Date: Wed, 24 May 2006 14:44:29 GMT
From: "anonymous4371@juno.com" <anonymous4371@juno.com>
Subject: DISAPPEARANCES - Case No. 4 (Authoritarian)

DISAPPEARANCES

by Bill Smith

[If you are new to the DISAPPEARANCES series, the story below story needs
to be read in the context of the introduction which was previously posted
with Case. No. 1.  As usual, I would appreciate your comments on this story
at anonymous4371@juno.com.  Thanks.  Bill Smith]


Case No. 4:

     I was 18 when I was kicked out of my last foster home and told my life
was my own responsibility from now on.  My parents had been junkies for
years and didn't have a clue as to where my last two foster homes had been
and could care less.

     On my own at last, I applied for a job advertised as needing a
"willing attitude, an adventuresome spirit, and a strong body."  The
interviewer seemed interested in me, especially when he asked to see my
muscles and I gladly removed my shirt to show off my physique.  He asked me
about my family and when I told him I had no family or even friends, he
said I was perfect for the job in that it was overseas and far away.  I
signed the papers the minute he said I'd get no less than $500 a week plus
all expenses if I was willing to travel out of the country for an
assignment.  He gave me a plane ticket for Namibia along with a faked
passport once a picture was made of my mug.  I'd never even heard of
Namibia or wherever it was, but $500 a week free and clear didn't put me in
the mood for asking questions.  That very night I was winging my way to a
new and most profitable life.

     When I landed, a man with a poster in his hand greeted me and led me
to a small bus with about 20 others young men in it.  We were all excited
and talked up a storm as the bus took us from the airport at Windhoek to a
small compound miles and miles from anywhere, far from the nearest paved
road and smack dab in a desert with nothing else in sight.  One thing I had
found out was that everyone in that bus was just like myself: young,
good-looking, and with no family ties of any type.  We were fed a great
meal and assigned a bed in a small barracks.

     The next morning I awoke naked, shackled, my body shaved of all hair,
and a metal collar locked around my neck.  All of my colleagues were in
exactly the same boat.  We'd obviously been drugged at our evening meal the
night before.  That day, we were marched, one by one, onto a platform,
displayed and sold.

********

     "I supposed we'll get a chance to talk, Elizabeth, on the charter
flight back."  His comments were to the stern looking woman who had bought
two extremely handsome lads that looked too young to have actually been in
a sale of prime males.

     "Yes, we're all going back together I understand," the women said
pleasantly.  "That will include Jake, Maltida, Enrico, Bill, Miguel,
Mohammed, and Washington.  Actually, Washington and Mo are just delivering
the goods since they're just contract agents and then will go on home from
there, but Jake, Maltida, Enrico, Bill and Miguel, along with you and me of
course, are all on our way to Santa Domingo that's so convenient for our
usual Caribbean and Florida clients. Looks like we'll have nine up front
and 13 in the cages back in the cargo area on this trip - it will be a
tight fit in the CessnaJet we've chartered but we'll be in Santa Domingo in
seven hours even tipping the scales a little."  Looking around at the
shackled slaves beside this group of buyers, she added, "the market was a
little thin compared to last month and the offerings are getting younger
and younger if you ask me, Brent, but the trip was probably still
worthwhile if you need some white boys to balance out your offerings."


     "I only found one worth buying on this trip," Brent responded, "but I
got him cheap enough so the trip was worthwhile. Mohammed got himself a
blond that's hung real heavy - that's what I was really looking for.  I'm
going to see if I can buy him from Mo on the way over."

     "Why not try to wangle him away from Mohammed right now and save him
the long trip to the Dominican Republic and then have to get himself all
the way back to Yemen.  Brent, offer him a decent profit for his trouble
and offer to buy him a direct first class ticket to anywhere he wants in
Yemen. He can always buy up some scrubs left over for the Yemeni market in
Aden or Sa'ani to make his trip worthwhile. Those Yemenis like these white
boys even when they're not the best looking of the lot. They're more
interested in a white boy's butt than his face anyway if the price is
right," she laughed.

     The man named Brent did just that without hesitation and approached
the white robed handsome Arab man immediately who still held the blond's
collar leash in his hand as he again felt the collared boy's large genitals
and stimulated them into another full erection oblivious to all the people
surrounding the 'slave' and his new 'owner.'

     "The light haired boy is well equipped, Mohammed" Brent commended as
his greeted his long time fellow merchant of human flesh.  "Actually, he's
really the type I came over here to buy but it seems you beat me to this
one, and the paucity of the market today certainly limits one's choices.
All I could find is this boy here," he jerked my leash sharply so my head
shot up, "but he looks to be Greek if anything."

     "Yes, he does look Greek," Mohammed assessed my features, "although
he's a little bigger than the typical Greek boy," he added looking
pointedly at my manhood.

     "Rather than face a long trip to the Dominican Republic to deliver the
blond to whoever you have contracted with, why don't you tell them you
couldn't find anything to their liking and sell the boy to me for a
substantial profit within the hour.  Not only would you save a couple of
trying days on the airplane, but you could be home tonight awaiting
delivery the very next week of four or five scrub slaves you could buy up
easily in the near future with this little windfall.  As you know,
Mohammed, what we called scrub slaves in the trade still fetch a good price
in that barren desert you call home, especially if you buy some that are
young and biddable with some decent training."

     "Ah, my friend Brent, you forget I was contracted to buy a blond
catamite for the very rich buyer in Miami - an old man with particular
tastes in young boys. He would be most disappointed if he had to wait until
another market opens to find what he wants, especially with all the risks
he may encounter having to smuggle a slaveboy into Miami from Santa
Domingo."

     "I'm sure he is paying you the standard 15% finder's fees plus all
your expenses.  Shall we say I double that fee and pay you 130% of what I
know you paid for the boy and throw in a first class ticket back to your
home in Aden?  That would give you plenty to buy up some scrubs for the
home market at the next big sale and save you all that tiresome traveling.
I'm sure your client in Miami would understand, especially if you promised
to find him an exceptional blond boy at next month's market in Istanbul
where the prized Circassian blonds you Arabs are so fond of will be
plentiful according to the advance notices. Seems the slavers in those
areas have been particularly busy kidnaping the best of the lot recently."

     "You are a conniving bastard, my friend Brent," Mohammed replied with
a glint in his eye.  "Just pay me 150% of what I paid for the blond boy and
forget the plane ticket.  That way I'll make enough to buy something decent
at the Istanbul auction."

     "You drive a hard bargain, but how can I resist?" Brent shook Mo's
hand in agreement.

     " I just pray the rumors of those Circassian boys being up for sale
prove to be true.  Some rich sheiks in my 'barren desert' as you call it
are willing to pay plenty for a Circassian boy in their bed." Mohammed
stated.

     "As I understand, you own a young Circassian blond for your own use,
Mo," I winked. "Are they as good as everyone says?"

     "Better," Mo replied.  "I wish he were here with us as we speak," he
added as he rubbed his crotch beneath his robe.

     "Does that 'with us' imply that you would share the boy's pleasures?"
I teased.

     "Of course," Mo beamed.  "For a price, of course, but he's worth every
penny of it."

     Mohammed and Brent quickly moved to the corner where I and the other
slaves assembled for the flight to the Dominican Republic were still
standing in a corner.

     Brent now had two leashes in his hand, one leading to my collar and
another to the handsome blond he had acquired.

     "Well, I see you followed my advice," Elizabeth laughed as she reached
down and stroked the blond slave's thick shaft as he turned bright red in
embarrassment at having a woman feel his manhood right there in front of
everyone.  What did he cost you?"

     "150% of what he paid for him less than an hour ago," Brent
replied. "A damn good profit.  He's planning to use the profit to buy one
or two Circassian slaves rumored to be available at the market in Istanbul
next month and sell them back in Aden to anyone able to afford them."

     "I'm sure he can once he gets their holes opened up properly and they
get used to being fucked several times a day," she laughed.  "Most
light-skinned boys kidnaped out of the Black Sea areas end up as fuck boys
as much as anything once they're in the Arabian Peninsula, no matter how
ugly they might be," she laughed as the blond slave and myself turned beet
red in embarrassment and looked at the ground in pity for the purported
plight of whatever Circassian boys were kidnaped like ourselves and now
destined to be shipped off to the sand and unbearable heat of the lowest
tip of the Arabian Peninsula.

     "You milked this boy to make sure he juices properly?" Elizabeth asked
as she continued to stroke the naked blond boy next to me, tears running
down his cheeks in his abject humiliation at being treated no different
than a stud horse.

     "I saw Mo do it before he bought him," Brent answered.  "He never buys
anything without checking it out pretty carefully beforehand."

     "Don't worry about it, Brent," Elizabeth counseled.  "By the time they
actually get sold off, they've usually been milked dry," she chuckled.
"Think how many look them over before they finally get an owner."

     An auction employee informed us the charter plane was ready to load
now and we needed to get ourselves out to the airstrip and our new
properties caged.

     Within minutes, I was jammed into a small cage where I could neither
stand up or lie down full length and watched as three more filled cages
were stacked on top of mine. Soon all thirteen freshly kidnaped young men
had been fitted into the storage area of the small plane and each was given
an injection in their butt by the pilot.  Within minutes, all of us slumped
to the sides of our cages and were totally unconscious.  We never had a
chance to talk to each other, eat, or piss before we blacked out.  The next
thing we knew we were lying in our own piss, felt the cramps in our muscles
from the close confinement, and our cages were no longer on an airplane but
in a small ancient warehouse in some place we had never seen before.  We
soon were focusing our eyes on the people who had led us out by leashes to
the small jet plane back where we had been assembled after being kidnaped
from our home countries and then 'sold.'

     Each came forward one by one to claim their merchandise - us!  The
handsome lad right next to me had a older woman holding his neck leash; a
man in back was dragged away by a black man; and a man in front had an
Italian man no older than himself leading him away. Some Americans took
others in tow; a stern looking woman had a leash in each hand, both
attached to extremely handsome boys no older than 18 or so; a dark rotund
man looking like he came from Latin America had another couple of young
boys in tow; and a dark skinned man I heard say he was from Los Angeles had
a very muscular bright blue- eyed man that looked to be in his early
twenties on his leash.

     Each agent was now going to get their merchandise in the hands of
their new owners as soon as possible whether it be there in the Dominican
Republic, in Florida, the Virgin Islands, Aruba, Columbia, Mexico,
St. Barts, or wherever rich men and women could afford to assuage their
taste in human flesh they could actually own.  Only when they were safely
locked away in their new owner's estates and villas would the agents get
their full commission on the recent purchases.

     Once delivered to their new owners, some of the slaves would be
enrolled in training schools where they would quickly learn the details of
what being a slave in today's world actually involved: the basic postures
appropriate when in a master's presence, the allowable verbal responses to
a master's commands, the grooming and exercise requirements to keep the
purchased body attractive and in top shape, the dietary requirements for a
contemporary slave, and, of course, the sexual duties expected of any slave
nowadays in bringing their owner or his or her friends maximum pleasure.
For some, this would involve overcoming their shame and humiliation at
being naked and totally exposed most of the time, for most it would involve
learning their own needs, interests and desires were of no importance - it
was the needs, even whims, of their owner that were paramount now. For many
young male slaves, it would often be their introduction to man-on-man sex
regardless of what they may have been taught or felt about it in their past
life; for males sold to mistresses, it usually involved learning to fully
satisfy a female without experiencing a debilitating orgasm themselves - a
true exercise in self-control most likely absence in their sex life up to
being enslaved.  For many, it would involve learning to sexually satisfy an
owner of the same sex for the first time or, for males sold to women,
learning to fully satisfy their new owner instead of themselves.  Almost
all those new to slavery, male and female, had to learn to tolerate having
the most private parts of their bodies fondled and stroked at all times of
the day, in both public and private places, and by anyone with their master
or mistress' permission.  Learning to meet all these expectations instantly
and without question took time no matter how effective the training or what
punishments for transgressions were employed - anywhere from a few weeks to
those somewhat submissive to start with and intolerant of much pain to
months for those fiercely independent, fighting their slavery every step of
the way, and those so insensitive to pain they pretended martyr-like
qualities in their struggles to remain the person they had been prior to
being transformed into a piece of property.

     Other owners didn't like turning this task over to others and often
enjoyed "breaking" a slave to the new demands imposed on him.  Still others
avoided the whole training necessity by buying only slaves who had already
been thoroughly broken by a long series of previous owners.  For this
latter group, the relatively rare bred slaves, those born into slavery,
were worth the premium they cost in that the training had started at birth
and never let up after that.

     As it turned out, Brent had been the agent for a very wealthy drug
lord in Columbia who already had 15 slaves on his huge estate hidden way
back in the mountains beyond Bogota where naked slaves at your disposal
wouldn't seem terribly unusual.  He had commissioned a slave just like
myself as an addition to the estate: young, handsome, preferably American
or English, with a nice very muscular physique, smooth ivory skin, blue
eyes, light colored hair, and a long, thick, well shaped circumcised shaft
that was easy to arouse.

     The drug czar had sent his private jet to Santa Domingo to whisk both
Brent and me to his own airstrip.  Brent would receive his commission if
the 'goods' were satisfactory and the jet would take him back to the Miami
airport after a sociable drink or so with his client.

     I was taken immediately to the airstrip.  This involved getting me to
crawl into the trunk of a hired limousine while still naked except for my
slave collar with both the urging of the electric prod in Brent's hand and
the muscles of the big black chauffeur who was obviously used to delivering
goods from this consignment center without asking any questions. Once at
the airstrip, the chauffeur simply lifted me from the trunk into the even
smaller baggage compartment of the small jet.

     Brent seemed to know the heavily muscled chauffeur as well as the
jet's pilot and carried on a lively conversation with both where I was
never mentioned and no questions were raised as to who or what I was.

     Within 90 minutes I felt the plane's wheels hit solid pavement and
shortly after that I felt Brent's leash reattached to my collar and with a
strong jerk on my neck, he ordered me to extract myself from the cramped
compartment. This time, I was shoved into a slave cage in the back of a
brand new Cadillac Escalade while Brent smoothly switched to Spanish with
the new driver. Five minutes later, I was out of my cage and ushered to the
front veranda of a huge manor home where Brent shoved me to my knees and
forced my head down in a low bow with the heel of his boot.

     "Here's your new property, Senor Carlos," Brent bowed his head himself
in respect for his wealthy client. "I hope you find he meets your
expectations."

     "Brent," the handsome man in his mid-30s replied with a tinkle in his
eye, "you know better than I you can't tell much until a slave is fully
trained.  But," he chuckled, "there is no use going to all the trouble of
training them if they're not appealing to start with.  Let's have a look at
the property."

     Brent's foot left my neck and he jerked me to my feet with a tug of
the neck leash so strong I ended up choking as I attempted to stand
upright.

     "Nice skin and the blue eyes and hair are just as I ordered," Carlos
said as he immediately stepped forward and ran both his hands over my
shoulder and neck muscles, across my pectorals, and quickly across my
abdominal muscles before twirling me around and palming my butt checks in
his hands before squeezing my thigh muscles. It was the same technique I
had seen thoroughbred horses assessed on TV before they were auctioned off
down in Kentucky somewhere.

     That's exactly what I felt like as I stood there naked with his hands
roaming across my body - a horse, especially with a collar around my neck
and a leash running to Brent's hand.  I turned bright red in embarrassment
at this animal-like inspection.

     "Nicely put together considering how young he is - he'll fill out some
over the next few years with proper food and exercise," Carlos commented.
Next, he felt my facial features including my cheek bones, my jaw line, and
even stuck his middle finger into my mouth to check out I had all my teeth
in place. I gagged slightly at this most unexpected entry but it happened
so quickly I didn't have time to bite the finger and I doubt if I would
have over time, given the fact I was totally in this man's power from now
on if he accepted delivery of what he had bought.  My impression so far of
this super-confident self-assured 'master' was that he would have had every
tooth in my head pulled in the most painful manner possible if I even
scraped his finger, let alone bite it. He checked my eyes out, lifting my
eyelids checking for disease I suppose, and then quickly grabbed my balls
with his left hand, churned them around in his hand as I gasped in surprise
and humiliation, and just as quickly gripped my prick with his right hand
and began stroking it roughly as I yelped in astonishment and protest.

     "Calm down, slave," Brent ordered as he jerked sharply on my collar
leash.  "Your new owner is only checking out what he's bought."

     "Not quite yet, Brent, but with the commission involved in this sale,
I can see why you're putting 'bought' in the past tense," he laughed as he
continued churning my balls and stroking my swelling shaft as Brent reached
over and pressed his stun gun against the middle of my shoulders from the
back to make sure I was cooperating in the 'inspection' whispering in my
ear to thrust my pelvis out for Senor Carlos' convenience in handling me or
I'd get a full jolt from the gun.

     Having sampled a mild jolt of the stun gun while being loaded for
shipment to Santa Domingo - an experience I would never forget to my dying
days - I promptly thrust my pelvis out and held it there as the Senor
pumped me to a full erection complete with pre-cum drippings.

     "A nice display," Senor Carlos said as he wiped his hands off in my
hair.  "You don't see an organ that big that excites so quickly on most
lighted skinned slaves," he added professionally. "That's why the demand
for black slaves stays steady century after century in my opinion, but
white slaves are so clean-looking, don't you think, Brent?"

     "Well, I guess so....," Brent smirked, "although I'm hardly the one to
ask."

     "No, I guess not.  From what I've heard, you're into black meat and
mainly female at that - is that right, Brent?" Carlos asked.

     "Essentially, Senor Carlos, although, as you no doubt have also heard,
I'm not adverse to bedding down a nice-looking well-trained male slave from
time to time and occasionally that will include a particularly handsome
white boy."

     "Then I can assume you haven't sampled this slaveboy yet, Brent?"
Senor Carlos asked.

     "That's right, Senor Carlos, although I admit I was quite turned on
just now as he was about to juice for you."

     "Yes, I noticed," Senor Carlos said as he stared at the front of
Brent's trousers, still tented from his erection.

     Brent blushed himself as he realized this drug lord missed practically
nothing when it came to human behavior. He had never made the mistake of
trying to outwit or fool his Columbian client.

     Senor Carlos drew an envelope out of his shirt pocket and handed it to
Brent.  "It's all there, exactly as we agreed upon.  The boy will fit in
well here once he's properly trained and has been taught to appreciate how
lucky he is for a slave boy in today's markets."

     "Are you going to have some of your older, more experienced slaves
train him?" Brent asked.

     "Yes," Senor Carlos answered.  "They've trained many a new addition
before and have always done a good job.  This boy will be fully trained to
accept all his duties, including my bed, within a mere 60 days under their
tutelage.  Within three months he will not only be doing what is expected,
but doing it with a willingness and appreciation he couldn't imagine at
this point."  Carlos against reached down and churned his new slave's balls
in his hands as I again moaned and jerked around a bit in protest.

     "Thanks for the business, Senor Carlos," Brent said sincerely.  "Any
business you might have in the future will certainly be appreciated.  I
always enjoy working with a client I can rely on and guarantees his payment
in cash if totally satisfied."

     "Yes, cash is always appreciated in our line of work," Carlos
responded.  "And, Brent, I am sure our business dealings aren't over.  Both
of us are in the prime of our careers and, at least speaking for myself, my
sexual needs will probably go on, hopefully, for a few more decades at
least. I have found slaves best for that purpose overall - there are no
obligations or commitments when a slave is in your bed.  They are there to
satisfy you the best they know how and expect nothing.  When you tire of
them, I can easily sell them off, often at a profit; when they get old and
ugly, I can send them to the cocaine factories for the work left in their
bodies; and when they fail to please me totally, a good beating or a few
days without food usually gets them back on track.
 Tell me any other way of meeting my sex needs with so few complications.

     "Marriage sucks,"Brent admitted.  "And hiring on a concubine doesn't
make sense when you can buy a slave even easier."

     "Exactly," Senor Carlos said as he lifted his finger and two
magnificently built black slaves, resplendent in gold collars and matching
tit and genital rings, appeared out of nowhere and led the new acquisition
- me - away to start his training.

     "The SUV will take you back to the plane, Brent.  Good to see you
again," Senor Carlos shook Brent's hand in farewell.

     Brent never looked back at the property he had just delivered to start
a whole new life as a sexual slave deep in the Columbian jungles.  He was
already planning the delivery of the prized blond slave he'd acquired from
Mo.  The client he was peddling him to had an absolute passion for young
blond slaves that were handsome and well hung.  Perhaps, Brent mused,
because he was so black himself.  His client could certainly afford the
blond's steep price - after all, Brent didn't have too many clients that
were dictators of an entire country.

     But this black general sported a whole harem of blond slaves who he
showed off whenever he could to the envy and admiration of those less
powerful.  Of course, they weren't labeled a harem or displayed in all
their glory publicly - the dignity of the presidential office had to be
maintained. No, they were called the "Presidential Militia" and wore such
fancy, colorful uniforms it was rumored they had been specially designed by
Versace himself while he was still alive.  Each uniform was custom tailored
and skin-tight to show off each blond boy's well muscled physique, his well
rounded butt, and prominently display his ample endowment - so well, in
fact, members of the "Presidential Militia" felt more displayed clothed
than they did stark naked, the condition their permanently shaved bodies
were always kept in the minute they weren't exposed to the public's eye and
inside the Dictator's private quarters.  In uniform, the only hint of their
actual status was the thin but tight-fitting silver collar around each of
their necks which was explained away as being a special "gift" from the
President each militiaman treasured too much not to wear.  Brent knew if he
could sell him the new blond he'd recently acquired, it would be at least
the 15th blond boy the pock- faced black dictator in his early forties kept
in the special militia for his amusement.  Brent also knew the minute the
black dictator laid eyes on the naked blond, he wold buy him for his bed -
the man was insatiable!

SIX MONTHS LATER:

     The black general generated income by selling drugs on the side.  His
main supplier was my Columbian owner.  The day he arrived to pick up a
planeload of drugs directly from the source, he brought one of his favorite
slaves with him to keep him amused on the Army plane he utilized.  I
instantly recognized the strikingly handsome blond boy despite the very
fancy uniform he wore.  We'd first met that first night in Namibia all
those months ago and he had been bought at the Namibian auction by the
Yemeni slave dealer called Mohammed who sold him the very next day to the
Caribbean dealer who had bought me.  Despite being clothed, he was
obviously still a slave as the metal collar around his neck revealed and I
was delighted he gave me a quick smile that told me he also recognized me,
aided probably by the fact I looked the same as he had last seen me -
totally naked outside my body adornments.

     My master and the dictator quickly concluded their business as
suitcases of cash sealed the deal and orders were given for all of my
master's slaves, as well as the one the general brought with him, to start
loading up the general's airplane with the tons of drugs purchased that
day.

     That gave me a chance to carry on a whispered conversation with my
blond haired friend despite the close eye of the whip wielding overseer
directing the loading operation.  He told me about his life as a "militia"
member being displayed in his fancy revealing uniform and being called to
the bed of his ugly black owner at least twice a week.  He actually
welcomed being frequently "loaned" out to visiting dignitaries and
government officials in that it broke the monotony and he met a lot of
interesting people that way, albeit while he was sucking them off or they
were ramming their rods up his ass. But, he smiled, he was well fed, envied
by all the other slaves in that small country, and enjoyed the prestige of
being in the elite militia group whose membership were all boys about like
himself: no kinship ties, miserable childhoods, nice bodies coupled with
striking good looks, no education or training to offer outside use of their
bodies, and a shared view that slavery wasn't any worse, and probably
better, than the alternatives they faced if they remained free. Overall,
the 'militia' considered themselves fortunate and my blond friend had never
heard any talk of escape or even any serious complaining.  On this trip,
the general had fucked him twice on the plane and he had been ordered to
suck off the pilot once, but he doubted that would be repeated on the
return trip, stinking as he now did from all this hard work in the tropical
heat.  He had been surprised, though, that he hadn't been offered to the
drug lord before being sent out to help load the plane - the general could
be rude and arrogant sometimes, he noted.

     As we lifted bale after bale into the plane, I told him about my sale
to the drug lord and the training I had received from his older slaves who
paid little attention to my initial resistance and having to be forced to
do much of anything asked of me. The black slaves put in charge of training
me weren't reluctant to use the electric prod at the slightest hesitancy on
my part in meeting their commands, raped me so many times each day I
actually got used to it, and learned that both food and water depended on
my complete and instantaneous cooperation in anything they had in mind for
me to do - no matter what. I admitted that within a mere two months, I was
doing almost everything they asked with just some small signals of disgust
or revulsion, but after three months I just seemed to give up and accept my
slavery in that their didn't seem to be any viable alternative and I was
getting tired of the electric prod and chronic hunger and my ass and throat
weren't sore all the time anymore.  Since then, my life had improved.  My
"trainers" stopped fucking me altogether once I was turned over for my
master's use, I was fed and housed well, only beaten when I deserved it
(generally for not paying apt attention to my master's every whim), and
even with my master loaning me out routinely to any and all house guests
and frequent customers, I still got fucked less than three or four times a
day unless he staged a big party of something.

     "Best of all," I whispered even quieter to my fellow slave, "some of
my master's friends and customers are women who aren't shy about bedding
down a slaveboy they're attracted to.  I've been humping them almost as
much as others have been humping me.  Under their heavy direction, of
course, but still - it's a nice bonus."

     "You are one lucky bastard," the blond slave exclaimed. "I've never
had a woman since I was sold and, frankly, never expect to have one as long
as I'm state property so to speak.  The closest I got once was when some
young ambassador I was loaned to told me to fuck him instead of the other
way around.  I couldn't believe it at the time but hopped right to it of
course.  I'm the only one in the militia I know of who has had that
opportunity."

     "You," the overseer said with a crack of his whip at my blond
acquaintance.  "Stop all that babbling and get your ass back to the manor
house.  Seems your master's finally found his manners and is going to offer
you to the man of the house. You'll find the enema equipment, the showers,
and some lube to the right of the slave's entrance. Be sure to douche and
shower again as soon as he's through with you. Leave that stinking uniform
here with me and I'll have it laundered while you're busy so you'll smell
nice and sweet on your return trip."

     "Yes, sir," the blond said as he quickly stripped out of the fancy
uniform, now wet with sweat.  Turning to me, he whispered, "so much for not
getting fucked on the return trip."

     "Or getting a sample of what I go through most every night at least
once," I whispered back.  "But, don't worry.  At least, my master is pretty
gentle considering the size of his prick."

     "Hell, I'm used to black pricks most of the time.  I'm so stretched
now I could probably handle a horse," the blond boy snickered quietly as he
took his last piece of clothing off and headed toward the slave's entrance
of the manor house as I appreciated the fact slavery had only improved his
bodily appeal.

     Hours later, the plane was finally loaded and I headed for the showers
myself along with my master's other sweaty slaves.  I was surprised to see
my blond friend drying himself from a shower as we entered.

     "Your master sure knows how to extract the last ounce of pleasure out
of a slave boy," he laughed. "I can't remember the last time I was fucked
three hours straight.  How he keeps from shooting off in all that time is
beyond me.  My ass hasn't been this sore in months," he chuckled.

     "Think of that every night," I reminded him of my plight.

     "Yeah, but I don't get a woman now and then," he shot back.  "That
would be worth a constant sore ass."

     "Not when they're telling you every move to make - how fast, how deep,
what positions, and all the rest - it really makes you feel like a slave
all the time you're pumping them - especially when you can't shoot off in
that they want to use you all night usually.  That's the really hard part -
for me, at least."

     "I'd still like to try it," the blond said.  "Always taking it up the
ass makes you feel like a slave too if you've forgotten."

     Just then the overseer stepped inside and everyone got quiet
instantly.

     "You've given yourself several good enemas and then greased your chute
properly?"  he harshly asked the blond slave.

     "Yes, master," he answered, bending over to display the grease oozing
out of his hole.

     "Good," the overseer replied.  "Your master told me to make sure so
it's obvious he's got plans for you on your way back home. Now get your ass
back to the plane in that he'll be ready to go anytime now."

     "Yes, sir," the blond answered.  As he left he winked at me, adding in
a mimicking tone, "But master, my ass is sore as hell now after the reaming
I just got."

     "Who gives a shit, slave?" was the overseer's prompt reply. "What do
you think pretty slaves do to earn their keep?  Just stand around and smile
in some silly costume?"

     That was the last time I ever saw the blond slave I had been
originally been sold with.  The next time "El President" arrived to buy
drugs, he had another one of his "Presidential Militia" with him, just as
blond and just as pretty and just as hung as the one I had once known.  But
the new blond did tell me my acquaintance was "doing fine" rubbing his ass
through the fancy uniform to tell me exactly what he meant with that phrase
and asked if I was the slave that got to "fuck women masters."  I started
to explain that wasn't all it was cracked up to be, but before I got a
chance, he was told to strip and after my master felt him all over, my
master decided to bed him down and he was led off to my master's bed, still
warm, I supposed, from when he had used me just an hour or so before their
arrival.

TEN YEARS LATER:

     Now 28, the special exercises and good diet my Columbian master had
prescribed for all of his slaves, had assured I looked as good, if not
better, than when he had bought me ten years ago. My training had been so
thorough I felt totally at ease with myself and my new life.  I held deep
respect for my master - after all, he was one of the leading businessmen of
his country; I liked my fellow slaves who, like me, weren't subject to
frequent turnover; and realized I was better taken care of then I could
have ever managed myself. True, I got used a lot, and true, I got worked
hard as a houseboy when I wasn't in someone's bed, but overall I was never
hungry, was seldom subjected to disciplinary whippings anymore, was almost
coddled when it came to having my body taken care of so I was never sick or
had untreated injuries of any type, and never had to worry about making
wrong decisions as I would if I had remained free. My master was demanding
but genuinely seemed to enjoy having me as his possession and I had almost
become a legend among his women customers who, he teased, kept buying from
him just so they could get me in their beds. I was inured to the sexual use
of my body on demand: being fucked was seldom painful any more no matter
how long and hard; I had actually learned to like the taste of fresh cum,
and a good, solid fucking often now led to a good emptying of my own balls
now that I had learned to appreciate it.  Even fucking cunt under explicit
direction was more or less enjoyable now that I had learned how to keep
from shooting off in them without constant nervous vigilance.  I especially
took pride in the way the women "requested" me and openly fondled every
part of my body in appreciation once they had me in their bed.

     The oldest among my master's slaves was about 60 now and hadn't been
used sexually for over 15 years now, but he was kept on as a loyal and able
house steward.  He was even clothed now in that his body wasn't terribly
attractive anymore.  He was our direct supervisor of course and proved to
be a good one: he was fair, consistent, but demanding, knowing how to get
the maximum cooperation out of his charges with the least amount of
fuss. He was almost impossible to 'con' in that he had done everything we
were asked to do many times over, no matter how much we might not really
like to do a particular thing, and simply laughed at us when we tried to
wiggle out of an assigned task and reached for his electric prod or, more
likely, marked us down to miss the next meal. Each time we met with him for
the day's assignments, we saw ourselves in our old age and knew if we were
damn lucky to have an owner so loyal to slaves who had served him well once
they had lost their bodily appeal.

THIRTY FIVE YEARS:

     Today, my master, now in his late seventies, appointed me chief
steward and gave me the first clothing I've had since I came into his
ownership 35 years ago.  It felt strange to have material rubbing against
my skin once again but I still retained my collar to denote I was still his
property. I know exactly what to do in my new job - no surprises there, but
I'm happy my master is still satisfied with the purchase he made so many
years ago and that I will probably live the same good life I've enjoyed so
far up until the time I die, hopefully before my master meets his
reward. If so, I'll never probably have to go through the whole process of
having a new master buy me, something I, and, I know, all his other slaves
have always dreaded in the back of our minds.

     My only question is: when I die, whose slave will I be in Heaven if my
master isn't already there?  And if he is there already, will I be sure
I'll end up his slave and not someone else's?  Strangely, no matter how
hard I tried, it was impossible for me to conceive of a Heaven that didn't
have slaves, or that I wouldn't be a slave in any afterlife that was out
there.  I guess once you're well trained and have fully accepted your
slavery, it holds not just for this life but follows you into the great
beyond.