to fill you
in on any details.  If you can come to my office around nine in the
morning, I'll take you over to the manor house and show you around.  I
wouldn't make any decisions this early in the game.  Wait until you've seen
your great-uncle's own empire before you decide anything.  Later in the
week, we'll go out to the new Bates breeding farm."

    "Thanks so much for everything you've done already, Mr. Lindsley. I'll
be there at nine in the morning sharp.  After seeing one of Uncle
Randolph's personal slaves at your office, I'm anxious to see the others,"
I laughed.

    "You won't be disappointed, Jonathan.  Your great-uncle had a great eye
for young slave meat."

    "Indeed he did," Mr. Alcorn interjected.

    "I assume this little initial tour has been informative," Mr. Lindsley
said.  "At least it outlines the basic procedures utilized on the newly
enslaved who are, of course, desperately in need of the basics expected of
all slaves nowadays.  Bred slaves have a much deeper appreciation of what
is expected of a slave, having never experienced anything else in their
lives."

    "There's no use spending time here watching the other stock being
sold," Mr. Alcorn said.  "I'm sure you well acquainted with slave auctions,
having grown up in Pittsburgh."

    "Well, actually, I'm not too familiar with them as it turns out, but
that part of Bates Training can certainly wait for a later time.  I'm sure
there is more you want to tell me about their actual training."

    "Again, you read me like a book, Mr. Bates," Mr. Alcorn said with great
respect.  He then led me back to yet another room labeled "modeling."

    "The new trainees benefit greatly from some good models put before them
for study.  For that, we use already trained slaves, generally slave
trainers themselves now, who demonstrate exactly what is expected of the
new slaves once they are placed into duty.  Fortunately, we've run across a
modeling situation right here," he said as he stopped in front of a small
stage with about 20 leashed and collared trainees in attendance.

    "That black trainer is getting into position to be fucked and is
showing one of the positions most demanded by owners nowadays - being butt
fucked from the rear.  That black slave shows his tit rings off well,
doesn't he, as well as notice how his genitals have been banded to make
sure he displays them well at all times.  Those rings and bands aren't lost
on the new slaves who will be outfitted just like that if they haven't been
already.  Seeing it already installed on one of their trainers leads to a
ready acceptance of the control devices in that if a trainer has them, then
surely they must expect them also as a slave - we're trying to get the
message across it's just part of being a slave. That black's close body
shave isn't lost on the new slaves either.  Again, the idea is it's just a
normal part of being a slave - shaved, ringed, banded, branded, and
collared.  All normal for any slave these days - that's the message.  That
white slave trainer's going to fuck the black good and hard right before
their eyes so they can see how well the black slave takes the fucking,
thanks the white slave for fucking him as soon as he is finished, and even
cleans up the white slave's organ when he is finished.  Then we have the
black slave fuck the white so they don't think skin color has anything to
do with privilege when it comes to a slave.  A white's just a fuckable as a
black - what makes the difference is the fact they are slaves and slaves
are always available sexually for use by their masters.  After a few months
of this, the new trainees can barely remember any world different than this
and just accept it, even seek it out, as part of their being a slave now."

    "I didn't know slaves were fucked so much," I ventured.

    "That's probably because you said you were never around them much, let
alone owned one," Mr. Alcorn laughed.  "Believe you me, if you had owned a
slave looking anything like any of the meat around this place, you would
have fucked them around the clock."

    "I suppose you're right," I chuckled.  "Here I was just beating my meat
several times a day fantasizing about having a slave of my own someday."

    "That's what everyone does and when they actually get their hands on
some real slave meat, they fuck them every chance they get.  That's why
your great-uncle trained his stock here to expect nothing less and do a
great job of it."

    Brett Alcorn then led me to a brown Hispanic slave on his wide-spread
knees besides several large cast bronze awards with his hands in back of
his neck, his pelvis thrust foward to best display his gigantic full
erection, and his muscles tensed for full definition.  He had a magnificent
body with huge sculpted pecs, a tiny waist, nicely muscled arms and thighs,
and six-pac abs.  His genitals were tightly banded, placing his organs in
full display at all times.  His body was completely shaved other than his
head hair and his slave collar was fitted out with several special seals
denoting the awards he had won.  A special tattoo had been placed on his
abs denoting his prize-winning status.

    "The best training facilities, like Bates, hold frequent competitions
to see who can produce the best products for the open market.  One such
recent contest saw this slave of ours get four different awards: 'Best
Conditioned for Sale,' 'Best Trained,' 'Best Prepared for Market,' and
"best Hispanic Slave Trainee.'  This Brazilian slave is 18 and has only
recently been enslaved following his sentencing in Brazil for petty theft.
Once imprisoned, the warden sold him to us and we entered him in the
contest following his three-month intensive training period here.  The last
boy we had who won four awards was put up for auction (along with his
awards) many years ago and was bought by a young American billionaire whose
hobby was collecting awarding winning young male slaves who he could enjoy
in his own private harem (and who were frequently shown off and shared by
his friends and business associates).  The $480,000 he paid for the slave
was written off as a business expense which is perfectly legal as long as
the slave is used at least part time for business purposes such as
entertaining clients.  Once with the billionaire, the slave was kept busy
entertaining his new master's many business partners around the clock,
including more than a few women executives who seem to especially enjoy a
well muscled young boy totally under their control.  Seven years later, he
was completely worn out and had lost his appeal so the billionaire
subsequently resold him to a sugar cane farming operation in Louisiana
where he was put to hard labor in a chain gang.  He died five years later
of heat stroke and heart failure but was considered an excellent investment
in view of his low resale price.

    Studying the awards surrounding the displayed Hispanic boy I marveled
at how the competitive spirit had permeated even slave training
establishments.  It would certainly keep morale up among the trainers
themselves and offered a wonderful feeling of accomplishment when one of
your products actually won.  I stopped momentarily in my reflections to
think how quickly I was beginning to think of the slaves around me as
'products' instead of people much like myself.  Deep inside, I knew I had
to make the full transition to thinking of them as just pieces of meat if I
was to be successful in this business. As Mr. Alcorn had said: "Livestock -
nothing but livestock."  Witnessing how easily even the most recently
enslaved could be turned into compliant obedient commodities almost eager
to be sold, I was beginning to agree with Mr.  Alcorn who was even know
urging me to move forward to inspect one of the most provocative slaves I
had ever seen - a black, the likes of which I had never even dreamed
existed.

    "He's been costumed by marketing," Mr. Alcorn said.  "What do you
think?"

    I was so overwhelmed with the slave before us I couldn't even answer,
although I thought the skimpy little white rag draped around his torso did
add to the overall effect.  What really grabbed your attention, though, was
him stroking one of biggest organs I had ever seen, even now dripping, with
a huge, inviting smile on his strikingly handsome face.

    "The market in slaves, especially so-called 'pleasure slaves,' seem to
go from one fad to another as fashions changed almost yearly," Mr. Alcorn
explained. "Black slaves are particularly growing in demand at this time,
especially those specifically trained for service in an owner's bedroom.
Consequently, black slaves are being churned out at an ever increasing rate
at slave breeding farms, bred for outstanding sexual attributes and
appealing physical traits.  As soon as they reach puberty, they are
subjected to mandatory physique enhancement training sessions and very
specialized training courses in sexual techniques that guarantee their new
owners maximum pleasure in bed. Of course, we're gambling.  By the time
we're able to market these new products, the demand for sex slaves may take
off in a different directions - Asians, Polynesians, Celtics, Russians -
who knows?  By I think a handsome well trained black buck will always bring
a fairly decent price, no matter what the current fad is."

    "One reason for the current popularity of black slaves is interest in
the historical American South where racial slavery was widely practiced and
black slaves were frequently utilized for the sexual pleasures of their
masters and mistresses," Mr. Alcorn continued.  "This black boy here is
representative of pleasure slaves being offered in contemporary markets.
His sexual attributes, good physique, rugged good looks, and obvious
willingness to please are exactly what many wealthy enough to own slaves
are looking for, especially those primarily interested in being 'serviced'
by a well trained fully compliant slave property.  In today's society, many
mistresses stock at least one such boy in their boudoirs; masters are
equally eager to enjoy the pleasures such boys can offer them.  I suppose
that's one of the realities of almost any slave holding society, both
historic and contemporary.  As your great-uncle so aptly put it: 'if slaves
are reasonably priced and properly trained, there is always a market for
them in somebody's bedroom.'  There's a problem, though.  Some clandestine
puppy mills are beginning to spring up, turning out blacks just as fast as
they can be whelped, but they're of dubious quality.  I can't imagine where
they'll end up, selling for next to nothing.  There ought to be a law
setting some standards for breeding slaves," Mr. Alcorn shook his head.
"Otherwise, Pittsburgh and everywhere else is going to be flooded with
genetic defects, runts, the disease-prone, dim wits, and non-trainable
rogues that no one will buy at any price.  Oh well, buyer beware, as they
say, but, mark my words, it's going to hurt the market in the long haul.
Some say at least they'll be grist for the factories and construction
crews, but, with careful breeding, we can do a lot better than that."

    "This slave here," Mr. Alcorn said as he grabbed the slave's penis and
gripped it firmed, "we're using for some of our TV ads and promotionals
about upcoming auctions.  With his collar and other accouterments removed,
we're utilizing him to promote what a properly trained pleasure slave can
provide for some lucky owner whether they be a mistress or master.  Dressed
as you see him here by the marketing department, he flaunts his manly
attributes and does in fact give prospective buyers some idea of the types
of livestock that will be available at the forthcoming venue.  We've make
considerable money on him already because in between photo takes and TV
appearances we're renting him out at $100 an hour or $500 for 12 hours to
provide any services demanded of those paying the fee."  He began stroking
the slave's rampant erection.  "Already, he's brought in over $300,000 in
rental fees - not bad considering your great-uncle only paid $700,000 for
him three years ago and taking into account we can still get $600,000 for
him at any slave market in the region if we want to sell him.  Human
livestock like this have proven to be about the best investment available
today if you're savvy to market conditions. It's one of the major reason
the price of really handsome and well hung slaves just keep going up and up
in today's market despite the huge numbers pouring in from the breeding
farms."  He let loose of the slave's dripping penis and ordered him to bend
over and expose his hole whereupon he inserted two fingers well up the
lubricated chute and began vigorously finger fucking the boy. "Despite what
we paid for him, this boy brought his first owner a huge profit.  You see,
Mr. Bates, he was bred on a slave farm not far from where he is located
right now and we bought him the moment he was physically mature at the age
of 15 so we could get started on his training.  But, by then of course, he
was already fully acclimated to his status as a mere commodity and knew he
was destined to be a sex slave due to the attractiveness of his body.
Therefore, he took to his training quite readily."

    "I can certainly understand why you use him for posters and the TV
ads," I mumbled, wondering how the black boy felt about being masturbated
and finger-fucked right in front of a total stranger.  The slave wasn't
even blushing and seemed relatively unperturbed by such gross violations of
his body.
    "If you haven't enjoyed a black before, he'd be a good one to bed down
when you settle in at the manor house," Mr. Alcorn suggested as he withdrew
his fingers whereupon the slave promptly whirled around, sunk to his knees,
and began cleaning the fingers with his mouth. "If he suits you, you might
consider moving him in over there as one of your personal pleasure slaves.
We've got plenty of others around here we can use for the TV
promotionals. That way he'd always be handy when you wanted to get a little
enjoyment."  He paused a bit and then laughed.  "I don't know though.
Those six boys he had me send over there for his personal use may be ever
better looking than this boy - a matter of taste, I suppose."

    "This boy sure is attractive," I ventured. "You probably won't be
surprised to hear that I've never bedded a black before," I blushed.

    "Nothing to be embarrassed about, Mr. Bates.  It's really only common
among the rich who can afford such things.  But, if you're inheriting your
great-uncle's estate, you can begin to explore such luxuries now," he
laughed as he reached down and cupped the boy's balls.  "Yes sir, nothing
like bedding a black buck down to let you know you've reached the big time
now," he added with another huge laugh and released the slave's balls.

    "Well, enough playing around with this boy.  I've got so much else to
show you in our limited time.  I wanted to show you some of our older
stock, which sells at a most reasonable price and hence is more affordable
for the average person.  We've probably spent enough time on millionaire's
row," he laughed again as he slapped the black slave's rump in dismissal.

    "Older used slaves often offer tremendous value, Mr. Bates. Generally,
such slaves have already had three or four previous owners, are now in
their late 20s or early 30s, and, if they had been sold as pleasure slaves
previously, due to their good looks and sexual attributes, have lots of
experience in pleasing their masters or mistresses in bed.  That means
relatively little further training is necessary in most cases to get them
to 'Bates trained' standards .  The good side of these older slaves is that
they have been carefully selected and trained to start with; the down side
is that they are past their youthful peak and beginning to show signs of
their heavy usage.  Most slaves this old and who have probably experienced
considerable use are slower to arouse, beginning to have a little
difficulty in keeping an erection as long as their owner would like, and
have bodies that are beginning to show the wear and tear of constant sexual
arousal.  All of this despite the heavy exercise regimes and highly
controlled diets they are exposed to each and every day.  Most are on
continual doses of sexual stimulants by now and, within a decade, even the
drugs won't work anymore.  Nevertheless, they are still most appealing
sexually, are highly skilled in an owner's bed, and offer tremendous value
for the dollar compared to their younger and admittedly friskier brethren
in the marketplaces."

    As we entered another huge warehouse containing hundreds of cages,
Mr. Alcorn explained he wanted to show me some examples of what he was
talking about.

    "Most of these slaves are awaiting auction toward the end of the week
where they will sell anywhere from $140,000 to $200,000 due to their
advanced age. But with proper maintenance, they can still render their
sexual services another 10 or 15 years without too much decline.  For those
with limited funds, it's the most logical choice.  Besides, even when they
were completely played out sexually, you can always sell them as draft
slaves for at least 50% of what you paid for them."

    We stopped by the first cage holding a very handsome brown slave with a
magnificent physique and huge semi-erect sexual organs and Mr. Alcorn took
a key hanging from his belt and quickly unlocked the cage door and swung it
open..  Instantly, the contents of the cage wiggled out of the tight
confines and, stretching, took a full display position in front of his
cage, totally naked, of course, with the exception of his collar, rings,
and bands. .

    "This one was used for years as a personal pleasure slave by a a middle
aged white executive who had a fetish for handsome mulattos. He's a bred
slave and has been trained from birth on for his duties as a sex object and
really knows no life outside of catering to an owner's demands, no matter
how weird they may be."

    The slave smiled beautifully as he spread his legs for a full display
of his sexual organs and thrusting his pelvis forward, tensed his muscles
to best exhibit his body since his arms were already placed in back of his
collar.

    "He's originally from an Alabama breeding farm specializing in mixed
breeds and who did most of his training long before we was first sold.
Since we've had him, we taught him a few tricks about displaying himself
properly and handling heavier usage, but he really needed very little
instruction.  We even thought about keeping him around as a slave trainer
due to all his experience - may still do that if he doesn't reach the
minimum bid we've set."

    "Sounds like a good idea, Mr. Alcorn.  What's the minimum bid set at?"

    "As I recall, its $180,000 because he's just 25 now despite all the
usage he's had.  There's at least 15 years left in him yet if you feed and
exercise him right with plenty of time to rest up."

    "He'd probably enjoy being a trainer for a change," I commented.  "That
way, he'd be doing the fucking for a change."

    "He'd probably like that alright," Mr. Alcorn laughed, "but that's not
a slave's choice and he knows it."

    "Still, it would be a change of pace for him, unless you think he's
getting too old to put it to the trainees properly."

    "Well, he's no more over the hill than most of our slave trainers,"
Mr. Alcorn laughed as we moved on to another cage where, again, he unlocked
the cage door and the contents quickly emerged to display himself in front
of us..

    "This boy's Albanian and is 35-years-old now if you can believe it.  He
was a former 'cabin boy' on a freighter where I understand he got used
around the clock by the whole crew since he was the only slave on board. He
was originally bought from an Albanian orphanage when he was 17 and taken
to Libya where he was trained and then auctioned off in that white slaves
are highly valued in Libya. He's getting to show signs of considerable
usage now, I'm afraid, but he's well trained and uses his extensive
experience to compensate for his physical shortcomings.  He looks more
youthful than he is because of his completely shaved body, his naturally
smooth skin, and his long shoulder-length hair - all of which makes him
still look boyish.  Here he is 18 years later in Pittsburgh being sold once
again for the pleasure his body can still offer no matter how many seamen
from all over the world have pumped his butt over the years.  When we
bought him, they told us he only got fed once a day because he was
generally filled up with the crew's cum in between.  Digesting a lot of cum
keeps you youthful, you know."

    "I always thought that was an old wife's tale," I chuckled.

    "It is, but the tale is true," Mr. Alcorn laughed.  "This boy is living
proof of how a gallon or two of cum a day keeps your body in perpetual
youth.  That's why there's such a market for 'milk studs' among 40 and 50
year old buyers beginning to worry about their aging bodies.  They all
swear two or three loads a day from a young stud helps keep the wrinkles
away better than anything."

    "You would think middle aged women would be drinking gallons of the
stuff," I joked.

    "It's no joke.  That's exactly what they do, if they're rich enough to
afford the herd of young boys necessary to do that.  Come around to our
next auction and you'll see exactly what I'm talking about.  They won't
even bid on a 'milk stud' until they see him deliver a big load right out
there on the auction block in front of everyone.  Some of them even want it
in a measuring glass so they can see exactly how much output the stud has
as well as feel its consistency and thickness.  Those women make no secret
of what they're up to and seem to be proud of it," Mr. Alcorn exclaimed
with a chuckle.  "One of them even told me they use fresh cum as a
'cleansing agent' for their faces before putting on their makeup.  What
vanity!  I always wondered whether they had their slave boy spurt it on
their cheeks directly of whether they had him put their output in a little
tea saucer for their mistress' usage.  Some of those we've sold off as
'milk studs' could tell some real tales I bet."

    Moving on to yet another cage, Mr. Alcorn explained the cage held a
28-year-old Italian boy who had most recently done a stint in a Pittsburgh
brothel.  Once the slave had slithered out of his tight confines, it was
obvious he was absolutely striking: dark skinned, magnificently muscled, a
hairless body crowned by a full head of thick black hair cut in military
fashion, and displaying a huge thick 13" prick already swollen into a
partial erection.  His well shaped shoulders and pecs flowed down to a
thickly muscled abdomen holding in a tight waist line.  His butt was
muscular, but extremely well rounded and rode high on his body, giving him
a true 'bubble butt' that was particularly attractive.

    "This slave was kidnaped in his Italian homeland when he was 15 and
fully trained by the age of 17 when he was shipped over here for sale to
the Pittsburgh brothel I mentioned.  He adjusted very well to his new life
there and was a great asset to the popular brothel that owned him, having
quite a loyal clientele who demanded him by his slave name of "Stud"
whenever they patronized the place.  There's a lot of Italians here in
Pittsburgh, as you probably are aware, Mr. Bates, and they seem to prefer
Italian slaves when they can get them.  I'm not surprised he was so popular
at the brothel even though his looks along should have sold the goods so to
speak."

    "How much will this 'Stud' bring when you auction him off?" I asked.
"Eleven years of heavy brothel use would wear even a body like that out I
would think.  From what I've heard, male brothels here in Pittsburgh are
very popular and really draw in the tourists as well."

    "What do you mean, 'from what I've heard' Mr. Bates?"  Mr. Lindsley let
slip you didn't own any slaves until your inheritance and you're still
young enough to have needs that must be met.  That's obvious from your
reactions at just looking at all this available slave meat.  You must have
visited the public brothels at least two or three times a week. They don't
cost much if you limit your time there.  There's no need to be embarrassed
about using the brothels here in Pittsburgh, Mr. Bates.  Everyone does I
know of who doesn't own some pleasure slaves himself, and even some that do
for variety sake."

    "Well, they probably had more money than I did, Mr. Alcorn.  I grant
you they don't charge much, but I'm afraid it was more than I had if I
wanted to eat and pay the rent too."

    "But....  But..  What did you do, then?" Mr. Alcorn looked amazed.

    "Not much," I reddened in embarrassment.

    "Oh, Mr. Bates, it's wonderful that your great-uncle has made you
wealthy.  I'm so happy for you.  I can't think of anyone more deserving,
suffering all those years of deprivation and hardship."

    "Mr. Alcorn, most people here in Pittsburgh don't have any money to buy
slaves and a lot of them, like myself, are so poor they can't even rent one
now and then for some relief.  I think you've spent so much time surrounded
by all this beautiful slave flesh you've lost touch with the true reality
of Pittsburgh's majority.  Most of the people who live here are just
downright poor, so poor we often envy slaves who are well fed and don't
have to worry about a roof over their head, keeping their jobs, or paying
all those endless bills that pile up.  Mr.  Alcorn, I've even known of some
people who were so poor, their creditors forced them to sell themselves
into slavery in order to pay their past due bills and, you know what?  Most
of them didn't fight it much because they thought it was one way to stop
being hungry all the time and stop having to live on the streets despised
by everyone.  Slavery is great for those with some means - they can enjoy
all those beautiful bodies in their beds and never have to lift a finger
because their slaves do all the work for them, but, for those without any
means, its almost impossible to compete with slave labor.  Try to get a job
that pays anything at all when it can be done by a slave who works for
nothing but keeping the whip off his back and a few handfuls of slave chow
every night.  And as for our 'needs,' as you so delicately put it,
Mr. Alcorn, all we could afford for any relief was our right hand."

    "Beautifully said, Mr. Bates," Mr. Alcorn said, properly chastised.  "I
can see you're going to bring a lot of fresh perspectives to Bates Training
that will only make us better at what we do," he said with admiration.
"It's going to be exciting working under your leadership.  Your refreshing
candor, that polite bluntness, remind me so much of your great-uncle - it's
almost uncanny!"

    The Italian slave looked at me with great respect and widening his
legs, thrust his pelvis forward in an open invitation.

    "See, even that Dago slave admires your understanding of the
marketplace.  He's trying to show his admiration the best way he knows
how. I'm sure he understands what it's like to not be able to find any
relief when you need it - brothel slaves are rarely allowed to unload
themselves, you know. Their owners want them hot and ready to go at all
times, which means, of course, they can't drain their balls.  You and he
share a lot, it seems, and he's trying to take care of you in his own way."

    "What he really needs is a chance to jack off," I replied bluntly.
"And I doubt if you're going to allow him any of that prior to auction - he
wouldn't show hard all the time like you'll want and wouldn't shoot a big
load when he's told to masturbate there in front of everyone. "

    "Well, you're right there, Mr. Bates.  Slaves get used to chronic need
because they have to - but a poor free man shouldn't have to suffer like
that."

    "They don't, Mr. Alcorn.  They beat off every chance they get," I
laughed.  "It's the one area they have it all over the slaves.  They may be
hungry, but they're drained," I laughed again as I moved us on to yet
another cage in the huge room.

    "What do we have here?" I asked as I reached inside the cage and ran my
hand through the slave's thick head hair.

    "You'll soon see," Mr. Alcorn said as he unlocked the cage door and the
slave inside backed out quickly and assumed a full display position. "

    "A 32-year-old Greek man who has been owned by a pornographer who used
this slave as the "star" of his best selling S&M epics.  He can't meet the
heavy demands of the movie producers anymore and he's being 'retired' to
the life of a personal sex slave if we can find a buyer for him.  We're
only asking $114,000 for him due to his heavy usage to date, his advanced
age, all those permanent whip scars all over his body, and his rather
average penis.  The pornographer told me his penis size didn't matter in
the movies because he was always being beaten or fucked anyway and no one
paid any attention to this prick.  But as a pleasure slave, it will sure
bring down the value as will all those ugly scars on his back and
rump. Still, with all his experience over the years, he could be a real
bargain if you don't mind the lacerated hide.  The rest of him is really
pretty spectacular."

    Indeed it was.  The Greek slave was 6'4" tall with a heavily muscled
body, a beatific face featuring a very nice mouth, the classic Greek
straight nose, striking black eyes with heavy black eyebrows, high
cheekbones, and a rugged jawline.  He wore a heavy iron collar with brass
decorations, sported big 3" brass tit rings, and even bigger ear rings.
When I took his chin and lifted his face up to study his face, his dark
eyes reflected years of excruciating pain and unending pain which he had
learned to endure one way or another.

    "There's buyers out there who like a slave whose obviously been heavily
disciplined," Mr. Alcorn said.  "He'll be lucky if he's sold to a master or
mistress just looking for a competent bed buck.  A lot of boys like this
run the risk of being bought by a real sadist - you know, the ones who can
only reach orgasm when they're causing extreme pain to their sexual
partners.  If so, at least they're used to it by now."

    The handsome Greek under discussion only shuttered and got a far away
look of resignation in his eyes.

    "But," Mr. Alcorn added, "a young mistress was in just yesterday asking
if we had a very masculine slave available who would be good in her bed but
who had been completely broken so she didn't have to worry about using a
big buck so intimately.  This boy here could be just the ticket for her:
his hide shows he's broken all right; his smallish prick would be easy
enough to take, even if you were built rather small and delicate as it
seemed she might be, and he reeks of masculinity if you ever saw if.
Besides that, outside that scarred up hide, he's still damn good looking -
something she could be proud to show off, especially if she'd fit him out
with a smart looking slave tunic that would cover the ugly parts of him.
The more I think about it, I think I'll give her a call and ask her to come
look him over carefully and even try him out if she wants to before making
a bid.  We have a little 'examination room' over at the side there that's
fully equipped to test a slave out any way you want - comfortable beds with
clean linen, K-Y jelly, an adjoining shower - the whole works for a
thorough examination and trial run.  We may even be able to get a few
thousand more than I had thought."

    The Greek quickly reached a full erection upon this last speculation
and the look of despair left his eyes.

    "What do you think, slave?" I asked. "Should your overseer call the
lady?"

    "Yes, master.  Please call the lady.  I'm sure I can please the
mistress, master, any way she might want.  Especially, master, if I could
cover the ugly scars on my backside, master, so it wouldn't offend the
mistress. I know how to really pleasure her, master, if you just give me
the chance in that little room over there, master."
    "Enough, slave" I commanded. "I think your overseer has been convinced
to at least call the mistress to see if she might be interested in your
body."

    When the Greek slave had been ordered back into his cage, Mr. Alcorn
led me out of the building into his office for refreshments since both of
us were getting a little tired.

    "All four slaves I just showed you are being marketed to private owners
who are too poor to afford sex slaves in their peak.  Most of the buyers
will be considerably younger than the slaves they end up buying. Indeed,
most of the buyers will be buying their very first slaves - 'starter'
slaves as they are known in the trade.  For the most part, it will
generally be teenagers buying these low-priced slaves charged to their
credit cards so they can pay them off over a period of time.  Or, if an
adult is with them, you can bet they are probably receiving one of these
older slaves as a high school graduation gift or as birthday gifts from
their indulgent parents who want to start their sons or daughters out in
the world with at least one slave to warm their bed and pick up after
them. Therefore, these slaves will often have the unique experience of
being owned by mistresses or masters almost young enough to be their own
children if they had been allowed to have children of their own, which, of
course, they weren't unless they had been put to stud somewhere along the
line.  Slaves sold to these young owners soon discover that teenage masters
are very demanding of their new slaves and soon their throats are raw and
their ass holes chafed from the constant usage they receive in being fucked
six or seven times a day, not counting the times they are loaned out to
their teenage owner's friends.  The young mistresses are equally demanding,
and most pleasure slaves purchased by them have chronically chafed pricks,
sore balls, and raw nipples since teenage mistresses seem to be fascinated
with a mature males nibs.  For these older slaves, at first it seems
strange being fucked by a bunch of kids, paraded around stark naked at
teenage parties like prize pieces of meat at a state fair, and ordered to
fuck other slaves in front of owners young enough to be products of their
own loins, but, being well trained slaves, they quickly adjust to the new
circumstances of their ownership and perform to their new owners
satisfaction without fail.  Still, they are in their 30s for the main part
and certainly are a lot slower in responding to all the pawing, massaging,
patting, and squeezing their teen age owners love to do to their new
possessions.  But their owners, being first time slave owners, really don't
realize how slow they are to respond compared to other younger slaves and
never seem to notice their deficiencies in that they are so caught up in
the novelty of totally owning another human being for the first time.  They
would if they had acquired younger slaves to compare them with, but, for
that first ownership, the young masters and mistresses are delighted with
them.  Many of the slaves had been 'gift slaves' anyway and who can
complain about something that didn't cost them a penny. Even for those
owners buying them on long-term installment plans, the monthly payments are
low and it sure beats the alternative: jacking off every night imagining
what it would be like to own a slave of your very own. Now, at last, they
do, and they aren't disappointed in the slightest - the reality was even
better than the fantasy!"

    "It's obvious you not only understand the psychology of the slaves
you're training, but the psychology of those buying the slaves as well," I
said.  "I want to make sure you stay with Bates Training - whatever it
takes."

    "That's a damn thoughtful thing to say.  You know, Mr. Bates, you
remind me more and more of your great-uncle the more I'm around you.  I
liked to work for him and I'm fairly sure I'm going to enjoy working for
you as well."

    "I've got to meet with Mr. Lindsley early in the morning for a tour of
the manor house.  It's been a long day for me, Mr. Alcorn, so, if you don't
mind I think I'll go home and rest up.  Again, thanks for the great tour."

    "Mr. Lindsley thought you would rest up a lot better if you had
something more than your right hand around," Mr. Alcorn laughed. "There's a
company car out front with a driver who we thought you might enjoy
overnight.  We've dressed him in a old turtle-neck shirt, some loose pants,
and even some shoes and a baseball cap so he won't draw much attention to
himself back in your old neighborhood - even his slave collar is hidden
that way.  We assumed your neighbors weren't slaveholders themselves and a
good looking naked slave suddenly in their midst would create quite a stir.
Dressed this way, your neighbors will just think you brought some old high
school buddy back to your apartment.  As soon as he's parked the car, take
him up to the apartment and he'll strip the minute you close the door.
He's well aware of what his duties will be tonight and has cleaned and
lubed himself thoroughly.  There'll be a leash in his hip pocket in case
you want to attach it to his collar when you settle in. In the morning,
he'll take you to Mr. Lindsley's office and then will drive himself back
here where he can hit the showers and get fed if he's proven
satisfactory. Mr. Lindsley's secretary, that fine looking buck his clients
like so well, will ask you if your driver was satisfactory and will call us
as soon as you give a report.  Be honest in your evaluation, Mr. Bates.
Discipline is important to a slave's well being in the long haul and
anything less than 100% effort must be addressed.  We've got a reputation
to maintain around here - well," he paused, "your reputation now, Mr.
Bates."

    "The slave's use is most thoughtful, Mr. Lindsley.  I've always wanted
to have a nice- looking slave around when I got horny."

    "Well, your days of deprivation are over, Mr. Bates," Mr. Alcorn
laughed.  "You sure one will be enough?"

    "Looking at all those beautiful bodies today did get me all charged up,
I admit, but I'm sure this driver of yours... well, mine now I
suppose... will do for tonight.  I wasn't kidding when I said I was really
tired no matter how frisky and willing he might be."

    "Let us know about that, Mr. Bates.  Our training depends on good
feedback."

    "I'll be brutally honest, Scott. I promise."

    Scott Alcorn led me to a nearby side entrance where, sure enough, an
institutional looking shiny black Ford 500 was idling with a beautiful
sandy haired, green eyed, well built man of about 18 or 19 stood ramrod
straight with his head bowed holding the front passenger door open. He was
dressed exactly as Mr. Alcorn had described which hid all clues of his
slave identity.  Other than his strikingly handsome face, his magnificent
physique, and the large very noticeable bulge in his trousers , which even
the loose clothing couldn't hide, he looked about like the average
resident.  A skilled observer of human flesh would notice, however, that he
obviously was devoid of underpants and socks, that the pronounced bulge was
probably due to a tight fitting genital cinch in addition to being well
equipped, and that his complexion was too smooth to be anything but mixed
blood.

    As I took the driver in, Mr. Alcorn noted, "He's a quadroon we picked
up cheap at an Alabama reformatory about two years ago.  He's so popular as
a 'loaner' we've never put him on the block."

    "Slave training seems to have a jargon all its own, Scott," I laughed.
"Now back up.  Just what is a quadroon, a loaner and the block?  You'll
have to speak English when you talk to a novice like me."

    Mr. Alcorn chuckled as he reached forward and began squeezing the
slave's sex organs through the flimsy pants, commenting, "God, this boy is
hung." Within seconds, the loose pants tented out obscenely, as the 'boy'
gained a full erection. "And hot to trot, it seems," he chuckled
again. "But back to your questions, Mr. Bates.  "A quadroon has one-fourth
black blood; three- fourths white blood or something approximating that.
They end up looking a lot like Hispanics half the time, but this boy looks
definitely white with a dark creamy complexion.  Pretty, isn't it?
Customers love them like this, but quadroons are hard to breed - you get a
lot of splotchy ones and some that just look sort of muddy.  But 50% of the
time, you get something looking like this," as he reached forward and
jerked the slave's chin up so I could admire his facial complexion. "A
loaner is a slave we loan out a lot to some of our best customer and
suppliers.  Most of the loans are for overnight use, like tonight for
example, but sometimes we loan them out for weekends or even a week's
vacation of one of our customers.  We have about five or six slave boys we
keep around as loaners in that Mr. Bates felt it was something we could do
to keep our best customers happy at very little cost to us.  Frankly, I
think he was dead right on that one.  Doesn't hurt the slaves any that I
can see, and it's just a matter of delaying their sale a year or so
usually.  Doesn't cost us much, really. And, what was your other question?
Oh, yes.  Being on the block.  That's the term we use for selling off a
slave.  They're generally displayed on a small block at the auction houses
so everyone can see them.  That's where that term comes from.  It won't
take you long to learn the jingo, Mr. Bates.  Until then, just ask if we
get going too fast for you to figure it out in context."

    Mr. Alcorn abruptly stopped squeezing the slave's shaft and looked at
the open front passenger door with a broad smile. "He wants you up front
where it will be easy for you to have access to his body if you get bored
on the drive.  This boy knows what the customers want, all right."

    "See you soon, I hope," I said as I got into the car as the driver
closed the door behind me and ran to the driver's door. "Remember, tomorrow
I'll be over at the manor house."

    "You'll probably never leave the place, Mr. Bates," Scott Alcorn
shouted through the closed window, "once you see the staff your great-uncle
stocked the place with."

    The driver pulled the Ford crisply away and soon spread his legs far
apart as he glanced at me invitingly.

    "I'm here for your enjoyment, Master," he said quietly.  "Whatever you
might like," thrusting his pelvis forward a bit and reaching down to unzip
his pants.

    "Keep your pants on, boy," I retorted.  "We'll be at my apartment soon
enough for all that."

    "Yes, master," the slave answered, keeping his legs wide spread and
open in case I changed my mind.

    "You like being out of the reformatory?" I asked, thinking what a
stupid question it really was after I had asked it. After all, the boy was
now a lifetime slave, not just temporarily incarcerated.

    The slave's hesitancy in answering told me no one had ever asked him
that before. "Not much different, master, except now I'm sort of a trustee
all the time - getting to come and go without being in a cell or shackled
all the time.  Other than that, it's about the same, master."

    "Not really.  You're a slave now for the rest of your life, always
subject to the will of your master.  In the reformatory, you were still a
free man - at least when you got out eventually - and you weren't being
'loaned' out for use of your body like you are now," I goaded him.

    "Yes, master.  But I've found out a slave gets taken care of a lot
better because he's worth something and, master, I got fucked steady in the
reform school - lots more than since I've been a slave and a lot rougher
too, master.  Seemed like everyone lined up to fuck this boy from the
minute I set foot in that place - guards, wardens, trustees, state
officials.  Every old redneck in Alabama seemed to get up my hole or down
my throat one way or another in that reform school, master. It's much
better being a slave, master, especially if you're lucky enough to be a
Bates slave."

    "What's so great about that?" I asked, fully understanding the slave
was totally unaware he was talking to the new owner of Bates Training
Center.

    "Bates' slaves are so well-trained and expensive, everyone takes very
good care of the property and no matter where you go, most freeman and
almost all the other slaves have a certain awe of you, knowing how much you
cost and how much people would like to own a Bates' trained slave for
themselves. Master, I just love being respected like that.  I never had
that before in my life."

    "You know as well as I do that when we get to my little dump of an
apartment, I'm going to have you strip naked, snap a leash on your slave
collar and then I'm going to fuck the shit out of you over and over until I
can't get it up anymore.  And I expect you to give me the best fuck I've
ever had in my life whether you like being fucked or not. If you don't, you
know word will get back to Bates' Training and then you sure as hell will
wish you had done a better job in my bed when you had the chance.  You call
that respect?"

    "Yes, master." the slave replied, smiling beautifully.  "That's my job,
master.  You're not raping me.  I enjoy being wanted and needed and I know
I'm good at what I do.  My life has a purpose now it never had before.
I've got pride in being a Bates' property and a reputation to maintain."

    "Your's or Bates?" I asked.

    "Both, master.  The slaves of Bates' are Bates, master."

    I gave up interrogating the slave after that but knew I certainly
wouldn't feel guilty when I enjoyed his body tonight.  The concept of
slaves' sexual exploitation seemed irrelevant if this slave was any
example.  In fact, I doubt if he could understand what you were talking
about.

    When we reached the apartment, it was obvious the slave was startled at
how sparse and run down the place was.  Most customers of Bates' probably
took their loaner slaves to plush hotels, fancy resorts, and opulent homes
where the premium goods would fit right in.  Once he promptly stripped and
his magnificent body was on full display, he did seem totally out of place
- high priced quality goods in a crappy setting.  He had the little leash
carried in his pants pocket already in his hand as he bowed to me so it was
easy to leash him with it. That done, I led him to an old couch which I
also slept in and motioned for him to lean over the top of it with his legs
spread wide so his hole was easily accessible.  He understood immediately,
and within seconds I had stripped myself and, without any preliminaries,
slid up his chute and began pounding away.  This was a dream come true.  At
last I was fucking a beautiful slave boy who seemed totally compliant to
anything I wanted and even now was churning his ass muscles to make the
experience even better than I imagined it could possibly be. The boy, with
his highly trained ass, his nicely scented beautifully muscled body, and
yielding the impression he was enjoying being fucked as much as I enjoyed
fucking him, took me to heights of ecstacy I never knew existed.  No wonder
boys like this brought hundreds of thousands when auctioned off.  They were
worth every single penny of the price and then some.  My great-uncle had
tapped a market that was limitless.  No wonder people referred to him in
almost religious tones.

    When I finished draining myself into his hole, the gorgeous slave
sincerely thanked me for fucking him, the final touch to a perfect
experience and then proceeded to completely clean me with his skilled
tongue as if he were worshiping my body in some spiritual rite.

    "Again, master?  Of would you prefer I suck you gently?" the slave
suggested, again with great sincerity, as if that would be a great honor if
I so allowed.  The experience was unparallel to anything I had ever had
happen to me in my life up to this point.

    "Suck me until I'm hard again, and then I want to fuck you with me
lying down on the floor and you lowering your ass down on me.  I'm too
tired to fuck you myself again, slave."

    "Of course, master," the slave answered as he wrapped his lips around
my softened prick and strongly sucked it as he ran his lips expertly up and
down the shaft while he very gently massaged my balls with one of his hands
until it was back into full erection again. Then, facing me, he climbed
over my prone form and, taking my swollen prick in one hand to position it,
slowly lowered his open hole down over the shaft until it was completely
submerged in him.  Only then did he begin pumping up and down with his arms
braced at each side, smiling at me intently as I played rather roughly with
his heavily-ringed tits which quickly became swollen and erect in my
hands. As he fucked himself on my prick, he leaned forward so I had better
access to his muscular pectorals, the tits attached to them, and so I could
study one of the most beautiful faces ever put on a human being.

    Within 20 of the finest minutes of my life, I shot again up his ass and
was pleased his throbbing prick, one of the largest I had ever seen, was
oozing precum steadily as he continued pumping me dry.

    "Permission to shoot, master?" the slave asked softly.

    "Hold it, slave.  Next time maybe.  I want to enjoy you a third time if
I don't die first."

    "Yes, master," the slave gasped as he struggled to keep from shooting
off himself, biting his lip and holding his breath until he had regained
control of his quivering body.

    The third time I had him lay on his back with his legs up over his
muscular shoulders so had complete access to his hole. I pumped him for 40
minutes since I was completely drained when we started.  It was, if
anything, even better than the second time due to the fact I completely
controlledl the rate and depth of penetration and hence could keep from
cumming over and over again.  But finally, I could hold it no longer and
shot a surprisingly large third load up the slave's ass.  This time, the
slave's need was wildly evident with his flushed, sweating body, his
heavily dripping prick, and the heavy breathing every animal gets when they
are in frantic need.

    "May I shoot, master?" the slave gasped.

    "Yes, slave," I said.  "Well earned."

    With that, the slave shot more hot steamy cum all over my face, chest,
stomach, neck, and upper arms than I thought any human male could produce,
but then, of course, I had never been held in need for almost two hours of
constant heavy stimulation.

    The slave sensed when he had completely drained me and carefully lifted
his body off of my exhausted tool.  He thanked me profusely as he began
licking the huge gobs of his cum off of my body, starting with my face and
proceeding downward until every drop had disappeared down his throat with
obvious relish.  Then he cleaned my organs off until they sparked and
licked himself clean after that.

    "More, master?" he asked as if this were possible.

    "No slave."

    That was the last I remember.  After that I fell into one of the
deepest sleeps I had ever experienced and never moved until morning where I
found the slave curled in a fetal position beside me, the leash still in my
hand attached to his slave collar.

    "May I service you, master?" was the first I heard from the slave upon
arising.  When I quickly showered and dressed without answering him, I
realized I didn't even know his name nor did I ask it.  I would probably
never see him again in my life and he would soon, probably that night, be
loaned out to some other lucky bastard who wouldn't bother to learn his
name either. I motioned for the slave to put his clothes on over his
sweat-drenched body which he did instantly.  Within minutes he had driving
me to Mr. Lindsley's law office where he sincerely thanked me once again
for "allowing him to give me pleasure" and I drank in the smell of his
body, reeking of my sweat as well as his, my cum still drying on his body,
and the smells always lingering after hot, uninhibited sex.  By now, he had
a rugged five o'clock shadow on his smooth cheeks which only added to his
handsomeness.  I remembered if I gave a good report on him, he would be fed
and then allowed to clean thoroughly for his next assignment.

    Well trained didn't quite describe it, I decided as I entered
Mr. Lindsley's office. I quickly told Mr. Lindsley's slave secretary, who
looked as appealing as ever, that the 'loaner' had worked out well and I
had no complaints whatsoever.  Somehow, he looked disappointed as he
reached to call Mr. Alcorn with the report.  Then I realized he seldom got
a chance to be around anyone his own age. The favored clients of
Mr. Lindsley were all in their 60s and 70s for the main part and couldn't
have been too exciting when they bedded him down.  He probably viewed me as
dream come true compared to the usual clientele.  I least I could still get
it up on my own!  I wasn't adverse to the idea of getting a chance to use
him, but in view of the pending visit to the manor house, that would have
to wait until another day.

    "Mr. Alcorn from Bates Training would like to talk to you, master," the
secretary said humbly, showing his training by holding the phone until I
indicated I would be willing to do so.

    "Yes, Brett," I responded, picking up the phone. "How can I help you?"

    "That loaner was just OK?" he asked.  "We expect better than that out
of Bates' slaves.  He's in for some corrective discipline if that's true."

    "No," I replied irritably, shooting a glance of disapproval at
Mr. Lindsley's slave secretary.  "I said he had worked out well and I had
no complaints whatsoever as I recall.  Not just OK."

    "That's quite different, Mr. Bates.  Thanks for clearing that up.
Mr. Lindsley has got one jealous slave on his hands, it seems, and needs to
have his rump blistered good to learn how to report things accurately. I'll
suggest not only that, but a good 48 hours without any chow to Mr. Lindsley
when I call him later today. Slaves can get downright petty when they're on
a long chain.  Mr. Lindsley going to have to have to tighten up on that boy
of his - telling little lies is the first sign of losing control.  He
probably thinks because he keeps the old man happy in bed that he's foot
loose and fance free.  A good whip and a few days without being fed can
clear that up real fast."

    "If you have a spare moment, Mr. Alcorn, can I ask a few questions
about the business?"

    "I'm your employee, Mr. Bates.  Have you forgotten?  Of course, I
always have time for my boss," he replied warmly.

    "I was wondering about that slave you loaned me last night.  What
happens when he checks in with you, assuming you're gotten a good report on
him?  And how many of these 'loaners' are there, anyway?"

    "We have six loaners on hand right now and last night all six of them
were on duty and four of them are already back here. But to answer your
first question.  First off, he shucks his clothes and puts them in the
laundry.  Next, he douches his hole thoroughly before hitting the
showers. All clean again, he reports to the clinic and a slave technician
swabs his throat, the lining of his chute, and up his piss slit so we can
run a tissue culture for any disease onset while another slave nurse checks
him out for any injuries, bruises, or abrasion burns and takes a blood
sample.  Then it's on all fours and he gets his breakfast chow and a big
bowl of water to wash it down. He's mighty hungry by then usually.  While
we're running the blood and tissue culture tests, he reports to the
exercise center where he works out for three hours to make sure he keeps
that nice body of his appealing and flexible so he can take up any position
or perform anything asked of him physically without any trouble.  After
that, if the tests are OK, he's caged so he can catch up on his sleep.
When we wake him up, its to the maintenance room to plug himself into the
enemas, shower and shave his body again, get his chute lubed and his body
oiled, trim his head hair, and get dressed in fresh clothes for the next
loan if we have one lined up.  Otherwise, he skips putting on the clothes
and we assign him some janitorial duties here.  Generally, Mr.  Bates,
they're loaned out at least five nights a week , usually all seven."

    "Who to?" I asked.

    "Big ticket buyers of the firm, Mr. Bates, who appreciate being
remembered that way, some suppliers who offers us some decent discounts,
and anyone who's done the firm a favor in public relations or gave us some
free advertising," Brett Alcorn replied.

    "What if the tests come back negative, or one of them comes back beaten
up or overused?  It can't possibly always go smoothly."

    "I'll answer your last question first, Mr. Bates, because it's the most
likely.  A few of the recipients of our largesse get carried away with the
sudden windfall of a beautiful fresh body at their total disposal and
literally fuck them half to death, tearing up their anal tracks, scratching
their backs up in passion, tearing their throats with a particularly
vicious mouth fucking, squeezing their balls until they're all swollen, or
sucking on their tits until they're bleeding.  In cases like that, we fix
them up at the first aid station and pull them off duty until they're
completely healed usually giving them a shot of antibiotics just to play it
safe.  Sometimes, they're just overused, being up all night trying to
please a client without a moment's rest and completely played out by the
time they get back to us.  Women clients are the worse in this - they can
have a boy fuck them until their pricks are bleeding the skin's so chafed
or their tits are swollen from being sucked until they're three times their
normal size and often bleeding to boot.  Some of those gals just don't seem
to understand when to stop.  God help any slave that gets sold to the likes
to them!  Nymphos, probably, if the truth were known.  Those loaners just
crawl back to us, Mr. Bates, and we generally give them at least a week off
duty, sometimes even more, to get back in shape and don't loan them out to
women clients again for at least a month or so they don't cringe when they
first see they're been loaned out to a woman again.

    "And the ones that have caught something?" I prompted. "I think it's
great the way you test them after each new client.  That way you're always
sending out clean disease-free stock so the clients are assured."

    "Yes, and 999 times out of a thousand they test out clean.  After all,
we're not just loaning them out to anyone," Mr. Alcorn announced proudly.
"Bates' customers and suppliers are fairly health conscious and well
educated, you know.  I think if they caught something themselves, it would
be taken care of right away."

    "Probably, Brett, but you never know."

    "Exactly, Mr. Bates.  That's why we run all those tests which aren't
cheap.  In that one out of a thousand case where the tests are negative, we
pinpoint it right away and generally treat it immediately, quarantining the
slave in an isolated special cage until he tests out OK.  But we've had two
slaves over the years that picked up conditions we couldn't treat
effectively.  Being good corporate citizens, we snuffed them right away."

    "Snuffed them?  Speak English, Mr. Alcorn," I pushed.

    "Sorry for the jargon again, Mr. Bates," Brett Alcorn laughed.  "We
terminated them with a lethal prod setting so they wouldn't suffer and,
most importantly, wouldn't get loose somehow and hurt our reputation.  Some
firms sell them off as damaged goods to draft slave contractors and the
like where a sexual disease doesn't really matter as long as they are in
chains, but we prefer to just terminate them.  We're so socially
responsible we even cremate their bodies rather than sell their hides to
the rendering plants and what's left to the dog food processors like most
firms I know of. We have to write off quite a loss that way, but it's the
right thing to do if you want your reputation unsullied."

    I was too shocked to respond at this latest bit of information and
again marveled at my ignorance when it came to the whole slave thing in
today's corporate world.  "Snuffing" slaves?  "Rendering plants for dead
slaves?" "Selling their hides when they terminated?" "Dead slaves ground up
for dog food?" "Writing the losses off as you calmly electrocuted a slave
with your handy prod?" Considering yourself a good corporate citizen for
doing all this?  Where had I been all these years shivering away in my
under-heated little apartment giving little thought to how my more
successful free breathen were making and spending the big bucks or how the
majority of the population was wondering what setting was on the electric
prods waved menacingly over their heads by their overseers at every
opportunity. Was it any wonder slaves obeyed even the most obtuse command
without question?  Was it any wonder slaves gladly opened their holes
begging to be fucked?  Was it any wonder slaves made sure their masters
were totally satisfied with them at all times?  And was it any wonder that
what I had witnessed at Bates Training yesterday - turning a previously
free human being into a slave who was no different than any other animal -
was accomplished in just a few months?  And was it any wonder that the
beautiful young man I had so enjoyed last night could be turned into an out
and out whore and be grateful that's all that was asked of him?

    "Thanks for all the info, Mr. Alcorn.  Again, I realize I have a lot to
learn in this business."

    "No bother, Mr. Bates.  Anytime.  I really appreciate the way you're
making an effort to get all the facts and find out all you can about your
inheritance, Mr. Bates.  It bodes well for Bates Training.  The more you
get into it, the more intriguing it gets.  That's why I like the business
so well, Mr. Bates, and I'm sure you will too once you grasp the big
picture."

    "Well, there's a lot more responsibility in the inheritance than I ever
imagined, Brett," I replied.  "Mr. Lindsley sort of implied all I had to do
was settle down in that big manor house of my great-uncle's and let all
those 'pleasure slaves' over there take care of me while men like you
actually ran Bates Training.  You probably don't want to hear this, but I
doubt it's going to work out that way, Brett.  I'm just not that laid back.
If I can't run it, I'm not interested, I'm afraid."

    "You sound exactly like your great-uncle, Mr. Bates.  It's just
uncanny.  That's exactly what he told me when he first hired me and one of
the big reasons I signed on at Bates Training.  I like a boss that loves
the business as much as I do. And, from the sounds of it, that's what's
happening all over again.  Welcome to the family, Mr. Bates," Mr. Alcorn
gushed out with so much enthusiasm I could almost see his gleaming face
over the phone line. "It's going to be great working for you - I can just
tell."

    "See you in a day or so, if I don't settle in permanently with all
those pleasure slaves as Mr. Lindsley implied," I said in parting, handing
the phone back to the handsome slave secreatary of Mr. Lindsley who then
showed me directly into Mr. Lindsley's office with a fresh cup of coffee in
hand.
    "I see Pleasure has your coffee ready," Mr. Lindsley said as he gave
the slave a few last minute instructions of things to do while he was gone.

    "The car's waiting for us out front," Mr. Lindsley said as he walked
toward the door. "I heard Mr. Alcorn gave you one of his 'loaners' last
night."

    "Correction.  My 'loaners' if I understood you right yesterday,
Mr. Lindsley," I smiled.  "But yes, I had a 'loaner' back in my miserable
little apartment and," I felt myself blushing heavily, " it was absolutely
the best sex I have ever had in my life...  Not that I've really had that
much sex to date... but..."  I stopped talking while I was ahead.

    "Pleasure wants to jump your bones if you're weren't aware,"
Mr. Lindsley laughed.  "You got him all riled up yesterday morning and he's
shown a big boner ever since.  Even that ancient old crone, Mrs. Forsthye,
that swings about ten millions dollars worth of business a year our way,
couldn't calm him down last night when I sent him over at her request. She
usually drains a boy until he can barely walk home."

    The car was waiting with the air conditioner humming as we stepped
inside, apparently delivered out front by some unseen valet until I
literally tripped over a kneeling slave by my opened door. He was naked
save his thick iron collar and the large iron nose ring resting on his
upper lip.

    "Back to your station, Rasheed," Mr. Lindsley barked as the well built
man leaped up and ran back into the basement of the building.

    As the big car sped out into the main traffic, Mr. Lindsley said he had
arranged for a visit to the new Bates breeding operation the following
day. That way, in three days time, I would have gained a full overview of
the total operation.  At the conclusion of that, he would have all the
papers ready for me to sign which would make me C.E.O. of Bates Training
Center along with transfer of ownership of all the Bates' holdings.  In
addition, he had arranged to have the country club memberships my
great-uncle maintained transferred over to me along with membership on all
the corporate boards my great-uncle was on.

    "All your slave properties are owned by Bates Training rather than you
personally, so you'll be spared signing all those ownership papers for each
slave. That would take a week in itself.  Your uncle also owned
considerable stock in a variety of companies outside of the slave industry
- sort of a cushion in case the bottom fell out of slave markets. I've
already transferred all of that over to a new account I set up for your
personal use - the dividends alone from those non-slave holdings will give
you a good two million a year to spend if you want.  Your great- uncle
never touched that money - he just let it pile up.  You probably will too
in that the income from Bates Training alone is five times that in a
typical year.  It cost him a little to set up the new breeding operations,
but, frankly, it barely made a dent out of his operating income.  Once the
breeding operations start paying off - you understand that's down the line
a decade or so - I figure your income will be well over one hundred million
a year.  If you expand the breeding farm, which I suspect you will when you
study it a bit, your income will probably be five or ten times bigger than
that.  Operating costs at Bates Trainer are going up a little . After all,
there's an awful lot of trainers and health maintenance workers over there,
but, again, most of them are company-owned slaves and really only cost a
little bit of slave chow and a good cage to keep them in since they're all
paid for. But costs are going up in that there's more slaves to feed, more
cages to buy, and more training equipment as the inventory over there keeps
going higher and higher before they're sold off.  But, sales are keeping up
with the growing number of slaves being trained, so the profits are really
shooting up, especially since the price of slaves has climbed recently as
demand keeps escalating. There's no danger of overcapitalization, either.
Your great-uncle never borrowed a penny.  Paid for everything as he went,
so you didn't inherit one nickel of debt.  You'll never have any banks
telling you what you can or can't do!  That's very different than your
competition, Mr. Bates.  Most of the other slave training establishments
are running on a shoe string - the new slaves, cheap as they are, are all
bought on consignment, the free staff is unpaid except for profit-sharing,
the buildings and equipment are all 90% owned by the banks, and the money
they get in auctioning off fully trained slaves barely covers what they owe
the banks each month in meeting their debt.  That's why so many of them go
under - six of them in the past year alone.  Poor management and
undercapitalization are the culprits here.  If it keeps up, Bates Training
will have a virtual monopoly on the slave training business within the next
five years or so.  Of course, all that rosy optimism could come crashing
down if someone comes up with a more efficient way to train the animals,
the bottom falls out of the slave market, or the source of new slaves dries
up."

    "Well then, I suppose I would just have to live off the dividends of
the non-slave holdings," I laughed, and "unable to sell the stock on hand,
would just have to spend all my time fucking their handsome little butts."

    "Sounds good to me, Jonathan, as long as you remember your old lawyer
friends," Mr.  Lindsley chuckled.

    "Seriously, do you think the competition will come up with some better
methods of slave training that could hurt Bates Training?" I asked.

    "In my opinion, no, but Mr. Alcorn could answer that better.  From what
I've seen, the only way you can train slaves faster than Bates Training
does is to risk killing them in the process or turning them psychologically
squirrelly - literal zombies - so they wouldn't be of any use to
anybody. Bates has experimented with some psychoactive drugs, but the side
effects weren't worth it.  Maybe, in the future, drugs are the answer, but
certainly not in the short run.  Besides, some of new drugs cost more than
the slaves do to start with and with drugs, of course, you have to keep
using them as long as you keep the slave.  That runs the cost up to more
than they're worth in a very short time."

    "What about the supply of new stock?" I asked. "Any danger of running
out?"

    "Not likely.  The courts keep coming up with more and more offenses
leading to slavery.  The new anti-terrorist act alone is jamming the courts
with new cases, many of which will end up being sentences to slavery for
life as the simplest solution.  Let's admit it, John, slavery does solve a
lot of social problems whether we like it or not, and, in our case at
least, we do like it.  Even if I was wrong there, breeding slaves are
really taken ahold lately.  Hell, if the courts shut down tomorrow and left
the free population completely alone for a change, we could breed all the
slaves we need without too much trouble. Look what the South did when
Congress forbid the importation of new black slaves in the early 1800s.
They started breeding the animals and within twenty years, they had doubled
the slave population.  By the time of the Civil War, they had quadrupled it
- all with out a single slave being imported.  Of course, those 'rutting
sheds' of theirs were busy around the clock.  We can always take a lesson
from history.  Even now, it's getting hard to find a slave girl in her 20s
whose halfway decent looking who isn't kept pregnant all the time. Their
owners aren't adverse to turning a little extra profit even now when slaves
are relatively plentiful.  But, with a shortage, you wouldn't see a slave
womb without a puppy in it for a thousand miles on either side of us," he
laughed. "People aren't stupid, you know."

    "And what about the demand for slaves crashing?"

    "Are you kidding?  Slaves aren't a fad, you know.  Whoever owned a
slave who doesn't want more of them?  Most owners would rather go hungry
than sell off their slaves and the only people I know selling off their
stock of slaves are dead men, people who are destitute, or those who are
certifiably senile.  Take yourself, for example.  Before yesterday, you
didn't own a single slave.  Last night, you had one taking care of your
sexual needs - probably for the first time in your life.  Are you going to
sit there and tell me now you're not now interested in having a slave handy
to take care of your sex needs from now on?" he reared back and howled.
"Hell, your great-uncle kept six of them around for just that, and he was
61 years old!  If the demand for slaves crash, the whole damn economy has
tanked in which case the slaves are the best off."

    By then, we were parking right in front of a large stately manor house
not too far from downtown Pittsburgh.  The place was over 100 years old
judging from the Victorian architecture but was in excellent shape for an
old stone building with a tile roof and leaded glass windows throughout.
The front door to the manor was just feet from the sidewalk out front.

    Almost instantly after Mr. Lindsley rang the bell, the gigantic
mahogany double door was opened by a huge black slave, over 6'5" tall, who
was almost startling in his appearance.  For one thing, he was stark nude,
showing off his extreme musculature and his absolutely hairless highly
oiled jet-black hide.  For another, he was fully ringed: ears, nose, tits,
and the tip of his long penis.  Wide copper bands were fitted around his
wrists, ankles, upper arms, genitals, and neck. A chain led from the ring
in the end of his penis to the door itself, meaning he was locked in place
as the doorman, his sole task while so restrained was to simply open and
close the door as needed.  The picture presented was the epitome of an
enslaved male subject to the whims of his master.

    "Welcome, masters," the slave said in a deep bass voice as he sank to
his knees as we entered, his head bowed appropriately.

    Mr. Lindsley ran his hand through the slave's short-cut hair,
explaining my great-uncle had the slave chained there except the short
times allowed for 'maintenance.'  The late Mr. Bates had just liked the
idea of having a giant black as a permanent doorman.

    "Maintenance?" I asked.

    "Oh, time for shitting, getting fed and watered, some exercise to keep
up his physique, and sleeping," Mr. Lindsley said.  The term is commonly
used in describing slaves, Jonathan.  If this black boy wasn't at the door,
he was in your great-uncle's bed, Jonathan.  Your uncle Randolph had a
great appreciation for big, well hung blacks."  I noticed the black
tremored slightly and shifted his eyes at me briefly in a clear sign of
embarrassment as his sexual usage was being discussed.  It was interesting
that even Bates' training couldn't seem to get rid of ALL the old pre-slave
responses, although, obviously, all overt responses were long ago
extinguished as the huge black knelt there submissively without moving as
Mr. Lindsley continued patting the slave's head as if he were a favorite
pet dog.

    "Then he's one of the six pleasure slaves my uncle kept?"

    "No," Mr. Lindsley laughed.  "They didn't call him Randy Randolph for
nothing. This boy was just part of the regular house staff, almost all of
whom were in your great-uncle's bed at least several times a month.  The
six I was talking about are the six slaves where that is about their only
duty, and," he laughed loudly, "believe it or not, they were kept busy more
than I or anyone else could possibly imagine.  If you take after your uncle
that way, and given your tender years, I wonder if six is going to be
enough, even given the rest of the household staff being put to greater
usage."

    "We'll see," I laughed with him.  "That black chained to the door does
have his attractions," I commented as I reached forward and lifted his head
so I could study his handsome face highlighted by the bright copper nose
ring welded through his septum.  I ran my hand over the smooth high cheeks
and then pulled on the nose ring a little to study how it was fastened
through the septum.  "Any functional purpose for this or is it just
decorative?" I asked as I flicked the nose ring with my thumb.

    "With a lot of folks, it's just decorative, but with your great-uncle
it was functional.  He fastened the slave to the door with that nose ring
sometimes instead of the penis ring and sometimes used a tit ring for the
same purpose.  But he told me he often fastened the slave to the headboard
of his bed with that ring when he fucked him.  Held him absolutely steady,
he said, and he liked the look of it - said it reminded him of a horse.
The studs are restrained just like that in their stalls when they're milked
for artificial insemination purposes; the mares are also restrained like
that when they are being bred the old fashioned way."

    Again, I noticed the slave's black hide flush a bit to a rich mahogany
color while his eyes moistened as this latest use of his body was
discussed.

    "Come on, Jonathan. There's so much to see in this house that black boy
will seem like nothing when we're though."

    Mr. Lindsley was right.  The house was beautifully furnished in classic
antique furniture, priceless paintings, and huge Oriental rugs on
marvelously polished cherry floors that took your breath away, collected
from all over the world.  Walls were upholstered in antique silks and
satins, painted with frescos, or featured huge mosaics and tapestries - all
with great taste and done by the best-known artisans. The library featured
a rare book collection on the history of slavery that Mr. Lindsley said
would be valued at well over $1 million if ever put on the market. Many
were in Latin and Greek and featured first hand accounts of slave trainers
and dealers back in the Ancient period.

    "Your great-uncle had each of these manuscripts translated into English
which is bound right beside the original papers," Mr. Lindsley said in awe.
"There's a lot of wisdom passed down in those translations, your
great-uncle always claimed.  If we were here with us today, I'm sure he
would suggest you study them carefully when you get time.  He always
claimed slaves had changed very little over the past 5000 years and what
worked then generally works just as well today."

    "I'm sure he's right, Mr. Lindsley.  When I was watching the slaves
being trained yesterday over at Bates Training Center and again with that
loaner slave last night, I had this strong feeling that if I were enslaved
for some reason or another, I would be doing exactly the same as they
were."

    "Yes, it's a real mistake to think slaves are really very different
from us other than the collar around their neck and the brand on their
butt. We're all human and humans react in predictable ways.  Your
great-uncle always said that, although he wisely pointed out that slaves
are human animals now, just livestock, but that was essentially the only
difference.  As animals, they quickly began to think and feel and behave
like an animal because that was the only option open to them now. Learning
that was a slave's only option was the essence of the Bates' training
regime."

    "Slaves act like animals because that's the way we treat them," I
responded. "That's been true since the very first slave had a collar put
around his neck in 5000 B.C. or whenever."

    "That's what Mr. Alcorn always claims," Mr. Lindsley laughed.  "Treat
them like the animals they are, he's always telling me."

    Downstairs was impressive with its non-slave objects outside of the
fascinating black doorman.  But the upper two floors were impressive with
its slave objects, the likes of which were seldom seen in any slave markets
anywhere in the world. Each slave there was an ode to human perfection.
There were whites, blacks, browns, yellows, males, females, short, tall,
fiercely muscled to swimmers bodies, blonds, brunettes, red heads,
green-eyed, black-eyed, brown-eyed, gray-eyed, hairless, hirsute, banded,
unbanded, ringed, unringed, even a eunuch.  But all were as naked as the
day they were born; all were exceptionally, even breathtakingly beautiful;
all were young, sexy, and appealing; and all knew exactly why they were
there and felt lucky to be there.

    "Give me a permanent marker," I ordered a nearby handsome very muscular
brown slave who sported one of the largest sexual organs I had ever seen
outside of a horse in full rut.

    Instantly it was produced, and, as we went from room to room, all
occupied with two or three slaves each, I began putting a mark on their
chests as I looked each one over carefully.

    "What are you doing, Jonathan?" Mr. Lindsley asked.  "Picking out your
bed partners for tonight?" he laughed.

    "Nope. Uncle Randolph was obviously getting soft in his old age.  No
one needs all this around - it's cluttering up the place.  I'm marking
those who I want sold at the next auction.  "S" for sell; "K" for keep.
Any slave who tries to change the mark will be whipped before sale to where
he will wish he was dead and then sold off to the dirtiest, cheapest
brothel Pittsburgh has where they will quickly be fucked to death if they
don't die from disease first."

    The slaves listening to this latest edict shuddered with terror in
their eyes and I knew the marks would stay in place.  I also knew the word
would spread like wildfire.

    Mr. Lindsley just chuckled as I went about my task.  "Cleaning out the
Aegean stables," I heard him comment as he passed the time playing with the
body parts of a particularly attractive young 14-year-old male slave with a
big "S" I had placed on his chest, and then, with my permission, retired to
a bedroom to enjoy a pretty female slave he had found attractive, already
sporting an "S" on her breast.

    Within 30 minutes, 49 slaves had an "S" mark on their chest, including
all the females, those under 18, those with whip scars all over them, those
who still possessed their pubic and body hair, and those not totally
masculine in appearance and bearing.  The five with a "K" were to my own
liking, including the doorman downstairs and the muscular brown slave with
the huge phallus that had fetched the marker for me so enthusiastically a
few minutes ago..  All "K" slaves were 18 to 22 years old, muscular and
good looking, were all body shaved or naturally hairless, had rugged,
handsome faces, and were well hung without being freakish (although some
might argue the young eager brown I had selected bordered on being freakish
with his exceptional shaft).  All showed an eagerness to be used in
whatever capacity I had in mind, whether it was being fucked, scrubbing out
the pots and pans, waxing the cherry floors until their knees ached,
sucking prick until their throats were sore, cooking and then serving a
delicious meal, or doing the laundry.  All five were collared, tit ringed,
and banded around their genitals, giving each of them a nice protrusion,
making their organs easily accessible and fun to handle.

    As soon as I had finished, I called Mr. Alcorn directly to send a cage
truck and a parcel of slave handlers over to collect the 49 pieces of
property for transfer to the holding pens attached to the auction hall with
the instruction that I wanted the lot of them prepared for the next
scheduled auction. "Be sure to have the handlers bring plenty of prods,
whips, and shackles with them - I don't expect these spoiled animals to
like this change of circumstances.  I want the lot of them shackled for the
transfer and a little whip wouldn't hurt either to tell them there's going
to be a change in their life."

    "I just thought that's what would happen," Mr. Alcorn said back with
his usual enthusiasm.  "I'm liking you more and more, Mr. Bates.  No
disrespect, but the old boss had way too much stock over there to do anyone
any good.  I think he just liked to look at them or something.  All of them
will bring in top dollar when we get them up on the block - probably close
to $55 or $60 million if you picked the ones I think you did.  If I may
speak bluntly, boss, this needed to be done for a number of years now - too
much capital tied up doing nothing but standing around looking pretty.  You
sure act fast when you see a problem - I really admire that in a man.  And,
oh, your idea about shackling them and using a little whip is exactly right
on, Mr. Bates.  Always helps to let a animal know who's in charge,
especially when they're facing an uncertain future.  Actually helps them in
my opinion.  The whip sort of removes any alternatives."

    "I'm surprised I used the word animals in describing the slaves,
Mr. Alcorn, but I was so upset at the waste and their haute attitude that
they belonged there by right of their pretty bodies, that's just what they
seemed like at the time - a bunch of animals not earning their keep."

    "You're learning fast, boss," Mr. Alcorn said admiringly.  "They'll
know that's exactly what they are when they're auctioned off at the end of
the week."

    "I'm leaving seven to run the house.  It will take that many to keep
the place pristine.  Five I've already picked out to stay and they will
have a big 'K' marked on their front and back.  Those to be taken back to
Bates Training are all marked with a big 'S'."

    "Mr. Bates, you said it would take seven.  If you're only keeping five
over there, who are the other two?" Mr. Alcorn replied, always quick with
the math.

    "One is our property having his ass vacuumed out by the police over at
Mr. Lindsley's office.  Pick him up over there later today, but swing him
by your maintenance center before delivering him here.  I want him
collared, body shaved, and fully ringed before you ship him over here.
He's got to look like a slave before he can be over here - just being naked
doesn't do it for me."

    "You don't go for the 'au natural' look?" Brett Alcorn giggled.

    "I can get that looking in the mirror," I countered.

    "And the other one, Mr. Bates?"

    "The 'loaner' you arranged for me last night, Mr. Alcorn, if you
haven't sent him out on a loan already.  Have him drive a company car over
here dressed just like he was and with another four or five sets of clothes
with him .  I've got some errands to do and need a good driver.  First off,
for instance, I need to have him pack up my personal belongings and clothes
at the old apartment and get them over here.  I'll need to go with him to
identify exactly what I want to have him pack, but I admit I plan to take a
little break eventually and fuck the hell out of him, so lube him up
appropriately."

    "I thought you would like him," Mr. Alcorn said, almost gleeful.  "He's
not out on a loan yet, so he'll be over shortly with our newest company
car, all greased up and ready to go."

    Finished with my phone call, I turned to the five with a "K" on their
chest, all now assembled for my thorough inspection in one of the upper
bedrooms.  I informed them they would now being working very hard to earn
their keep, including pleasuring me and my friends whenever commanded the
best they knew how.  Any problems and they too would be shipped out for the
next auction.  I made clear they weren't just pleasure slaves now, but were
household staff who would keep the place spotless and in perfect order,
even if they had to work 15 or 16 hours a day to get it all done.

    "Any problem with that?" I asked.

    "No master," was quickly uttered by all as their eyes never left the
ground in front of them.

    "And, if you haven't figured it out already, I'm your new owner,
Mr. Jonathan Bates, great-nephew of your former owner, who, I'm sure you
heard, died fucking one of his pleasure boys who will be joining you as
soon as the police have finished sucking my uncle's cum out of his ass.
But when he returns, he'll be collared, body shaven, and properly ringed
like a slave should be - none of this 'au natural' crap.  Slaves can't run
around like a free man, even if they are naked all the time - nonsense!
Takes more than a bare ass to mark a slave for what he is."

    "Yes, master," all of them said in unison.

    "Well, I see you've got things well organized, Jonathan," Mr. Lindsley
said, obviously amused.

    With that, the Bates Training cage truck arrived and the numerous
handlers soon filled the house, whips in constant motion, as the selected
slaves were all quickly shackled and one by one, thrust into the confines
of the truck.  Yelps and shrieks from the whips biting into their backs and
butts filled the air, but otherwise the mood was somber and muted.  The
five slaves remaining continued standing ramrod straight with their eyes on
the ground as their fellow staff was taken to a wholly different destiny in
a moment's notice.  A new owner now controlled their life.

    As the truck rolled away, Mr. Lindsley commented.  "A slave has no
control over what happens to him.  That's why they're little different than
any other animal."
    The five slaves still standing in position shuddered at the profundity
of his observation.  The 49 slaves shackled and jostling along in the cage
truck were thinking exactly the same thing.

    "Get your asses to work," I addressed the five slaves remaining.  "By
the time I get back I want this place spotless, all those empty cages down
in the basement cleaned out, the feed and water dishes scrubbed and sent
back to Bates Training, and the entire kennel in the basement scrubbed down
and then disinfected with Lysol. Then clean and move your own cages up
close to the kitchen door so you're handier at night.  Those handlers
tracked all over the place and I don't want to see a sign of that on these
cherry floors when I get back or your rumps will be so sore you won't be
able to sit down for a week. And make sure you're all cleaned out and lubed
when I get back.  I want you boys ready at all times if you're going to
stick around here."

    "Yes, master," the slaves chorused back as one, quickly moving down to
the basement kennel to start their tasks.

    "A nice firm hand, Mr. Bates," Mr. Lindsley observed.  "I think I may
need a little more of that with that secretary of mine."

    "Mr. Alcorn has some advice for you along those lines, Mr. Lindsley," I
replied. "He sort of didn't tell the whole truth to Mr. Alcorn this morning
when giving him the report on the loaner I had last night. Brett said he
was going to suggest a good whipping might be appropriate along with
withholding his food a few days if I understood him right, but he was going
to call you later this afternoon."

    "Well, I'm sure Brett's right.  I've been too loose with the bastard
lately.  He seems to have gotten the notion that as long as he's good in
bed he can forget about the rest of it.  A good whipping and a few days of
short rations does sounds appropriate and is generally good for a slave -
appropriate discipline reminds them a slave is always dependent on their
master's good will and is always a good learning experience."

    "I'm sure Brett couldn't agree more," I laughed.  "Speaking of short
rations, how about lunch?  I'm hungry after all that and you probably are
too.  But I'm going to have to ask you to drive me back here afterwards.
By then I should have that company car at my disposal and can spend the
afternoon moving my junk over here if it's really mine now."

    "It's yours, all right.  But, Jonathan, you don't fool me.  You just
want to get your hands on that slave you fucked last night again. Hell,
it's not like you couldn't have any one of those five slaves hanging around
here any damn time you wanted, as well as that slave of mine panting every
time he sees you. You're suppose to just fuck a slave, Jonathan, not fall
in love with them," he laughed, "especially a boy that's probably been
fucked by hundreds, if not thousands, of Bates clients by now."

    "Maybe that's what makes him such a sensational fuck, Mr. Lindsley -
all that experience," I joked.  "Just buy me lunch and I'll overlook your
observations about my sex life.  You have no idea what it was like living
all those years without even one slave around to amuse me.  You know,
Mr. Lindsley, this whole thing still seems like a dream to me.  I have to
pinch myself about every five minutes to realize I'm awake."

    "Well, you seem to handle it well enough if what I just witnessed right
here was any example.  You realize, don't you, that after the next auction
you will be close to 50 million richer than you are right now, considering
that's all premium goods you're selling off."

    "Maybe up to 60 million according to Brett Alcorn, Mr. Lindsley," I
smiled. "But you don't miss what you've never had."

    "I have a feeling I may be talking to Pittsburgh's first billionnaire,"
Mr. Lindsley smiled as we left for lunch.  "We'll eat at a good but not
terribly fancy place where that outfit you have on won't offend anyone,"
Mr. Lindsley said rather pointedly.  "You're going to have to start
dressing the part of one of Pittsburgh's leading citizens," he smiled. "As
it is, you could pass for a sassy young slave who's never been collared and
owned by a very prudish owner whose had you outfitted at the Salvation Army
Thrift Store."

    "If you're rich enough, no one cares how you dress.  Look at Bill
Gates," I countered as we both chortled.

    After lunch, Mr. Lindsley reminded me we were to visit the Bates
breeding operations in the morning as he drove me back to the manor house.
I noted a brand new Ford 500 was parked curbside with the 'loaner' standing
patiently by the passenger door dressed exactly as I had specified. To any
passerby, he appeared no different from any free man awaiting a friend to
join him.  I motioned for him to get the car going while I checked progress
inside, where I found all the slaves busily scrubbing cages and stacking
newly polished food and water dishes.  I nodded in satisfaction and went
out to the car where the 'loaner' had opened the curb side back door,
apparently fully aware that it was more appropriate for a master to ride in
back if his body didn't need to be available for my pleasure as he drove.
I made a note of how quickly 'loaner' picked up on things.

    "Where to, master?" he asked softly.

    "That same crummy little apartment you drove me to yesterday," I
answered whereupon the car swiftly moved out into the traffic and was on
its way.  "I'm going to have you pack up some stuff and bring it back to
the manor house we just left, which, incidentally, will be home for both of
us from now on if you work out OK."

    He slave said nothing, but seemed curious by his facial expression.  He
was obviously well 'voice-trained' or whatever they called it.

    "Do you have a name?" I asked.

    "Yes, master.  Loaner 3," he replied humbly.

    "A good a name as any, I guess, but I doubt I'll be loaning you out
much anymore.  I may need to change it to something more suitable."

    I glanced at the rear view mirror and saw he was surprised and confused
at this latest announcement.

    "Are you my new owner?" he blurted out, but softly.

    "Yes, slave.  Jonathan Bates, great-nephew of your previous owner,
Mr. Randolph Bates who recently died rather appropriately - fucking one of
his pleasure slaves, I understand."

    "Master," the slave said humbly.  "I thought Mr. Alcorn owned me."

    "No," I laughed, "but I could see where you'd think that if no one told
you otherwise.  Mr. Alcorn is the general manager of Bates Training Center
and is an employee of mine.  He's certainly boss over all the Bates
Training Center slaves, of which you are one of hundreds. No, you belong to
me now. You're not loaned to me, I own you lock, stock, and barrel."

    "Yes, master," the slave responded with new respectfulness.  "I'm your
property now."

    "Exactly, and I think I'll give you a different name so you remember
the event.  What was your name before, slave?"

    "Loaner 3, master," the slave said humbly.

    "No, slave.  Before you were a slave - back before you were sold."

    "John, master.  John Perkins, but that was a long time ago, master. So
long ago, I had trouble remembering," he smiled.

    "Well, that won't do.  That's my name - Jonathan.  Can't have a slave
around with the master's name, now can we?" I chuckled.

    "No master," he answered respectfully.

    "I like descriptive names for slaves - related to what they do.  That's
why Mr. Alcorn's name for you of 'Loaner 3' wasn't bad for what you were
doing."

    "Yes, master," he replied.

    "I'm naming you 'Driver,' boy, since you'll be doing that too now,"I
announced.

    "Yes, master," he said rather proudly.  "Always nice to have a good
slave name."

    "Beats 'Fuck Boy' that first came to mind," I laughed.  "You'll be
doing more of that than driving me around, I hope, but 'Driver' is more
polite in mixed company."

    The slave blushed deeply but said, "You can name me anything you want,
master.  I'm your property now so you can call me anything you want.  You
can name me 'Fuck Boy' if you want, master.  I know I'll be doing a lot of
that as you say, master."

    "I don't need your permission to give you any name I damn please,
slave, so you better shut up while you're ahead.  It's 'Driver,' at least
for now, slave."

    "Yes, master," the slave responded, somewhat flustered that he had
upset me somehow.

    Shortly after that exchange, Driver and I were inside the apartment and
I pointed out the clothes, notebook computer, my CDs and DVDs, and a few
other belongings I wanted moved to the manor house as he was shucking out
of his clothes as if by habit.  I didn't stop him and once again admired
the body on this magnificent possession I had now inherited.

    "That's good, Driver.  Whenever we're inside, I want to see you butt
naked at all times like most slaves, but when we're outside and you're
driving me around, I want you dressed just like you are today. That goes
for your new home as well as just here.  They're scrubbing out a cage for
you over at the manor house right now in that you'll be staying in the
kennel there from now on so you're always handy.  No more loaning you out
to strangers every night.  But you're going to get fucked just about as
much - it's just that your new master is going to be the one fucking you
from now on for the main part."

    "Yes, master," the slave said, obviously pleased at what I was saying.
Then I thought, if I were in his place, I would probably be quite pleased
too.  The new arrangement beat being loaned out every night to perfect
strangers to be fucked until you could barely stand up and then be tested
rather crudely the next morning to see if you had picked up some disease or
other.  It was like being promoted from a whore on consignment to a
courtesan.  "Would you like to fuck me before I start packing, master?"

    "Yes," I responded, noting he had a full erection as soon as he had the
last of his clothes off.  "Over the couch, boy," I motioned, "with your
legs wide apart for the first time around."

    "Yes, master" was the last thing he said outside of a few grunts and
groans as I took my pleasure with him both all the way up his hole and
later clear down his throat until his neck muscles were milking my shaft.
It was just as transforming an experience as last night had been and, 40
minutes later, I was soaked in sweat, completely drained after three
orgasms in succession, and felt like I was floating. It had been even
better than before, I reflected, if that was possible as I felt him
cleaning my flaccid shaft with his mouth now that I informed him I was
through using him for the afternoon.  His prick was still rampant since I
hadn't let him shoot with all my usage.  I wanted him ready to go for an
evening bout and he seemed to know that already - at least he never asked
permission to cum this time around. Without prompting, he got up off his
knees and began the packing tasks while I watched his sweaty body working
away in all its glory as I fell into a long nap.  When I woke up,
everything had been packed and, dressed, he had transported it all to the
car so as to not offend any of my neighbors with his nakedness..  Driver
was kneeling beside the old couch, naked once again, obviously expecting to
be fucked again before we left. Why not, I thought, and this time I had him
fuck himself on my pole as I just lay on the couch enjoying it with no
effort on my part other than playing with his big tits so nicely ringed
just for that purpose.

    "Mother of God," I yelled as I shot another huge load up his ass.  "I
don't know how much of this I can take," I said aloud as if it were the
slave's fault.

    "Sorry, master," Driver said submissively.  "Did I pump too fast or
hard, master?"

    "No, Driver, nothing to do with you.  You serviced me just fine.  It's
just that it's been a long afternoon for me.  I'm not used to being drained
this much within a few hours."

    The slave said nothing, but I could tell studying his face he thought
my response was novel, to say the least.  I figured when he was loaned out
to a women, or even some men probably, he had been drained considerably
more than that in a four hour stretch.

    I quickly dressed, motioning for him to do the same, and he drove us
back to the manor house where he was oriented by the other slaves as to the
whereabouts of his new cage, the location of the slave's 'maintenance'
station with its store of enema equipment, body lotions, lubes, shaving
supplies, first-aid products, and dirty clothes hamper.  He was given a
small space in the front closet to store his clothes for when he was
serving as my driver before joining them in performing the many chores I
had assigned for a general clean-up.  He reeked of sex sweat from his
recent activities - a scent instantly recognizable to the other slaves.

    I overheard the super-hung brown slave asking him as they headed for
the kennel in the basement, "the master just fuck you?"

    "Yes," he replied without a trace of embarrassment.

    "Thought so," the other slave replied.  "Could smell it the minute you
came in the house. You're just like me, slave.  Stink to high heaven when
you've been fucked good and proper. I thought only us colored boys broke
out with that sex sweat when we're fucked, but I found out soon as I was a
slave skin color has nothing to do with it.  Some do and some don't.  You
learn a lot when you're a slave."

    "You're right about that, slave," Driver answered without a trace of
bitterness or regret in his voice.

    After that, both were so busy all talking ceased, but I was looking
forward to fucking the brown slave when I felt up to it to see if he was
right about breaking out in a full sex sweat when I fucked him.

    That night, I ate at a fast food joint using the company car and then
went to a movie.  I needed a break from gorgeous slaves everywhere I
looked, fancy manor houses, fucking beautiful totally compliant bodies, and
worrying about the responsibilities of running a literal empire based on
the sale and training of human flesh.  The movie was a light comedy and
just the ticket for some real relaxation. When I returned, I quickly found
my bed and went to sleep, ordering all the six slaves to their cages
despite them begging with their eyes for some usage so they could get off.
Slaves were often in great need, I knew, but, hell, so was I for years and
years.  Besides, Mr. Alcorn claimed keeping slaves in constant need was
important in their discipline.

    The next morning, the house slaves were already busy cleaning and
fixing me a decent hot breakfast which was served bedside.  The server, the
brown slave with the huge tool, stood right beside the tray, his erect
prick wavering in the air as I began eating.

    "Some cream, master?" the brown slave asked, pointing politely to his
huge swollen shaft and then to my coffee cup as well as a warm muffin.

    I didn't know what he meant since I didn't see any cream pitcher on the
tray.

    The slave sensed my confusion and clarified himself.  "My cream,
master, fresh and tasty. Old master Bates had lots of fresh cream every
morning. Had three of his slave boys up here every morning emptying their
balls.  Claimed it kept him youthful - lots of mistresses and masters have
a nice drink of stud cream now, master. I can get some others up here too
if you find I don't produce enough for you, master."

    "No cream, slave.  Not now, at least.  You just keep it in your balls
for now. Skedaddle, I don't like slaves around when I'm eating."

    "Yes, master," the slave said, obviously disappointed he wasn't going
to get drained that morning.  But he did promptly leave the room after a
quick bow of obedience, his giant prick waving in front of him.

    After eating the breakfast, sans the 'cream,' I quickly showered,
shaved, and threw some clothes on.  Then I took the Ford and headed for
Mr. Lindsley's office since I didn't want Driver hanging around all day
when he could be put to useful work at the manor house.  Besides, I didn't
particularly want one of the house slaves observing first hand a breeding
operation until I understood it myself better.

    When I arrived at the Lindsley law firm, Pleasure, the secretary, was
obviously in pain as he sat down and, from the way he studied the breakfast
roll in my hand, very hungry. Mr.  Lindsley had obviously addressed the
problem of a "slave on too long a chain" as Mr. Alcorn described it.  That
slave was on a short chain now, judging from the look in his eye which was
totally submissive, begging for forgiveness.

    Mr. Lindsley insisted on driving since he knew exactly where we were
headed and, after discussing the disciplining of his slave Pleasure and his
nosy inquiry into how I liked the 'loaner' slave a second time around,
assuming, of course, I had fucked him again yesterday afternoon as soon as
he and I had parted, we arrived at a rather run down old farm featuring a
number of barns and outbuildings.

    "I named the 'loaner' you were inquiring about 'Driver' to denote his
major activity from now on.  I've decided to use him as a chauffeur
primarily," I informed Mr. Lindsley as we walked into the farm's entrance.

    "Save it, Jonathan.  You might fool the public with that new name, but
not an old goat like me.  You should have named him 'Fuck Boy' if you were
halfway truthful. How many times did you plug that slave after you left me,
anyway?" he laughed.

    "Well, I did consider naming him just that, but thought it was more
polite to name him 'Driver' for your information, Mr. Lindsley.  And, as to
your second question, four.  And I'm still completely drained from the
experience," I smiled back.

    "If that slave hadn't had so much use, he wouldn't have been able to
walk after that," Mr. Lindsley observed.  "How about trading him for
Pleasure some afternoon?  Give me a chance to try the new wonder boy out
and give you a chance to make Pleasure's day now that he's been properly
humbled as to his proper station in life."

    With that, we entered the first building where the primary desk was
labeled "Studmaster."

    "Hans, I want to introduce you to your new boss.  Mr. Bates, this is
Hans Schreiber, the man that makes this place hum."

    Hans Schreiber, a portly but middle-aged man looking to be of strong
German descent, promptly stepped forward to shake my hand strongly,
mumbling something in his thick accent about how he was glad I was taking
over the firm and how grateful he was I was visiting this new operation so
early in my tenure.

    "Well, I like to see what's going on in all aspects of the business," I
responded, "and, of course, we're always interested in a steady supply of
the highest quality slaves down the line.  That is, if they can be produced
predictably, on schedule, at the lowest possible cost, and are better than
anything now available."

    "Wow! You sure don't waste any time letting people know your
expectations, Mr. Bates.  I feel like I'm on the spot after all that."

    "You are, Mr. Schreiber," I replied simply.  "That's exactly where
you're at."

    "Let's start with your background, Mr. Schreiber.  What qualifications
do you have for breeding slaves?"

    "Er, uh, ...  I was a horse breeder for 18 years back in Germany,
Mr. Bates, practically my whole adult life," he started out, obviously
caught off guard having to explain his qualifications.  "The farm I was at
specialized in breeding some of the best draft horses in the whole country,
including the famous Bavaria breed, noted for its strength and total non-
variability from one horse to another.  We were working on a new breed of
white riding horse to be called "White Wonders" when I quit to take this
job here and we were having quite a bit of success.  I think within another
year or two, you'll start to see some of those White Wonders on the market
- they're bred for durability, smarts, and riding comfort.  As for breeding
slaves, Mr. Bates, I can't see where it's any different than breeding
horses, at least so far.  Seems a little easier, actually, in that you can
work steady, there being no necessity for females to be putting out the
proper scent to get the males interested like with horses.  That's about it
for qualifications, I guess."

    "Sounds good," I said.  "What are your working on now? Some new breeds
or just getting the quality up as high as you can, Mr. Schreiber?"

    "Both, actually, Mr. Bates," warming up to his brash new boss who
seemed to show considerable interest in what he was doing. "First off,
we're trying to get the best quality we can out of what we've got to work
with - and we've got some mighty find breeding stock on hand if I do say so
myself.  And, yes, Mr. Bates, we've started working on two specialized
breeds of slaves: 'Black Boys' which we hope to be a large, sturdy male
work slave that is disease resistant, long lived, and practically
indestructible in intensive labor situations but not much on looks and a
much more expensive type of slave we're tentatively calling 'Bates' Best'
which we hope are the best looking, sexiest, easiest to arouse, and
inexhaustible slaves to ever hit the pleasure market in both male and
female versions."

    "Clear-cut goals - that's good. I'm especially interested in your
long-term projects of actually developing specialized slave breeds.  Long
overdue in this genetically sophisticated age, if you ask me.  There's no
reason this can't be done in relatively short order, Mr. Schrieber.  Look
at what they've done with dogs and horses.  I understand that was
accomplished in less than eight generations.  If we cheat a little by
starting with the most highly selected stock to start with, that might be
cut down to five generations at most - with slave stock we're talking
about, let's see, about 16 or 17 x 5, that's just 80 to 83 years away.  We
won't see it, but out grandchildren will.  In the interim, we can get
fairly close: breeding hundreds of broods from a given stud will help -
they're all half-brothers but that makes the genes a lot more similar.  And
the down side of incest has been vastly overstated, I glean from the
research.  My understanding is you don't run into any problems 90% of the
time - especially with breeding brothers to sisters and mothers to their
male offspring.  Taking the risk of a few defects we can throw away from
time to time, I'm of the opinion we can have a new exclusive slave strain
on the market within half the time you'll normally think - well within our
live times, Mr. Schreiber - a mere 40 to 45 years if everything went well
and you were willing to sterilize the majority who you didn't want
contaminating the gene pool."

    "Mr. Bates," Hans Scrieber said excitedly as he practically hugged his
new boss, "you're a studmaster's dream come true.  You really knows the
ends and outs of breeding.  You'll be the first person I ever worked for
that really understood the whole process of developing a new breed and all
the problems associated with it.  We even share the same goal, Mr. Bates.
We both want some new clearly distinctive slave breeds out there in the
marketplace during our lifetime."

    "Exactly, Mr. Scrieber," I replied.  "Now let's see the stock you've
got on hand."

    As we walked toward the first outbuilding, Mr. Lindsley commented that
cleaning out the Aegean stables yesterday was nothing compared to that
little display of mine which only a German could appreciate. "Me?  I like
the excitement of finding the exception myself out in the marketplaces.
The way you two carry on, you could order them out of a catalog and have
them delivered the next day, exactly as pictured."

    "That's where the market's headed," I replied.  "But you'll be happy to
know they still produce the stock the old fashioned way - one fuck at a
time.  But even that may give way to artificial insemination once the
breeds are firmly defined."

    "That's when all the fun ends," Mr. Lindsley commented drily. "At least
for the slaves."

    "I think you'll find the stock here doesn't necessarily view their
duties as all fun," Mr.  Schrieber added. "You'd be surprised how many
studs don't like fucking all the time, once they're actually in a breeding
operation.  For the most part, all that bragging in the holding pens of any
marketplace about how they hope a buyer will pick them to stud the rest of
their lives and then they'd be in slave heaven is just bravado.  Put to the
test of a actual breeding operation, they quickly get tired of it and have
to be held under firm discipline to perform when scheduled."

    "And the women slaves?" Mr. Lindsley asked. "They're always wanting to
be loved - well, here's their chance."

    "Even the most naive slave girl soon learns being fucked and being
loved are two entirely different things.  A slave is fucked; a free woman
might, if she were lucky, be loved somewhere along the line. And being
pregnant all the time isn't much fun either, even though they do seem to
get used to it soon enough.  We do try to make their lives as comfortable
as possible if they cooperate completely with our goals, even throwing them
a good looking stud just for the fun of it sometimes as a special reward.

    "For both the male and female slaves, though, Mr. Lindsley, nothing
makes them feel more like an animal than when they know they're being bred
exactly as any other animal.  But they think better than other animals, of
course, so they're fully aware they're making new slaves just like them
that will be bred just like them and there is no chance of ever breaking
the cycle.  That's why the get a little hard to manage sometimes, in my
opinion.  Inappropriate for a slave, I know, but it's there nevertheless.
You have to let them know right up front that's just part of their life and
they have to deal with it without letting it interfere with their owners
plans for their body.  Nothing complicated about it, but it's got to be
digested one way or another."

    We had entered a series of stalls where, as we spoke, stud slaves were
being put to females strapped down on 'rutting benches' positioned at just
the right height for full and easy penetration.  It was easy to see why the
studs had been chosen for this task: to a man they were well built,
extremely handsome, and very well hung - exactly what brought top prices at
any marketplace for male slaves.  The female stock beneath them were
perfect counterpoints: beautiful, physically sturdy, and obviously built
for reproduction with wide hips, large vaginas, and good sexual response.
As the couples rutted away to the accompanying groans, sighs, grunts, and
gasps, sweat quickly covered the stud's sleek bodies and, soon enough, each
one arched his back as his body tensed and another load was deposited deep
within the woman.  As soon as the stud stopped pumping, a slave supervisor,
whip in hand, felt the spent stud's balls to make sure he had emptied
completely.  Only then, with a slap on the rump, was the stud allowed to
withdraw whereupon he was promptly washed, dried, and powdered, had a leash
fastened to his collar and was led back to his familiar cage located
apparently in an adjoining room.

    This time, however, I told Hans Schrieber to have the studs brought
over for my personal inspection.  The first one finished was promptly
before me, his hairless heavily muscled body glistening in sweat, still
panting a bit, and still, surprisingly, semi-erect.  As he stood before me
in full display position upon order of his attendant, I checked out his
muscles, turned his face one side and then the other to study his features,
and then stroked his large shaft, still very hot to my touch and still
throbbing from his recent orgasm.

    "How many times a day is this one bred?" I asked Mr. Schrieber.

    "Three times, seven days a week," he replied, "until his sperm count
goes down or he has trouble getting it up properly.  They last about five
years that way if we start them young enough.  After that, we sell them off
- there's quite a market for phased out studs surprisingly."

    Turning to the slave I was stroking, I asked, "And you, slave, are you
performing your duties the best you can?"

    "Yes, master," the slave replied, still panting a little from his
recent efforts.

    "It's quite a privilege to get to fuck all these beautiful women day in
and day out, isn't it, slave?" I probed.

    "Yes, master, but..... "

    "Yes, slave.  Speak out!"
    "Master, that's all I do, just fuck when they tell me to, exercise, eat
and sleep.  My balls are always sore and I ...."

    "Go on, slave.  You have my permission to speak."

    "I wish I could do something else occasionally, master.  I never
thought I would say this, but even a slave can get tired just making babies
all the time..  I'm sorry, master... I shouldn't have been so forward....
I apologize, master," looking at the whip in the attendant's hand getting
unfurled.

    "Its OK, slave.  I ordered you to speak out and you did.  Telling the
truth to his master never hurts a slave in the long run."

    "No master," the slave looked down at the ground, unconvinced, as I
continued to stroke him to see if he could obtain a full erection this
quickly after emptying his balls.

    "Mr. Bates owns you now, slave, so you're lucky to speak directly to
your owner this way.  I'm sure you want to thank him for listening to a
mere slave," he prompted.

    "Thank you, master," the slave promptly responded both verbally and
with a full erection.

    By that time, another slave had emptied himself and had his organ
cleaned off before being led over to me.  This slave was a light brown with
impressive musculature, striking good looks, and exceptionally large sexual
organs.

    "You enjoying your life on stud, slave," I asked.

    The slave shook his head in the affirmative, but did not respond
verbally.

    "He's been silenced for some reason or another.  Long before we got
him," Mr. Schrieber replied, " but we've had no trouble with him doing
exactly what we expect him to. He's been at this for about six years, I
understand, long before I got here."

    I studied the slave carefully, noting his large protrusive nipples, his
thick muscular neck, his well rounded shapely butt just begging to be
fucked itself, and his facial features that were so fine he looked almost
feminine were it not for all those muscles everywhere and the huge organ
between his legs.  He reminded me ... of...  Who was it?  Oh, yes.  It hit
me.  The brown slave back at the manor house that was hovering over my
breakfast tray offering me some of his cream.

    "I've got a slave I think I'll send out here for a while that might be
good at this," I commented as I began kneading the big balls of the brown
slave in front of me, now feeling a little empty as he stood there
placidly.

    "That's great, Mr. Bates.  This slave is about played out, I'm afraid.
He's into his sixth year on the rutting benches and he's beginning to get a
little slow on the uptake, if you know what I mean.  It's about time we put
him back on the auction block.  He'll still bring us a good $400,000 or so
- middle aged divorcees are crazy about these boys because they can use
them all night long if they want and still get them relatively cheap."

    "Well, keep him at it until I send his replacement out.  I really
haven't tested the new boy out thoroughly.  My great-uncle used him,
apparently, as a milk stud for his dietary supplements.  In fact, I'm told,
at 61 he was swilling down the full output of three young studs a day in
his quest to stay young.  The one I'm thinking of might be close to being
milked dry by now, he may not be any good at anything but jerking off at
this point, or, for all I know, he doesn't even know how to fuck properly,
although I doubt it.  I do know he's sure as hell hung for the job - makes
this boy look puny by comparison and I do know he's about as good looking
and well built as a slave boy gets at this stage in the breed's
development.  I'll run him through the hoops over the next week or so, and
if he's as good as he looks, I'll send him out and you can retire this boy
here to the marketplace. This boy should bring even more at a good auction
with all those divorcees and widows since he's silenced.  That way, he
can't tell any secrets or spread gossip about his new mistress. But for
myself, I'm not into stud's milk - at least not yet.  Maybe when I get
wrinkled and feeling old, I'll change my mind."

    Hans Schrieber laughed heartily.  "That's was just catching on in
Germany when I left, Mr. Bates.  Every old man I know was looking for a
fresh young stud for that very purpose.  Driving the prices way up."

    The next stud had finished his chore and was ready for my inspection,
his sweating body looking totally controlled with the collar around his
neck attached to the short leash held by his attendant.

    "You're lucky, slave.  Some other breeding places are switching over to
artificial insemination.  Then you're just chained down and sucked dry by a
machine twice a day and that's it.  Some places you never see the light of
day until years later when your sperm counts goes down.  Here you get to do
real fucking and all the pleasure that involves.  I know many a slave all
over the city that's never allowed to dump a load no matter how hot and
bothered they get - their master's consider it a form of good slave
discipline.  They're kept in a chronic state of sexual need - barely know
what's it like not to have a big hard-on between their legs and constantly
feeling pressure in their big swollen balls.  You're one lucky slave
getting to serve stud out here at this breeding shed."

    "Yes, master, I know, master.  My last owner was just like you
describe, master.  I never got to shoot off because he wanted me showing
hard all the time.  Liked the look of a slave in chronic need, he said.
Claimed it was the best form of keeping slaves totally obedient.  I don't
know about that, master, but I do know I felt so needy I would shoot off at
least every day or so just when someone touched by body I was so horny all
the time, master.  Every time that happens, I got beaten again half to
death so I really tried, master, but I just couldn't sometimes."  He began
to cry at the remembrance.  "Most slave boys kept in that constant need
like you say, master.  That's why I'm so grateful and appreciative of being
out here doing what men are supposed to do, master, even if I am just a
slave."

    "That's quite a little speech, slave, but that's not up to you, as you
well know. Those are all a master's decision, just like fucking on command
here is your master's decision.  It's just that you like that decision more
than some others you have experienced as a slave.  But, remember, a slave's
duty is to obey, not sitting around judging what happens to them.  That's
mighty dangerous for a slave, boy."

    "Yes, master," the slave said as his eyes shot down in shame.  "My
mouth is working faster than my brain, master."

    "Precisely, slave. That's why many slaves are being silenced these
days," I warned.  With that, I checked out his body and found it flawless.
He was, I judged, an excellent choice if genes were to be passed on to
another generation.  As a bonus, he obviously wasn't dim-witted, either.

    "I'm impressed, Mr. Schrieber," I announced.  "I really don't have time
to look over all the breeding stock if I'm going to see some of your
research projects."

    "I was hoping you would ask, Mr. Bates," Hans Schrieber replied with
even greater enthusiasm.  "I hope you're impressed."

    We left for another building a good block away from the rutting
stations and the adjoining holding cells.

    "This is our 'Black Boys' secret project, Mr. Bates.  I've already told
you what we're after as a market product. I want to show you how far along
we are at this point with just three yearly crops produced so far.  We're
taking every short cut I know of and then some to speed it up.

    "First, we're using one prototype stud: the best we could possibly fine
in a worldwide search."  Turning to a nearby cell, he pointed to a huge
hairless black that looked like a cross between a handsome human strong man
and a hairless gorilla. His musculature looked like he had been on heavy
steroids since birth, his face was passive with an obedient look to it
despite the fierceness of his body, and his sex organs were elephantine -
more animal than human.  "All paternal genes are from this one source for
the new breed."

    "Second, all brood stock are related - either sisters or first cousins
so we can reduce gene variability down as much as we can.  They are kept in
the holding tank over there," pointing to a huge cage containing a good 20
women, all totally jet black, all very large and muscular, all big boned
and wide in pelvis for good child bearing, and all strong as oxen. As you
can see, they all look amazingly alike - practically like twins.  It took
eight months just to buy up stock with the relationships and blood lines we
were seeking.  Like the stud, they were found in African markets. As you
would expect, they are all pregnant again currently, but their first two
batches of offspring are what's interesting.  For that, Mr. Bates, we need
to step into the next room - the nursery as we call it, where we keep the
offspring once they are born to be wet nursed and trained by a specially
trained toupe of castrated slave men and sterilized women so there is no
danger of bad genes getting into the picture."

    We stepped into the next room, and I was astounded.  There were over 40
big, black babies of both sexes crawling around the floor, huge for one and
two year olds, and hyper- developed for their age, but all looking almost
exactly alike other than the sex differences.  They were exactly the same
shade of skin color, had the same body structure, same facial features, and
the same height to weight ratio - even at that infantile level.  Female
'puppies,' as they were called, were kept in one cage; male 'puppies' in
another so the similarities were all the more startling.

    "The test we use is can you tell them apart by any means?  Faces,
fingers, sex organs, rumps, skulls?  If so, they're shipped out to another
regular slave nursery to be raised for the orthodox market.  If not,
they're kept here until any significant differences emerge.  Our hope is
that when they are of an age where we can breed them, we'll have at least 5
of 6 of each sex out of each year's crop that will form the genesis of our
new 'Black Boy' breed.  At that point, we're going to pick a single
prototype stud again and start all over until, we hope, within 15 years to
have a marketable breed, everyone of which will look exactly alike, and,
even better, act exactly alike.  They'll be ugly, I grant you, but the
world will have never seen a slave better equipped for the labor market.
Nor will they be able to get better value for their money.  These slaves
should last through anything a corporation or municipality or any private
owner can put them through.  They should be stronger than anything out
there on the market, more compliant to even the harshest demands, adaptable
to even the worst environmental conditions, and so disease-resistant they
could live through a plague.  Our studies show so far all that's true even
now in the two-year-olds comparatively, but they do take a lot more food to
fed all those muscles, and it takes a firm hand to get maximum work out of
them.  Most of them will end up in chain gangs under a whip anyway, so that
part really doesn't matter too much probably. We figure the increased food
costs are offset by their survivability and lack of need for any medical
services along the way.  They have immune systems borrowed from the animal
world, it seems."

    "I see you have them collared already, Mr. Schrieber," I noted.

    "Yes, we plan to always have a collar on them so they can't remember
not wearing one.  It marks them even now as what they are - livestock,"
Hans replied.

    "Congratulations, Mr. Schrieber.  Your progress is clearly remarkable
and, I agree, within 15 years or so, I can see Bates Training introducing
their exclusive new breed with considerable fanfare.  I'll make sure you
get full credit, Hans, if it works out as well as it's looking right now."

    Hans Scrieber beamed at the compliments.  The project followed exactly
his Germanic concepts of efficiency, orderliness, and predictability.  This
new line made horse breeding seem boring and archaic by comparison with the
new challenges.

    The three of us then went a short distance to another building looking,
like the others, decrepit and neglected on the outside.  But inside, it was
ultramodern with gleaming white tile walls, stainless steel equipment of
all types, and wall-hung plasma computer screens everywhere.  The workers
we viewed from an observation area through a full glass wall inside were
dressed in pressurized suits featuring plastic bubbles over their heads for
a fully sterilized environment.  In two small cells adjacent to the
observation area were two naked slaves, a male and a female, both the
epitome of their gender within the human race.

    The male was about 6', broad shouldered with a narrow waist, bubble
butted, well muscled throughout, and exceptionally well hung. His face was
startlingly handsome; his hide was, below his neck, was hairless and a
beautiful smooth creamy brown.  He had bright green eyes, thick jet black
curly hair along with a pencil-line beard cut short outlining his rugged
jaw, high cheekbones and thin but full lips.  His nose was Grecian and his
eyebrows almost met over his wide spaced eyes which were highlighted by
long, thick curly eyelashes.  His sex was disproportionally large for his
body and beautifully shaped, even in the semi-erect state that seemed to be
perpetual.

    In the cell beside him was a female slave who had exactly the same
coloring and basically the same physique with the exceptions her breasts
were fulsome and upright with bright pink nipples, her vulva was large with
a clitoris that extended a little from her body, even now erect, and she
was rounded in her features rather than angular.  She too was a a beautiful
creamy brown.

    "They could be twins," Mr. Lindsley observed, obviously excited by what
he was looking at.

    "Close, Mr. Lindsley," Hans Schrieber explained as he unlocked the cell
doors and motioned for the two to step out and assume a full 'body display'
position, something they did as if it were habit. "Their DNA patterns are
almost identical - as close as any two slaves we could find that also
carried all the traits we were looking for in the new 'Bates Best' breed.
Essentially, they are two-thirds white blood, one-sixth black, and
one-sixth Polynesian to get that beautiful skin tone and smoothness.  We
searched all over the world until we found these two rarities to serve as
our prototypes for each gender we're planning to produce.  But they're not
really bred like the 'Black Boys' back there.  We just use the sperm and
eggs they produce to start the process combining a little genetic altering
and some RNA recombinant processes.  Once we have a fertilized egg doctored
up like we want, we put them in an artificial womb that's recently been
perfected and, in precisely 275 days, we have another trial pup to check
out.  All of this is possible just recently since all the human genomes
have been mapped. At least that's the way it's been explained to me by our
resident vetinanary genetic surgeon, who, incidentally, is one of the
highest paid people on your payroll, Mr. Bates, according to Mr.  Alcorn.
We found Dr. Xhou in South Korea where they are way ahead of the rest of
the world in this area due to their intensive research using stem cells."

    "Yes, I could see where he would come high," I commented.  "Vetinanary
genetics is a promising field but most complex.  But, I'm interested, just
what genes are you tinkering with?  These two prototypes look about as good
as slave stock gets to the naked eye."

    "I'd have Dr. Xhou answer your questions, but he doesn't speak English.
However, I do know he's adding a bit to the gene controlling testosterone
for the male products - a little bit more programmed production for even
bigger sexual organs, more semen production, and even more muscular
definition matched with altering the gene a bit producing estrogen in the
males to lower their aggression and give them even smoother skin.  That's
just an example.  Another is he's tinkering with the eye color genes to
make their eyes a bright emerald green instead of just green like these
slaves and their melatonin gene to give them protection from the sun no
matter how long they are out in it.  The list goes on and on, but in each
case it's not mutating the genetic inheritance in any way, just enhancing
it. Basically, this genetic 'drift,' as it is called, is controlled through
a series of processes called epigenetics.  We're at the cutting edge of
technology here and what better area of apply it than in development of a
new slave breed?  Dr. Xhou claims his products will be human livestock like
you have never seen - everything about them will just be a little more
distinctive, a little better in meeting the demands of the marketplace,
considerably more beautiful in terms of cultural standards of beauty in our
culture, and even a little healthier in that their immune systems are being
pumped up a bit.  And, as he points out, it will be easy enough to change
some bodily characteristics, such a eye color, skin tone, and facial
features, to meet each cultures' aesthetic definition of beauty.  What
slaves would be coveted in Korea, for example, would be a little different
that what slaves would be most desired in African markets.  But the first
versions of 'Bates Best' are all designed for American preferences, similar
but better than the two prototypes standing before you that form the basis
of development."

    "How often do you harvest their semen and eggs?"

    "Just once a day for the male; every 28 days, of course for the female.
In between, they're well exercised and assigned janitorial work around here
to keep them fully occupied.  We don't let our staff use them sexually, in
that their full output is prioritized for the research.  And, of course,
they can't have sex with each other - a pregnancy would spoil everything
and drain the male as well."

    "They never leave the building, I take it?" I asked.

    "No, there's plenty of test tube scrubbing and polishing and shining to
keep them busy right here all day long.  If they ever tried to leave,
they're outfitted with shock collars which would stop them dead in their
tracks the minute they crossed an exit."

    I reached toward the female in front of me and squeezed her well-shaped
nipples.  She smiled at the stimulation and never moved other than
thrusting her breast slightly forward to make my manipulations more
convenient. I then did the same to the male who gave me the exact same
reaction.  Both slaves were obviously extremely well trained as well as
being genetically perfect.

    "Results to date?" I asked Hans Schrieber.
    "See for yourself," he answered excitedly as he pointed to the next
room, a room also with an observation area separated by a full glass wall
from the nursery inside. "But we only have three male pups and two female
pups to date.  Unfortunately, we lost two products about 150 days into
gestation for reasons we still can't figure out.  But these five seem to be
doing fine so far."

    We looked at the five babies placed in two huge cribs: male pups in
one; females in the other.  They looked absolutely identical within each
gender and each one showed all of the characteristics of their prototype
except a little exaggerated.  Their eyes were a brighter green, their skin
even smoother, and their facial features just a little more handsome.
Sexual characteristics would have to be judged later after pubescence had
occurrence.

    "The very first 'Bates Best,'" Hans Schrieber said with great pride.

    "Very promising, Hans, from the looks of it.  But can these products be
mass produced after all the kinks are worked out?" I asked.  "The demand
will be in the millions every year eventually."

    "There's no reason we're aware of yet that would block that, but you'd
need a huge factory specifically designed for this type of production to
reach those levels, not this little nondescript place," he laughed.

    "But those prototypes can't produce much more than a dozen a year or so
due to the shortage of eggs."

    "True, but its these products in front of you, plus the next batch and
the next that will be the prototypes of the future.  It won't be long until
we have hundreds of prototypes available, all genetically almost identical.
And, as soon as we have enough healthy pups on hand to risk it, we're going
to start injecting the female prototype with some fertility drugs where she
will start producing five or six good eggs a month instead of just one.
We're just unwilling to risk any side effects of that right now in the
early stages.  But, if that works, we're talking about 60 to 70 eggs a year
out of each prototype.  Multiply that by thousands of prototypes and you
can see where production goals could eventually be met."

    "Hans, you're a genius," I said. "If all this works, you'll go down in
history as one of the world's best scientific inventors, right up there
with Edison, Testa, Westinghouse, Salk, and Teller.  But, unlike them, I'll
make you one of the world's richest men as soon as these 'Bates Best' are
marketed.  In fact, we might draft up a little royalty agreement the next
week or so where you will get a royalty fee on each 'Bates Best' sold. That
will make sure you keep your nose to the grindstone although I don't think
you're into slave breeding for the money."

    "No, Mr. Bates, you're right. It's not the money.  I just like the idea
of making human livestock to specification. It's a real power trip for me."

    "Perfectly understandable," I replied warmly.  "Isn't that why all of
us enjoy our work so much?  Take Brett Alcorn.  He's doing the same thing
from the environmental side with his beautifully refined training
procedures.  You're doing it from the physical side.  Put the two together,
which we will, and it's the future of slavery, Hans."

    With that, we parted company.  I dropped Mr. Lindsley off at his office
and headed back to the manor house with the intention of checking out the
brown slave offering me his cream this morning to see if he should be
transferred to our traditional breeding operations. Enroute, I called
Mr. Alcorn and asked me to fax over the background material on the brown
slave.

    When I arrived, I studied the report.  The slave typically produced
over one-fourth cup of "thick" semen with each discharge given eight hours
rest before being pumped.  That semen had a high count of viable sperm and
he was classified as "highly fertile."  He had, as he had said, been used
by my great-uncle as a cream stud each and every morning for the past five
months and had often been called to the old Mr. Bates' bedroom at night for
a good fucking where, not infrequently, he would be sucked off my
great-uncle for a fresh load of "anti-aging" cream direct from the source.
Prior to his purchase a year ago by Bates Training, he had been owned by a
mistress who had him fuck her, under her complete direction, two or three
times a day.

    Perfect, I thought.  He not only could produce plenty of viable sperm
on command, but knew how to deliver it.  His little display this morning
proved he had no trouble getting aroused when needed and that he would be
totally cooperative in a breeding situation where he would have to produce
on command.

    I called the brown slave into my bedroom that night where I tested out
his seminal discharge for myself with a good milking and then plowed his
ass as a test of compliance to an owner's demands.  He passed with flying
colors and, when I was through using him a full hour later, I told him,
based on his excellent performance in my bed, I was transferring him to
another place where he would serve me as a breeder stud.

    "I'll miss you and that big prick of yours, boy, but you're one lucky
slave - I'm sending you to slave heaven for a randy young buck like you."

    "I'll be making babies for my master all the time?" he asked hopefully.

    "Yes, and with some of the best-looking girl slaves you've ever seen,"
I replied as I phoned Mr. Alcorn to arrange the transfer.  A few minutes
later, a station wagon arrived with a kennel cage in the back.  The brown
slave with the huge equipment was loaded into the cage, waved goodbye with
a big smile on his face, and that was the last I ever saw of him for
several years.

FIVE YEARS LATER:

    "Well, the market's all yours now," Mr. Alcorn said.  "Your last
competitor just announced they're going under."
    "You know, Brett, we'll be able to benefit in more ways than one," I
replied.  "I'm going to offer to buy up all their surplus stock at a
steeply discounted price.  We'll keep the best for ourselves and dump the
others at a special 'discount' sale aimed at first-time owners. Any left
over from that we'll just snuff and sell their remains to the hide tanners
and dog food manufacturers. No use wasting good slave chow on shoddy
goods. Then, after the market settles down, we'll raise prices 5% across
the board and, once the howl from that settles down, another 5% the
following year."

    "We're taking in over 100 million a month now, Mr. Bates.  That should
put us up in the $1.5 billion area within 18 months, but supply and
maintenance costs are edging up a little - about 2%, I'd say.  Mainly
maintenance, because the influx of bred slaves is offsetting a slight
decline in the ones we get from the courts. And those bred slaves take
considerably less training to reach standard.  By the way, Mr. Bates, slave
hide is really catching on. We got a check from the tanner we use for over
$60,000 just for last year's input from us - you know, the few that die in
training, a few suicides now and then, and the ones we can't sell.  If the
price keeps climbing, people are going to start raising thick skinned bucks
for their hides alone," he laughed.

    "By the way, are you still enjoying 'Driver'?" he continued. " He's
getting a little long in the tooth as a bed buck I would think, but the
last time I saw him over at the manor house, he told me you were still
fucking him regularly.  I can send over a fresh young replacement that
looks just like any time you want."

    "Don't bother, Brett.  He still turns me on and he's hard to beat when
it comes to rendering up the best fuck in town. Besides, I'm sending him
over to the breeding center one afternoon a month to make sure I have a son
of his around when the time comes."

TWENTY YEARS LATER:

    "The special TV show introducing the two new breeds was sensational,
Mr. Bates," Brett Alcorn said to his long-time boss.  "Mr. Lindsley said
everyone is talking about buying one breed of the other the minute they can
get their hands on one."

    "Well, we held off introduction, as you know, until we had quite an
inventory.  Nothing like generating a lot of interest and then not being
able to meet the demand.  First day sales of 'Black Boys' exceeded our most
optimistic projections - 170,000 in the first day alone, mainly by the big
corporations with long term orders for 1 million over the next three
years. They do seem to be perfect for America's industrial needs and the
premium price we're charging will be offset by their longevity and
endurance under the absolute worst conditions.  It's exactly what America
needs at this time - livestock that can be worked hard 15 or 16 hours a
day, can be quartered with little more than a blanket and a tent over their
head in the worst of weather, and will last for at least 30, even 35 years
with minimal upkeep and medical expense before they're not worth the feed
they consume.  There's not a country in the world that can compete with
low-cost labor like that available."

    "They sent over a 'Bates Best' for a trial run about a year ago to see
what I thought," Mr.  Alcorn replied.  "Best looking boy I've ever seen in
all the years I've been in the business and he's the best thing in bed I've
ever had."

    "That's exactly what they're designed for - if you can afford one.
We've priced the first ones at 2.5 million and we've already sold 20,000 of
them - almost all we had. Sold just to the very rich, needless to say, who,
in my opinion, just want to own a 'Bates Best' as a prestige item as much
as bed them down - sort of the new Rolex or Rolls Royce among the smart
set.  We're going to limit yearly sales to 20,000 a year so that their
value holds up through scarcity alone."

    "Those brilliant green eyes really set them off as truly unique,"
Mr. Alcorn replied.  "But the whole package just reeks quality.  What
really sets them off if that they're all alike."

    "I was happy Hans Schrieber finally got the credit he deserves.  He's
on the cover of every magazine in the world as well as a nominee for all
the top scientific prizes.  Even Dr.  Xhou is getting the Nobel Prize in
Genetics.  That makes our products all the more coveted."

    "Mr. Bates. You're a billionaire many times over now, just like I
predicted when we first met.  And, without pumping up your ego too much,
you're probably the most respected person in America right now. After all,
you're the first person in the world to market a distinctive slave breed.
No wonder the U.N. has invited you to address their general assembly.  I
think that invitation alone tells you what the whole world is thinking
right now.

    "Speaking of pumping, Mr. Bates, are you still using old Driver and
that jet-black doorman with a ring in the end of his dick?  Lord, they must
be the oldest slaves in history still getting plugged every night by their
master. Won't you let me send you over one of the new 'Bates Best,' at
least?"

    "I've had a 'Bates Best' on trial for the past two weeks, courtesy of
the Breeding Barns.  I've given the slave a run for his money, but you
know, Brett, they're just too damn perfect for me.  I chained him to the
front door so my guests would be impressed and brought that old black up
here to the bedroom where he and Driver put on quite a show for me every
night when I get bored.  And, truth be known, I still think Driver takes a
fuck better than any slave I've ever had."

    "Well, nothing like experience, I guess," Brett Alcorn replied "That
poor boy was practically fucked to death before you ever got your hands on
him 25 years ago.  The fact he can still bend over a fucking bench, yet
alone push himself up and down on your prick is nothing short of a
miracle."

    "Brett, never underestimate a well trained slave.  We can give you
credit for that, my man.  'Training that lasts a lifetime' you always
claim.  Well, Driver's the living proof of that if any slave is."

    "You know, Mr. Bates.  I liked you when we first met a quarter of a
century ago.  Now, I like you even better.  That's saying something for
someone as cranky as me."

    "And my respect for you and your training methods have grown with each
year I've been running Bates Training.  I couldn't do all this without you,
Brett.  If you look out the front door, you'll see a small token of my
appreciation."

    Brett Alcorn went to the front door of the manor house while the new
doorman, a 'Bates Best,' promptly opened it for him, sinking to his knees
in respect as he passed outside.  There, in front of him was a shiny new
Rolls with the Bates Training Center logo on each front door with chauffeur
looking just like Driver did 20 years ago in one of the tightest, most
revealing liveries yet designed in a color that exactly matched the car.

    "Wonderful, Brett almost squealed in delight.  "Mr. Bates, I've always
secretly wanted a Rolls for some reason.  Thanks. And that chauffeur looks
just like your Driver did when we first bought him for Bates Training
Center."

    "He should, Brett.  I told you way back I was sending Driver over the
breeding center a few afternoons.  Well, it paid off.  There's one of the
products that goes with the car. I'm giving another one to Mr. Lindsley for
his loyalty over the years.  I've got three more in reserve that Driver's
training now for me."

    "Thank you, Brett.  We make a great team."

THE END

[Comments are always appreciated, even to let me know someone is actually
reading this making the time and effort of posting worthwhile.  Send to
anonymous4371@juno.com.  Thanks.  Bill Smith]