Date: Mon, 13 Nov 2006 19:35:22 GMT
From: "anonymous4371@juno.com" <anonymous4371@juno.com>
Subject: DIETER GOERING - Part 7 (Authoritarian)

DIETER GOERING

by Bill Smith

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

PART VII: VISITING A FEW OF THE GOERING'S INCOME PRODUCING ENTERPRISES:

[As in Part V, a few structural elements of this story are borrowed from
one of my own stories "Citicus" set in the times of the Ancient Romans]

     The 'fun' tours of his estate weren't the only ones Dieter had
available for his guests.  When he hosted a group of potential buyers of
his products, who bought Goering slaves by the thousands to man their
factories, farms, mines, and construction companies, pleasure and personal
slaves were novelties that were best left in the manor house.

     The Goerings made a lot of money selling pretty, well trained boys to
insure full pleasure to anyone able to afford them.  But, frankly, the real
money, due to the volume involved, was in labor slaves who cost less per
body but made up for it in sheer numbers.

     Consequently, these other types of tours showed potential quantity
buyers what uses slaves could be put to outside the sexual arena and more
into the labor supply area.  These tours were conducted on regular diesel
buses because of the distance involved and the large number of businessmen
usually taking the tours.  These tours visited far different operations
located a full two hour's drive away from the manor house.

     Each luxury bus was equipped with two slaves: the driver and a
steward.  Both were "high collared," (the term used to denote slaves fitted
with a 3 to 4" high copper collar which forced their heads into a constant
upright position), thick copper tit rings, and a thick copper band around
the base of their large well-shaped genitals which forced their sex into a
highly protrusive position that no only displayed everything they had but
was also easy for the bus passengers to fondle if they so wanted. Both
slaves were exceptionally good looking with dark olive skin, thick black
hair, dark eyes, and high cheekbones in addition to well-defined, muscular
physiques. The steward's job was to offer the guests aboard piping hot
freshly- made Columbian coffee, fresh-squeezed fruit juices, a variety of
freshly-baked Danish rolls, and, of course, himself, especially, this time
of day, his mouth and throat if the passengers needed their balls drained.

     Soon after the bus departed, every passenger in the luxury bus (fitted
with leather covered bucket seats widely spaced apart) had enjoyed the
breakfast refreshments and, one by one, took advantage of the steward's
sucking service.  By the time the bus reached the first scheduled tour
stop, the steward had managed to swallow 14 loads of fresh cum which filled
his tummy and left his jaws and throat a little raw, but, being quite
experienced (he had been a bus steward for several months already), he knew
all the passengers would expect full service before the next stop or two,
including probably fucking him up the ass after they began to really wake
up. He was glad he had put plenty of lubricate up his ass chute right
before boarding the bus this morning.  Given no breakfast himself, the 14
loads of cum already in him was as good a breakfast as any, he thought to
himself.  He had learned to like the taste of cum since being placed in sex
service and the passengers today, all businessmen, didn't disappoint him
with their tasty outputs although some of them were quite rough as they
often grabbed him by the back of the head and forced his mouth further down
on their pricks to get it all the way down his throat as they became fully
aroused.  He noted with satisfaction none of them were as well equipped as
he was - slaves like him were, of course, picked not only for their good
looks but also for their massive endowments.

VISITING ONE OF THE GOERING'S FARM OPERATIONS:

     The first stop on this type of tour was at the storage and processing
center for one of the Goering family's huge farm operations, one of the
agribusinesses prominent at the time among the world's plutocracy. There,
thousands and thousands of full-service life-time slaves, all collared,
clad in a few rags if anything at all, and with their feet manacled
together by an 18" chain, labored under the close scrutiny of numerous,
perhaps overzealous overseers - slaves themselves who knew the slightest
leniency on their part would lead to instant reassignment to the heavy
labor ranks. Most of the farm slaves had once been free men in a variety of
nations before their capture but, increasingly, those born into slavery,
particularly deliberately bred slaves, were joining their ranks.

     Each overseer carried a long steel-tipped whip which seemed to be in
constant motion, and the screams and groans of the chained slaves were
never ceasing as the slaves were "motivated" to give everything they had
for the profit of their master.  It was sobering to think that despite all
the technological advances over the years (electric shock collars, pain
center simulator implants, mechanical choke collars, "ball burners" - the
electric shock apparatus strapped to slave's genitals, etc.), the whip had
remained the simplest, most convenient, least costly, and the easiest to
use. It was easy to carry, it cost next to nothing, it was instantly ready,
it didn't need to be recharged or have its batteries replaced, it required
little training of its user, and there was no way the slave could
deactivate it or escape it tearing into his hide.  The Goerings had tried
all of the new devices over the years, priding themselves on keeping
abreast with the times, but, like almost all other slaveholders around the
world, had come back to the simple, but most effective, slave whip which
basically hadn't changed since the time of the ancient Babylonians
motivating their Jewish slaves or the ancient Egyptians perking up their
statuesque black slaves from the southern regions they called Nubia.

     Upon seeing the tour bus of their owner arrive at the isolated
agribusiness, all slaves, overseers included, fell to their knees and bowed
in total subservience.  Folding chairs had been set up for the bus
passengers between the kneeling slaves and the bus itself.

     Dieter, who was personally conducting this particular tour of business
associates, ordered the naked bus driver and the bus steward to accompany
him as he was last off the bus.  He then ordered the two bus slaves to get
on their hands and knees with rumps pressed tightly together to serve as
his chair to one side of the folding chairs with the already seated guests.

     Once seated comfortably atop his naked bus slaves, Dieter pointedly
addressed the agribusiness' slave overseers. "Don't let my presence
interfere with the work at hand, or you'll soon find yourself manacled in
their place," nodding to the work slaves all with their foreheads pressed
into the dirt .
     "Up, slaves," the overseers said almost in unison, "and get back to
work." The whips lashed across the closest backs and a few woeful screams
correlated with raw rump flesh being lacerated. Leg chains rattled above
the moans as more whips cracked over the slaves' heads. It was like a whole
machine grinding into action.

     Bales of hay were lifted into storage on sweating backs and straining
legs; others, yoked like oxen to turnstiles, were powering the grinding of
millet used in feeding the slaves and other livestock; still others,
harnessed to farm wagons four and sometimes eight to a team, struggled to
pull the heavily loaded wagons; while hundreds of others were moving huge
rocks out of newly developed fields while still others dug foundations for
the construction of additional buildings.

     Dieter quietly explained to his guests the activities they were
viewing may seem primitive, but with the current high prices of gasoline
and diesel fuels, even from his own refineries, it was far cheaper to use
manual labor instead of fork-lifts, diesel-powered grain grinders,
tractors, and bulldozers, especially when slaves were cheaper than ever
these days and the food to feed them could be grown right on the grounds.

     Dieter explained that, for maximum profit, all the slaves were working
"under the whip," i.e., under constant surveillance of overseers who never
hesitated to lash into their hide to extract more work. As time wore on
throughout the long days, whip usage increased to compensate for the
exhausted bodies that tended to slow down until prompted to renewed effort
with ever more pain. The system worked well if it was managed effectively
and an owner realized that extracting maximum output made a lot of sense as
long as slave replacement costs remained so low. It was a common mistake to
associate a slave's productive work life with the normal life span of a
free person.  That was viewing them sentimentally as humans when any real
businessman saw slaves as work animals - nothing more and nothing less.

     Dieter Goering continued to point out that no slave present thought
his life would ever be different under their ownership by the Goering
family and all memories of a previous life had long been removed by the
whip which was an important part of a slave's acclimation to his status if
he wasn't born into it to start with.

     But what Dieter Goering, in all his knowledge of slavery, probably did
not realize was that those pain-wracked eyes of his slaves enjoyed anything
to break the monotony of their unceasing work. The sight of their owner, an
actual member of the fabled Goering family, casually sitting on the backs
of two amazingly beautiful naked slaves he had brought with him (just for
this purpose, they wondered?) only added to the awe and respect of he who
owned them body and soul. And all enjoyed the pure spectacle of his
arrival: the latest model luxury coach filled with important free men and
the two extremely handsome naked slaves that went with the owner's bus. The
owner's bus slaves had not a hair on their bodies, were fitted with genital
bands that forced their most ample manhood into a constant prominent (some
would say obscene) display that emphasized, rather than detracted, from
their manly beauty, and all high collared, obviously at their owner's
whim. To own and totally command such epitomes of masculine beauty was
beyond their wildest imagination and the awe and respect of their owner
soared even greater. Not a farm slave present didn't dream of being chosen
to serve their master in such a fashion - it would be an even greater honor
than being chosen to be a slave overseer in that you could be close to such
a force - a power beyond their comprehension once they had been fully
broken to the realities of contemporary slavery, a reality practically
defined by the family that owned them, the Goerings - still rumored to be
the world's largest slaveholders.

     Dieter chatted briefly with his chief overseer, who knelt before the
human chair made up of the two bus slaves' hips. The conservation was loud
so all the guests could hear without straining.

     "Production quotas being met?" Dieter asked.

     "Yes, master, and better," the chief overseer responded. "But with
some cost," he added cautiously.

     "What cost?" Dieter demanded with a frown.

     "Forty three slaves failed to respond properly to the whip," the chief
overseer ventured, "and had to be sent to the rendering plant, Master."

     "Well, at least their deaths can be put to some use," Dieter
commented. "Some of the hides can be tanned, some organs can be harvested
and sold, and, of course, once gutted, it adds protein and a nice texture
to the next batches of slave chow."

     Some of the guests looked astonished at this comment, obviously naive
in all the uses slaves could be put to, even in death.

     "My God," one of the guests muttered to the person sitting next to him
on the folding chairs, "do the slaves know what's in the Goering's slave
chow?"

     "Probably, but it's not just the Goering's slave chow - it's all slave
chow I'm aware of.  Most slaves handle it by just not thinking about it -
that's probably how slaves handle a lot of things in their lives."

     The questioner nodded in agreement and tuned back into the fascinating
conversation taking place between their host and his chief overseer.

     "Mainly those grown old and weak, Master Goering, chief overseer
continued, "but a few young ones with perhaps overzealous drivers," the
overseer continued. "Most were well past their forties, but three just
starting manhood were whipped to an early death, I fear, thus cheating the
Goerings out of full value from their property. I've taken the proper
steps, master, and those overseers are now back in the ranks, of course. I
branded them on the face with a big "X" so I wouldn't forget their error
and reassign them someday to an overseer's role. After a thorough beating,
of course, to punish them for their waste of Goering property. With the
special brand to mark them, I've told their overseers to work them so hard
they will make up for the loss they have incurred. Once their faces are
branded like that, it would be hard to sell them for much of anything, so
they owe their loss of value to you as well, master."

     "Yes, they should be made to make up the cost of their negligence,"
Dieter said. "They may die a quick death themselves in the process but, if
so, it serves them right, of course, for cheating me and my family. And
what replacements are at hand, Overseer?"

     "We have about 140 a month reaching working age on the breeding farm,"
the chief overseer continued. "We'll pick out the sturdy but ugly as
replacements here and try to market the best looking and best equipped to
slave dealers in the city. No use wasting a good looking boy on the work
around here," he laughed, "although, Master, some of the dealers seem to be
getting more and more selective in the stock they are handling as the
market expands. Just last month, their regional procuring agent told me
only the real cream of the crop, maybe one out of 50, would meet the most
prestigious dealer's body quality standards. Most of the breeding farm's
output, despite their attempts to selectively bred the stock, is a long way
from that, I'm afraid," the overseer concluded.

     When Dieter appeared to accept his report, he looked at his owner
cautiously before venturing further. "Even a lowly slave like myself tires
of trying to find satisfaction with the ugly brutes left on this farm,"
looking hungrily at Dieter's bus slaves, their muscular backs tense
supporting the weight of their master on top of them with their banded
tackle hanging down conspicuously between their wide spread legs.

     Dieter laughed briefly before warning, "Even a chief overseer is lucky
to have any satisfaction at all. Remember those under you can never hope
for any satisfaction of their manly needs other than their right hand or,
if they've got the strength, the body chained next to them. At least, you
can pick and choose among these animals when you want to relieve
yourself. It's a privilege few masters would grant unless they were a
lenient fool like myself. I don't want you touching any boys reserved for
the slave markets - you stick with the brutes available to you here, or
you'll find yourself as barren as those under you are. I'll not warn you
again."

     "Yes, Master Goering," the chief overseer responded humbly. "I'm most
grateful to be allowed to use the animals here on the farm. Don't worry
about the boys being saved for the auctions - they're your property and I
fully understand that. It's most generous of you to let me use your other
property as you do - it's a privilege allowed few slaves and I'll not risk
losing that privilege, master."

     "Even with the losses we need to replace, that still gives us a good
crop for market, no matter how fussy the dealers are getting," Dieter
reflected. "In fact, the breeding is growing each year. That means you've
got to produce more and more food to feed the growing slave crop."

     "Yes, Master Goering," the chief overseer responded, "and with proper
supervision and some loss, I grant you, that can be accomplished."

     Dieter Goering looked around again before addressing the chief
overseer. Whips continued to crack, moans escaped the lips of those singled
out for "motivation," and sweating bodies strained ever harder to please
the overseers' demands. In the far distance, a struggling slave had been
whipped to the ground, and his bleeding back and rump, accompanied by
screams of anguish, meant he would either have to find the strength to get
to his feet and resume work or face being terminated by the whips.  The
choice was up to him at this point.  At one side of the field was a cart
destined for the rendering plant already holding the work day's first dead
slave and it was still mid morning.

     Dieter felt the bus slaves shift a little as their hip muscles
strained under the load of his weight. He smacked one hard across the rump.

     "Quiet, slaveboys, or you'll find yourself left to work on the farm,"
Dieter said harshly.  "That would make you appreciate the pampered life you
live," Dieter added. "A week here in the chief overseer's bed would be a
lesson in itself," he laughed. "I doubt if you'd walk for a week after his
usage of the two of you. And you wouldn't last a day pulling those wagons
over there," he said threateningly pointing to a team of eight slaves
almost prone in their harnesses struggling to pull a huge load while an
overseer lacerated their backs and butts with a 12-prong metal tipped whip.

     As the harnessed slaves screamed in agony from the overseer's whip,
one of the draft slave's eyes bulged out as his face turned bright red. His
efforts to pull the load was displayed in every muscle in his body and his
veins visibly protruded as he continued to struggle as the whip continued
to tear into his hide. Suddenly he slumped to the ground with froth and
blood gurgling out of his mouth.

     "Up, dog," the overseer screamed as his whip continued to lacerate the
slave's back.

     "Forty-four, master," the chief overseer said with a sigh.

     "Forty-four what?" Dieter spat out.

     "That slave's dead, master. That overseer is just wasting his energy
tearing all the flesh off that slave's back. His body just gave out. We'll
need to replace him too."

     "Well, Chief Overseer, I'm glad I was here to see it myself. Was the
slave shirking his duty, was the overseer too zealous, or was the slave
sick? Certainly the discipline I saw seemed to be appropriate."

     "That slave wasn't too sick to work, Master Goering, and the brute's
generally been a hard worker despite his age. He looks to be in his late
forties, so his time was about up anyway. Nevertheless, my guess is the
overseer has overworked him, judging from the looks of the others in his
team. I'll brand that overseer and make sure he makes up for the work loss
as soon as we get him properly marked and fitted in the dead slave's
harness."

     "How wise you are, Chief Overseer, "Dieter said. "The whip, while
always essential to a slave's well being, can be overused I fear in the
hands of an amateur. However, judging from his age, we no doubt got our
money's worth out of him, that is, if we even bought the animal to start
with."

     Again, the naive guest whispered to the person sitting next to him.
"The Goerings seem to be a little hard on their work slaves," he commented.
"My overseers are never allowed to whip a slave with anything but a small
riding crop - certainly nothing that would tear their hide. And even then,
I never allow over a single stroke of the whip for each offense.  They cost
too much to expose them to discipline like this."

     "Then you're not getting your money's worth out of them.  Slaves don't
cost that much to replace compared to pampering them without proper
motivation.  The Goerings had studied this from a cost-analysis viewpoint
like I have and believe, me, the Goerings know exactly what they're doing.
That's why they're so damn rich. You better shut up and learn, buddy."

     Chastised, the questioner again sunk into silence and returned his
attention to the scene in front of him.

     "Do you wish to stay for the branding?" the chief overseer said, "The
slaves always enjoy seeing an overseer getting his comeuppance."

     "No, thank you, Chief Overseer. My responsibilities elsewhere preclude
the pleasure.  I've got to get my guests to he mine operations next."

     Dieter rose from his human chair, snapped his fingers for the handsome
pair of bus slaves to fall behind him, and, again boarded the bus, leaving
his bus slaves to help his guests climb the few steps back into the bus,
again giving the guests a good chance to feel all aspects of the two
slaves' bodies.  Both slaves felt their tits pulled and pinched, their
balls hefted and churned in the palms of numerous hands, their shafts
stroked and squeezed, and numerous fingers finding their way up their
lubricated ass holes and pumping them briefly, presumably to ascertain how
tight they were if that particular guest decided to fuck them later.

     Once everyone was onboard, the two slaves switched roles with the
former steward driving and the former driver serving cold pop, beer and
wine along with some appetizers kept in the bus refrigerator.  As soon as
everyone had been served, the new 'fresh' steward found himself being
called from one seat to another for oral service, some of the guests having
been stimulated by viewing the slaves at the farm in various scenarios.
While he was servicing them, the guests took the opportunity to feel every
aspect of his handsome body, from running their hands through his thick
head hair, to cupping his pectorals and playing with his tits, to massaging
his massive banded balls, to stroking his massive erect prick, now dripping
in arousal.

     The naive chronic questioner again poised a question to the person
sitting across the aisle from him who happened to be well engaged in having
the bus steward sucking him off at the moment.

     "What do they used slave hides for?  Dieter Goering mentioned having
them tanned or something?  What for?" he asked the nearby passenger,
already arching back from the intense stimulation he was receiving from the
steward's well trained mouth.

     "Jesus," the fellow passenger gasped, "you sure know how to time your
damn questions.  Couldn't it wait a minute or so?"

     "But I was curious," the questioner replied, seemingly oblivious to
the fact the person he had questioned was already in the beginning throes
of orgasm.

     "Shut the fuck up and drink your damn coke," the man said. "When I've
finished dumping a load into this boy's throat, I'll answer you, thank you
very much."  With that, his face flushed, he grabbed the back of the
slave's head and forced every last millimeter of his erect prick down the
steward's throat and held it there until he had completely discharged,
seven eruptions in all.

     When the slave had completely swallowed the last remnants of his
discharge and properly thanked him for the privilege of serving him, the
man turned to his fellow guest across the aisle.

     "What was it?  Something about tanning a slave's hide?  If a slave's
hide is smooth and unblemished and fairly free of whip scars, it's usually
tanned and then used for the manufacture of billfolds, briefcases,
handbags, and even some stylish vests.  Surely you've seen them for sale -
almost everywhere these days.  Expensive, but soft and supple and
surprisingly long lasting. And you can get them in most any color from
albino white to coal black, even yellowish and reddish tints to the hide
when they've utilized the pure Oriental and American Indian hides."

     "Oh, I've seen them for sale - in fact, I'm carrying a billford in
dark brown right now.  I knew they weren't pigskin or cowhide, but I always
thought it was some fancy new polymer product.  I never realized it was as
simple as slave hide.  What a clever use of stuff that would just be wasted
otherwise."

     "Guess who first marketed it?" the fellow passenger asked his
questioner.

     "Haven't a clue," came the reply.

     "The Goerings.  In fact, our host today, Dieter, put the first
products on the market and they sold like hotcakes, despite the price.
Dieter himself said any other leather would have done just about as well,
but slave hides have a special appeal, and, as he pointed out, they do make
lovely lamp shades."

     "Why a special appeal?"

     "Dieter said that for anyone who has ever owned a slave, it reminds
him of the absolute control a master has over his property and that
symbolism sells them if nothing else.  If a person is so poor they can't
afford a real live slave, he can own at least a token of one - even owning
a piece of tanned slave skin is better than owning nothing.  It's kind of
like saying 'I almost own a slave.'"

     The questioner took out his billfold and examined it more closely.
Sure enough, on the backside was a tell-tale whip scar in the brown hide
that only added to its appeal.


ONE OF THE GOERING'S COPPER MINES:

     Ninety minutes later, the luxury bus had arrived at the site of
another Goering business: a huge copper mine that had two components.  The
first operation was a large open- air pit where some copper veins could be
extracted from the surface. The second operation was a much larger
underground mine where the bulk of the massive copper deposits had to be
extracted.

     Dieter's businessmen guests were greeted by the sight of hundreds and
hundreds of heavily muscled slaves manacled at both hands and feet as well
as, of course, collared. All of these slaves were stark naked - the master
wasted no money in clothing them since they were out of sight anyway and
clothing would only get in the way of their work, destined to descend into
the bowels of the earth each and every day to extract the waiting copper.
The only time they came up from the darkness below was when there was a
shift change, like now, and they were lead to their cages to get fed and
sleep, freeing the room underground in the narrow chambers for the new
shift of workers.  Their wrist chains allowed them to lift and carry, swing
the heavy pics and hammers, while the leg chains were only long enough to
allow hobbled movement.

     These slaves were strictly draft stock - even more so than the farm
stock.  Although considerably larger and even more muscular than the farm
slaves Dieter's guests had viewed a few hours earlier, they had never been
bathed or shaved, their uncut hair was matted into dread locks, and the
lack of rest breaks meant their only choice was to eliminate as they
worked. Hence they were generally coated across their backside with their
own excrement.  The stench from their bodies reached even the bus, some
hundreds of feet away and the guests, although slaveholders themselves and
certainly used to being around slaves, almost retched from the ghastly
smell of years of accumulated human sweat, excrement, and even spent semen
as the desperate slaves ejaculated spontaneously at the slightest
provocation after years of enforced abstinence.

     Overseers' whips cracked unceasingly over the backs of the slaves as
the one exhausted group was led away to their cages and the fresh group was
herded into the 'cage' elevators taking them hundreds of feet down into the
hot earth below. Hot irons stood ready in nearby braziers to "motivate" any
slave recalcitrant to start another day's work in the 115-degree steaming
heat common in the chambers below.

     Many of these slaves worked in gangs, leashed together by leg manacles
as well as by their neck collars (actually now a piece of heavy chain
tightly fitted around their thick necks that could be tightened instantly
by a connecting leash), forcing them to work as a unit. The 'gang' system
was in use now by many owners with construction crews and mine operations.
This generally meant far fewer supervisors were needed in that work efforts
were easily kept coordinated; individual insurrections were kept to a
minimum, and escape was literally impossible. Since they had been fitted
with the new choke collars, the slaves either did as the others did or
strangled to death as the pressure on their neck collar cut off their
wind. With the new collars, slaves who tried any independent action or any
rebellious action whatsoever found themselves choking to death almost
instantly as the chain tightened around their wind pipe.  Just one act of
resistance, at most two, to an overseer's commands was all that it took to
make sure that slave towed the line of utter compliance from then on.

     The Chief Mine Steward spotted his master, Dieter Goering, and ran as
quickly as possible to kneel and bow before him in the unexpected visit.

     "Everything in order?" Dieter queried.

     "Yes, Master," the Chief Steward responded with his eyes to the
ground.

     "Production?" Dieter snapped.

     "At record levels, Master," the steward humbly replied. "And, I'm
happy to report, with less than normal death rate among the stock."

     "Sturdier stock or are you getting slack in your discipline?" Dieter
shot back.

     "Neither, Master," the steward responded. "Discipline standards are
kept high here, Master Goering, and the stock is probably as surly as ever,
although they are a little bigger and more muscular than the last lots
we've had. But your neck and leg leashing suggestions seem to be inspired,
Master," the steward beamed. "Since we started the technique of choke
chains as neck leashes, production has gone up over 10 percent, and slave
replacement needs have dropped considerably. We should see sharply
increased profits in copper production this year," he boasted, "as well as
the byproducts."

     "The Goering family likes to keep up with modern management
techniques. But the downside?" Dieter coached.

     "Nothing serious, Master," the steward continued. "A few of the more
recalcitrant have suffered considerable damage to their throats and marked
chaffing around their ankles, but, Master Goering, they now seem to work
just as hard as the others, Nothing like some simple pain to teach these
brutes what's expected of them," the chief mine steward mused.

     "Keep the good work up, Chief Steward," Dieter Goering replied as
another cage elevator, fully loaded with the naked mine slaves crammed
together so tightly they couldn't move, descended swiftly into the living
hell below.

     "Thank you, Master," the steward said in an obvious, almost reverent,
awe as he caught sight of the two bus slaves now in display right in front
of him. As he eyed them greedily, his erection became obvious as he too was
kept nude.

     "Like those boys, do you?" Dieter teased his mine steward.

     "Yes, Master," the Chief Steward said with lust in his eyes.

     "Would you like to bed down one of them, Chief Steward?"

     "Yes, Master," the Chief Steward replied.

     "Why's that, Chief Steward?"

     "They're like my workers, Master Goering, in that they are so
muscular, but they're so handsome and so clean, and they don't smell and
there are no bugs crawling through their hair, and their manhood, so
proudly displayed by those tight genital bands, is magnificent.  They would
be the envy of any master in the world, I'd wager."

     "That's why they're bred regularly, Chief Steward, and the animals
here aren't. But I could see where you would eventually tire of using the
stock here for your own pleasures, Steward. Next time you report to the
manor house and get a bath to clean you up, I'll let you use one of these
bus slaves here as a little bonus for exceeding your quotas in the quarry."

     "Thank you, Master Goering, but are you sure you want to let a mere
slave use another slave of their caliber and quality just because he was
doing his master's bidding?"

     "You're right, Chief Steward, it is a generous offer, but I feel you
deserve it, and it won't hurt any of the boys here at all - they're used to
being fucked regularly as I'm sure you know would be expected of any slave
with an appealing body."

     The two bus slaves being offered up for the mine steward's pleasure
risked glancing up in curiosity to see who the offer was being made to and
each shuttered as they saw the filthy hairy apparition of what had once
been a man and imagined him fucking them.

     "Yes, Master Goering. I'll forever be grateful.  And, as you say,
master, I'm sure being fucked by whomever you designate is an honor for
them as your slave,"

     The exceedingly handsome slave now serving as the bus steward (hours
before the bus driver) glanced again at the mine steward and caught the
bile rising in his throat, praying to his gods that he wouldn't be the one
chosen to be fucked by the ugly steward, a stinking slave himself.

     "Just make sure you clean thoroughly before using them," Dieter
Goering warned.

     "Of course, Master Goering," the Chief Steward said, his eyes to the
ground in proper respect.

     "Keep the good work up, Chief Steward," Dieter said dismissing the
supervisory slave, "and don't hesitate to use those choke leashes we've
fastened around the slaves' necks - this may be the best method we've come
up with yet to motivate this type of animal."

     "Steward, tell my guests here what awaits the group of fresh slaves
you're jamming into the next cage elevator so they gain some idea of our
mine operations underground.

     "These slaves going down underground now will work for the next 12
hours when the ones you saw just coming up for some food and sleep will
once again replace.  'Downstairs,' as we call it, there is just enough
light to see the copper veins they are hacking out and the carts they have
to load the copper ore into.  They will not be fed until they return to
their cages up here on the surface and they work under the heavy whip of
their overseers their entire shift.  We use the same overseers for each
group each and every shift so the overseers know the stock - who tends to
slack off if given half a chance, who needs to have his back opened up to
put forth full effort, who needs to be fucked occasionally to remind him of
who's the boss, who tends to whine if the whip isn't heavy enough to shut
them up, and who is beginning to wear out and needs some really deep
whipping to keep going. Those that die on us, just one or two a week
actually, we just leave down in an abandoned shaft in the mine.  Their
stench just reminds the others how lucky they are to be alive and their
hides and innards aren't worth harvesting they're so torn up by the whip by
then and no serious buyer wants their organs.  They get all the water they
need through water hoses located at every work site - it's so damn hot they
use up so much water they don't even piss - it all just oozes out of every
pore in their hide.  But if they don't get their water, they don't last
much beyond three hours down there.  They don't have a sex life - they're
too worn out to even get it up normally - so we can't breed them
effectively unless they're prepared for it with a good week's rest up on
the ground and lots and lot of stimulation to remind them what their sex
organs are for.  Most of them last a good 10 years down in the ground
before even the heaviest whip can't do much to keep them going.  At that
point, we give them a week's rest above ground, breed them if we can, and
switch them over to the open-air mines where the work isn't easier, but the
heat and darkness isn't there so it's definitely a promotion."

     With that, the next cage elevator zoomed down into the ground and a
third cage elevator was being loaded.

     "This goes on all day in that the shifts, working in different shafts
of the mine, are spread across all hours of the day so the elevators are
kept in constant use.  We have about 22,000 slaves altogether at this
particular mine - 11,000 at any given time picking copper out of the shaft,
transferring it to the carts, loading it out of the carts for the conveyor
belts bringing it up to the surface 24 hours a day, or working in the
extraction and smeltering plants we operate up here on the surface. Out of
that 11,000 at work, only about 7,000 are underground - the other 4000 are
up here in the smeltering and extraction operations where the temperatures
can still get up to 120 to 125 on a good day - those furnaces are mighty
hot, you know," Dieter added to the steward's explanation

     "Dieter, if we didn't have slaves, would we have any copper?" one of
the businessmen asked.

     "Yes, but it would cost ten times as much.  The automated equipment to
do all this costs a fortune and doesn't last too long under the acidic
conditions of most mines.  It can be done without slaves, but at tremendous
cost.  And, of course, you could hire on free people to do it if you didn't
mind incredible turnover and wages you wouldn't believe.  No, slavery is
the answer to the challenge of mining.  It has been since the dawn of man's
history.  No one has done serious mining without having a cheap supply of
slaves available - it's how the Greeks mined their silver, it's how the
Egyptians mined their salt, it's how the Romans got their gold in Spain,
it's how the British mined their coal in Scotland, it's how the Dutch got
their diamonds in South Africa, it's how the Portuguese got their emeralds
in Brazil.  Without cheap slaves readily available, you just can't afford
to extract the earth's treasures profitably.  Without slaves, the Goering
family wouldn't be in the mining business at all.  But, since we do have
slaves and plenty of them, mining is one of our most profitable
businesses," Dieter smiled at the small group.

     "Back on the bus and we'll take a quick look at the surface mine.  We
don't have much time, but it doesn't take long to get the big picture
there," Dieter stated.

     Dieter Goering was right.  The open pit was huge - a massive circle
four miles in diameter at the top with terraced layers going down a good
mile into the scarred earth. There were no huge trunks, bull dozers, or
cranes - just thousands and thousands of naked slaves working away with
pics, shovels, wheelbarrows, and slave-drawn dray carts.  They looked, from
the rim, like nothing more than a huge ant colony - everyone working away
strenuously, sweat running down each slave's back profusely, and each slave
seemingly knowing exactly what his specific task was.  Out of hearing, but
clearly visible, were the unceasing whips of the slaves' supervisors,
although occasionally a renting scream of sheer agony would reach the outer
rim with an echo quality to it and once or twice you could see a slave
literally being beaten into the ground by an outraged overseer for one
reason or another. But almost all slaves were simply working away under the
glaring sun without the need of the whip and, as we got closer to one such
group, we could hear them singing some chanty while others seemed to be
joking with each other and their overseers as they toiled away.

     "Slaves here have all served time 'downstairs,'" Dieter explained.
"Generally a ten- year hitch.  They're so damn happy to be up here, we
don't need to supervise them much - they just work themselves for the main
part.  Those songs you here are celebrating their release from 'downstairs'
and being able to work out in the open.  Once they're up here, they're
generally good for a good 20 more years of hard work before it's time for
the rendering plants."

     "They seem quite happy, and I'm amazed how little the whip seems to be
needed," one observer commented.

     "They are happy," Dieter replied.  "Happiness is a relative thing, as
every slave knows.  If you've had a stern master and have been sold off to
a more lenient one, you're happy.  If you had to wear heavy tit rings with
your last mistress and your new mistress has them removed, you're happy.
If you were fucked 30 times a day back in the brothel that owned you and
now you're sold to a master who only fucks you four times a day, you're
happy.  If you were worked down in the bowels of the earth for 10 years
under a heavy whip and now you're out in the open in the fresh air, you're
happy.  So not much whip is needed, those songs you here are expressions of
their joy, and only those really out of sorts that day need to be reminded
with a good whip how fortunate they are now."

     "The ore you see being hacked out here and taken away to the smelters
could be done by machine even faster and easier," Dieter added.  "But when
you figure in the original cost of the equipment and the depreciation and
maintenance required for that expensive equipment, doing the exact same
thing with this anthill of slaves saves thousands and thousands of dollars
each hour of operation.  Slaves wear out much slower than mechanical
equipment as you all know, slaves are much cheaper to maintain, and their
trade-in value at the end, even if for a rendering plant, is greater
proportionately than mechanical equipment which tends to become obsolete
the minute you buy it."

     "You're right on that, Dieter.  Slaves never become obsolete and their
value holds up if an owner takes half-way decent care of his property,"
another businessman commented. "I know, in that I'm in charge of
depreciation schedules for insurance companies.  Believe me - slaves hold
their value three, even four times, better than any machines they're always
trying to sell you."

     "And slave chow is sure a lot cheaper than gas and diesel fuel,"
another chimed in.  "Caging them off duty doesn't cost much, and we've
learned clothing them is a waste of money unless the weather demands it."

     "No wonder my stock in Caterpillar and Euclid sucks," another
businessman blurted out.  "I'm dumping it the minute I get back from this
tour and investing the money in a firm specializing in slave breeding or,
at the very least, a slave leasing business like Halliburton."

     "Smart move," Dieter laughed.  "But an even better investment of those
funds would be with one of the Goering holding companies like Goering
Enterprises.  Their stock has gone up 78 of the past 100 years and has
consistently paid out around seven percent.  Sure but steady, just like the
slave stock underlying that kind of economic performance."

     "As a testimonial, Dieter, I invested one million in one of your
smaller slave breeding outfits that wasn't wholly family owned.  That stock
is now worth 12 million in only nine years and has consistently paid eight
percent interest.  That particular breeding operation produces only
Polynesian types for the Australian markets and, I know, is small potatoes
to your own enterprises.  But it's been a sensational investment, Dieter."

     "Thanks for the unsoliticited testimonial," Dieter laughed.  "The
Goering family is buying up most of its stock companies so that all of the
business will eventually be wholly family owned. We're tired of making
other people rich," he chortled, "but hold onto that stock as long as you
can.  No telling what we'll pay to get it back one of these days."

     Everyone of the businessmen in the group laughed at Dieter's legendary
humor, shown so well on this visit to one of his lesser mining operations,
just as another slave song drifted up from the terraces below, interrupted
just once with the scream of a whipped slave "out of sorts."

     "I'm sure everyone is getting a little tired by this time," Dieter
suggested.  "It's time, I'm afraid to head back.  I know you need to get
back to your businesses.  But I do want to take this opportunity to thank
you for your time and interest and hope you enjoyed this little peek into
some of the Goering enterprises."

     Everyone clapped enthusiastically in appreciation and each one
personally shook Dieter's hand to express their personal appreciation for
arranging this tour for them.

     "Most enlightening, Dieter."

     "Very educational, as usual, Dieter."

     "Eye-opening, Dieter.  I didn't realize how naive I've been in this
area."

     "Most enjoyable, Dieter.  I'm always amazed at the contributions of
your family to the larger society."

     "Your lineage shows, Dieter.  When it comes to slavery, your family
remains the world's leader - no doubt about it."

     Back on the bus headed home, the businessmen chatted among themselves
about various ideas they were going to try out when they got back home, new
ventures into the buying and selling of slaves, and new methods they were
going to explore in managing them.  They did all this as the bus steward
(the original one - the former one was now back driving the bus again)
sucked them off on demand, bent over to be fucked on the arms of the
luxurious leather seats, or stood passively as the passengers toyed with
his tits, his balls, his pecs, his ass, or his prick.

     "Dieter, that bus driver looks a lot like you did a few years back.
Have you ever noticed the similarities?"

     Dieter doubled over in laughter at the passenger's question.

     "I'm not surprised.  He's a product of the breeding barn located close
to the manor house.  Back in my early 20s, I'd occasionally go down there
and fuck one of the broods just for the hell of it. Don't ask me why, when
I had a whole harem available to me since I was 14 or so.  But, you know,
occasionally you like a wet pussy to stick it into and I always liked the
idea of using my seed for adding to the family's wealth.  Well, to make a
long story short, that bus driver, who I noticed sucked you off so nicely
when he was serving as our steward here on the bus, is the product of just
one little trip down to the breeding barns.  He's one of the many bastard
sons I've spawned for the sake of the family fortune over the years.
Didn't turn out too badly, did he?"

     "How many offspring do you have wearing a collar now?" the guest
asked, obviously astonished at Dieter's casual acceptance of his own son
being a naked slave obviously used sexually most every day.

     "The breedmaster claims there are about 30 of them over the years.
Not too many, but not bad considering I seldom wandered down to the
breeding barns anyway.  Like now, I almost always used the harem boys for
my sexual pleasure.  But we never sell off our bastard children.  We always
keep them in house, like the bus driver here, in that we like to oversee
breeding them regularly.  Having Goering genes in you adds to a slave's
value, it seems. The driver there, is bred to five ripe wenchs a week and,
so far, has a great hit rate.  We've got over 151 slave pups out of him
already, each with a tiny bit of Goering genes in them."

     "You Goerings overlook nothing it seems," the guest replied
admiringly.  "You fully deserve, Dieter, what I hear is the world's largest
private fortune."

     "Perhaps," was all Dieter would say to that last statement.  He lay
back in his comfortable seat, listening to the soft chatter of the
businessmen behind him as they enjoyed their conversations with each other
as well as the muted moans and sighs coming as a result of the bus steward
tending to their needs.

     He thought about what was awaiting him upon his return to his private
suite at the manor house.  The newest member of his harem, the American
football player was, even as Dieter sat in the bus, being prepared for his
master's return.  His freshly douched and bathed body was being shaved and
oiled and the 11" dildo, jammed up him for the past 12 hours to "stretch
him" for his master's comfort, was now being removed and his ass chute was
being carefully coated with a fresh-smelling lubricant if his master choose
to fuck him.  It would be enjoyable to try out the American slave, now at
least partially trained to his new duties.  But, looking at his handsome
slave 'son' driving the bus, it would also be fun to try out the latest
prodigy of his loins, a 16 year old mulatto who he had fathered with a
young black wench in the breeding barns years ago.  The breed master had
told him the mulatto held such promise it would be criminal not to at least
sell him into someone's private harem, if not a public brothel, if Master
Dieter didn't add him to his own harem - at least until the novelty wore
off.

     Perhaps he should add the 'son.'  He hadn't fucked one of his "own"
for a long while now and he remembered there was a special thrill to it.
Besides, this 'son' was of a color that appealed to him anyway - a nice
light brown he had been told.  And if the breed master had recommended him
for his bed, well, why not, claiming that the Goering characteristics had
shown up very well in this new medium brown version. As soon as he
returned, he would have the boy prepared for his bed for a good fucking
alongside the new American.  That way he could take his pick between the
two, or, if he felt as sexy as he did right now looking at the bus driver,
he would fuck both of them at least twice.  Why not?  That's what the
slaves were for, and Dieter knew that a good fucking by their owner and
master was generally viewed as a great privilege for a slave.  Sort of a
rite of passage from a slave's viewpoint.  As far as fucking his own 'son,'
it sure as hell wouldn't be the first time and, to date, nothing but good
had come out of it.  The slave 'sons' interpreted it as caring concern
although Dieter himself just viewed it as good sex.  Whatever.  The slave
'sons' bragged about the event the rest of their lives as if it were their
crowning achievement.

     Well, you never know what goes through a slave's head, even if you're
a 53rd generation Goering who has owned hordes of them since the dawn of
history.  Dieter's heritage was to amass them in great quantities, keep up
the quality, and make money in such amounts the rest of the world was left
in utter awe.

     It was great to be a Goering, Dieter reflected.

THE END

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