Date: Mon, 8 Oct 2007 19:07:22 GMT
From: "anonymous4371@juno.com" <anonymous4371@juno.com>
Subject: FULFILLING THE FANTASY - Chap. 11 (Authoritarian)

FULFILLING THE FANTASY XI

By Bill Smith (anonymous4371@juno.com)

     Barisal was one of those obscure, steamy foreign ports that movie
makers love: this one swarmed with people so it resembled a human ant hill,
the humid heat was visible in rising waves from the green, brackish waters
of the port, and tiny little sampans surrounded our ship as it maneuvered
into dock.  From the decks of the Fantasia it was easy to ascertain the
main industry of this Bangladeshi city: the slave trade.  Everywhere one
looked, you saw long lines of fresh slaves chained together by their neck
collars being marched from one place to another, slaves being washed and
scrubbed and lubricated in assembly-line fashion before being shipped out
to the sales barns, slaves being auctioned off in huge outside arenas while
customers avidly bid against each other for their flesh, and slaves chained
to display stands outside numerous dealerships stoically enduring endless
bodily examinations by potential purchasers. Even from the decks, you heard
a din of whips cracking across bare flesh, the clanking of chains, the
occasional renting scream of a slave newly learning the torment of the
slaver's whip, the low moans of those who had learned that torment years
ago, and the shocked sheiks of the newly enslaved having their most private
parts callously but throughly examined for the first time.  The place
looked like, smelt like, and sounded like just what it was purported to be:
an epicenter of slavery.

     Mark and John joined their fellow passengers in taking in the
intoxicating scene and felt the excitement rush through them.

     "There's a nice coffle of slaves - all big and muscular," one of the
guests pointed to a long line of at least 500 slaves chained together by
their slave collars being led along the pier to the cargo door of a rundown
tramp steamer.  "From the looks of that broken down boat they're being
loaded onto, they're probably headed for some rubber or tea plantation not
too far upriver."

     "A good overseer should be able to wrest at least 20, even 25 good
years of hard work out of them if he's not afraid of using the whip,"
another guest commented.  "That's the advantage of buying them young like
that."

     "Look over there at those slaves on display stands," another guest
exclaimed, pointing to some pedestals located no more than 100 yards from
the ship, each holding a naked slave with his wide spread feet
close-chained to the edges of the pedestal and with his wrists spangled
together in back of him. Each male's genitals had a thick silk tie wrapped
around the base of their ballsac and encompassing the base of the shaft so
that his entire package was lifted up by the support for full display and
convenience in examining him.  Female slaves were displayed with light
clips on their nipples to keep them erect and dildos with extended handles
inserted into their vaginas to demonstrate not only their tightness but
also their easy usability. It was clear dealers here understood slaves
weren't always bought just for their work potential.  "Some of those on
display look to be prime grade, even from this distance," the guest opined,
obviously pleased with what he was seeing.  "I'm glad I held off buying in
Kiribati - the stock here seems much higher grade."

     "I expected all the stock here to be small, brown Bangladeshi but
obviously I was wrong in my assumption.  From the looks of those display
stands, a person can find most anything they're looking for here.  There's
every color in the rainbow on display out there both in terms of hair and
hide."

     "And it looks like I even see quite a few blue and green eyed
available," another dealer chimed in as he pointed from one display stand
to another. "My God, there's a copper-haired boy with skin like alabaster
and a cock like a damn horse on him.  Now where in the hell did he come
from in this port from nowhere. If we were in Ireland, I would believe it,
but here?" he exclaimed.  "If that boy is half as good in inspection as he
looks from here, I intend to have him."

     "You'll have to outbid me, you old bastard, if you do" another
passenger blurted out, obviously a close friend. "I love red-heads,
especially red-heads hung like that on a body built like that, but I never
expected to find one in Bangladesh," he laughed delightedly.  "Jesus, I get
a hard-on just looking at him."

     "I don't think you're alone in that," another passenger laughed,
rubbing his obvious hard-on through his pants.  "Do you think they have
many like that one?  If so, we're going to have every cage in this ship's
hold filled before we even leave port."

     "My God, there's a blond boy that looks like a Viking - blue eyes, big
muscles, huge cock and everything," still another passenger
interjected. "Now just where did these slavers find him, do you suppose?
Either he was shipped here from 5000 miles away or he's been bred just for
the market here.  You can't tell me there's stock like that running around
loose in Bangladesh ready for the taking.  If Bangladesh has a need for
foreign cash, it looks to me like they're going to get it with no trouble
marketing stuff like this.  Most of what I'm looking at cost big time."

     "Maybe the prices are lower than it seems it should be," another
passenger ventured. "After all, we are in Bangladesh - a country terribly
overpopulated, not exactly noted for affluence, and desperate for something
to export of value.  But what I see, they've certainly focused on the most
salable thing yet - a good selection of premium-grade human animals.  But I
suspect they're breeding them to get quality like this.  Look at the
dealers and the hired hands serving as overseers - they look to be native
Bangladeshi.  Look closely.  Not one of them would bring much of a price up
on the auction block.  No, most of this stock must be bred somewhere back
in farms not too far from here."

     "Don't jump to conclusions," another passenger joined the
conversation.  "The dealers here at Barisal are into the international
markets in a big way I've heard.  They could easily trade a lot of 50 or
100 of the common brown Bangladeshi stock for one or two of these beauties
from all over the world.  It's obvious from the way those boys display
themselves, though, that they're either well trained and completely broken
to slavery, or that they know nothing else, i.e., they're home grown on
some breeding farm somewhere."  The speaker paused, stared closely at one
of the slaves being displayed and then exclaimed, "Look at that customer
down there examining that red head - he's jerking him off to a full
eruption into that little glass he's got in his hand.  Probably looking for
a fine- looking milk stud."

     "I've heard red-heads have the best milk," someone in the back of the
crowd ventured.  "Is that true?"

     "Just a myth," another guest snorted.  "A slaveboy's milk is
determined by three things: (1) good diet; (2) an age between 17 and 24;
and (3) good overall health.  Given those three qualities, you can get good
tasting thick milk, and lots of it, out of any slave with big balls where
you keep him from ejaculating any other time but when he's being milked."

     "How do you know so much about milking studs?" his questioner asked.

     "I don't.  But I have a friend who runs a man-milk dairy.  Milks
hundreds of studs around the clock and sells their output in little cups to
those too poor to own a good stud of their own but like cum as a breakfast
drink or as a condiment on their food. He ought to know and that's what he
told me."

     "Makes sense," the original questioner conceded.  "You learn something
everyday on this cruise.  I never knew there were man-milk dairies around."

     "Lots of them - there's a big market for fresh stud cream out there."

     "Might be profitable to go into that business, but you apparently can
only use the studs for six or seven years before their cum starts souring.
Makes it kind of expensive."

     "Not really.  When it comes time to stop milking them, you can still
sell them off at a good price.  After all, being milked all that much
doesn't keep them from being a good slave doing a thousands other things."

     "You're right again.  I think I will look into it.  Do you think there
would be a good market in Springdale, Arkansas for man-milk? That's where
I'm from.  There is a steady market in slaves there, of course, which I
have found to be most profitable over the past few years or I wouldn't be
on this cruise, but I never thought of a man-milk dairy and then selling
the studs off once they got up in their twenties."

     "Nothing ventured, nothing gained, but you should sure try it - you
don't have much to loose.  If a solid market for man-milk doesn't develop
with some good advertising, just sell the studs off - surely you have some
divorcees and widows who are willing to pay top dollar for a young buck to
warm their bed, even down in Arkansas."  This brought numerous guffaws and
ribald jokes out of the group of dealers assembled on the deck, all of whom
had sold many a handsome, well hung slave for that very purpose as well as
to a smaller, but more discriminating group of male purchasers.

     Just then the all-clear announcement was made that disembarkment would
commence on deck number 4, the deck immediately below the large group
assembled for the conversation.  Immediately they headed for the stairs to
the deck below and the waiting open gangplank to the piers of Barisal.
Within five minutes, the entire roster of passengers were already looking
over the display slaves for themselves and then drifting either into the
local dealerships or toward the nearby sales barns or the most distant
auction arenas. The excitement ran so high that few if any noticed the
uncomfortable heat and humidity which tended to hold the smell of human
sweat and semen ever present.  Dealers themselves for the main part, the
ship's passengers felt perfectly at home in this faraway foreign market.
Slaves were slaves and, like other commodities sold in the world market,
didn't really recognize political entities, citizenship and passport
claims, foreign borders, or strange currency.

     Mark and John loved the place.  Here slaves of every description,
size, and shape were either on full display or we waiting in some line to
be auctioned or were penned in some cage at one dealer or another awaiting
their sale.  John looked over at least 100 slaves before he made any
decisions about buying.  Even Mark examined at least 30 different slaves,
caught up in the ambiance of so much handsome and appealing flesh available
at prices that, back home, seemed ridiculously cheap.

     Other dealers were just as avid in examining the slaves being
marketed.  The man on board thinking of starting a man-milk dairy in
Arkansas was busily milking one huge stud after another into glass cups,
carefully measuring their output and limiting himself to those in the 17-24
age range recommended.  We noticed all the studs he milked sported huge
balls, but had widely differing hair colors, so apparently he had carefully
listened to the advice reported by the man who had a friend running such an
operation.  The studs being milked, most of whom had been drawn from
holding cages in the back, stood stoically with their legs far apart and
with their pelvises thrust forward.  As they were stroked to full discharge
into the glass cup, none of them registered the slightest hint of any
protest or concern - obviously well trained stock who realized slaves were
there to be used for whatever purpose a potential owner decided. If some of
them ended up in Springdale, Arkansas being milked around the clock, that's
just the way it was going to be.  They long ago, apparently, realized they
had no input into their destiny once they were slaves.

     "Those studs he's milking are sure good looking," Mark commented as
yet another of the studs being milked started shooting gob after gob of
thick cream into the glass cup.  "Seems a shame to have them hidden back in
some milking shed for the next seven years before they're marketed again."

     "Most dairies milk them chained right out in front with the stock for
sale. That way their good looks can at least be used as a drawing card for
the other stock up for sale.  Besides, a lot of people enjoy watching a
well hung stud being drained, especially if they're good looking besides
like those studs getting milked over there," John added.

     "I'm kind of tempted to buy a few milk studs myself," Mark mused as he
studied the milking scene in front of him.  "You're right, John.  It does
turn you on just watching the studs having the last drop pumped out of
those big balls."

     "Yes, but that wouldn't prevent you from fucking those good looking
bodies also.  Being milked doesn't preclude being fucked you know," John
laughed.  "Why not buy up a few that appeal to you.  If you get bored with
the dairy notion, you can always add them to the fucking stable.  Besides,
some slave or another has to provide you your little morning cocktail of
hot cum.  Might as well be one of those well-hung beauties. If they were
just milked once a day, imagine how much cum they could produce for your
breakfast - more than that little glass cup he's holding, I'd wager," John
chuckled.

     "Good idea, John," Mark answered and, while the man from Arkansas kept
milking more and more studs without ever making up his mind whether he was
really going to start a dairy or not, Mark quickly bought up four of them,
already drained by the Arkansan dealer, who most appealed to him: one huge
muscular black with blue eyes; a big well-built white with blond hair and
blue eyes and beautiful facial features; a magnificent Oriental stud with
golden skin, black doe-like eyes, and a thick 12" dick; and a light brown
native Bangladeshi who was unusually big for his nationality with a fine
musculature, a handsome face, and oversized organs.  All were excited at
actually being bought, expressing that excitement in grateful looks toward
their new owner as well as growing erections despite the recent
draining. They look relieved that the endless routine, day after day, of
being kept in the small sales cages only to be hauled out over and over
each day to have every part of their body fondled, stroked, poked, and
usually milked, as well as having all sorts of things shoved up their ass
to ascertain their fucking capacity, was coming to an end.  No matter what
this new owner wanted them to do, it couldn't possibly be as demanding as
the time spent in the sales barn where, in essence, you had as many masters
as people that walked through the dealer's door.

     John, caught up in Mark's enthusiasm, bought up the remaining slaves
the Arkansan had milked - 17 more to be exact.  They, like Mark's
purchases, were all very good looking, extremely well built, and perfectly
equipped for their role as a stud with large, easily aroused shafts, big
swollen balls, and a cooperative, willing attitude.

     "Hey," the Arkansan dealer pouted as he saw his entire dairy herd
being sold out from under him.  "How am I going to get enough studs to
start my dairy if you keep buying them up?"

     "Easy," John replied.  "Just buy them instead of being so indecisive.
There's no reason my friend Mark and I should wait around for your rejects
if you can't make up your mind anyway."

     "Well," the Arkansas whined, "I suppose you're right."

     "Hell," John laughed, "it's not like these are they only milk studs in
town.  Look around at the other dealers.  I've seen hundreds today that
could serve the purpose just as well as these boys and just as well
equipped.  There's enough big juicy cum-packed balls for sale at this place
you could set up a thousand dairies if you wanted to."

     With that, the Arkansas smiled and quickly left for the next
dealership where, we assumed, he would start pumping more slave meat with a
little glass cup.

     "Well, we've made a start," John said.  "It's time to get into some
serious meat buying now."

     "Right on!" Mark agreed.  "You know, a guy could get 'slave fever' in
this place."

     Both Mark and John watched as the passenger who had first spotted the
red-headed slave being milked on the display stand was now busily going
over every aspect of that slave's beautiful body, including running his
finger up his hole as far as it would go.  Satisfied that the slave in
front of him was as good as he appeared from the ship's deck while he was
being milked, the passenger nodded to the red-head's dealer he would buy
him on the spot.  Just then, his friend saw what was happening.

     "You bastard," he yelled.  "You've bought that red-head before I even
had a chance."

     "Yeah," his friend said with great satisfaction.  "He's all mine now,"
he added as he hefted the slave's big balls and began roughly massaging
them as if to confirm his ownership. "But, don't worry, I'll let you bed
him down any time you want until we get back to New York.  This slaveboy
can handle both of us poking him, I'm sure," he smiled as he turned the
slave around and again poked a couple of fingers up the slave's hole as a
little demonstration.

     Mark's comment about 'slave fever' seemed to be contagious.  All of
the ship's passengers spent the entire day buying, buying, and buying.
John ended up buying 20 more slaves in addition to the 17 milk studs he had
already purchased.  He carefully choose variety in his new purchases: 8
were sleek, muscular, and well hung Bangladeshi (and incredibly cheap); 4
were lithe handsome Keralans from South India; 2 were big muscular Chinese
fellows with beautiful appealing bodies; and the remaining 6 were
Eurasians, hybrids with spectacular bodies, massive equipment, and striking
good looks. Only the Bangladeshis were bred stock - all the others, though,
were extremely well trained, having been in slavery since their early teen
aged years and had obviously adapted quite well, judging by their reaction
to being examined thoroughly and their eagerness to be sold to the young
new master.

     Mark too went for variety in his additional four purchases.  One was a
bred Bangladeshi with huge black eyes highlighted by long thick black
lashes, milk smooth yellow brown skin, a Grecian nose and thin lips,
massive pectorals well defined above a very thin waist, and a long thick
organ that responded instantly to his touch.  When Mark began stroking his
erect prick in exploration, the slave responded by beginning to buck in his
hand and promptly spurted out a huge mass of steaming hot cum after only
two or three strokes much to Mark's amazement.

     "Eager little bastard, isn't he," Mark laughed as he had the slave
lick the thick cum off of his hand, noting the slave seemed to relish
eating his own cum since he made every effort to savor and then swallow
every drop, finally smacking his lips in appreciation of this afternoon
snack.

     Mark's second purchase was a Chinese slave who had been specially
trained in anal satisfactions almost from the day he was first enslaved at
the age of 15.  At the dealer's invitation, Mark did take the slave over to
a small cubical provided for testing purposes and quickly had the slave
drape himself over the provided padded sawhorse with his hole fully
exposed.  The slave was indeed skilled: he seemed to swallow Mark's organ
from the moment it gained entry into his hole and then, having drawn Mark's
shaft all the way into him, proceeded to milk the shaft with his well
trained ass muscles until Mark felt himself quickly and completely
discharging deep into the slave's anus.  As soon as he withdrew, the
Chinese slave leaped to the task of cleaning his user, allowing Mark to see
the slave himself sported a huge dripping boner just from being fucked - a
sure sign of a well- trained slave who had learned to enjoy being fucked as
much as his users enjoyed fucking him.  Fortunately, the slave was also
extremely good looking with a nice body - his anal skills were an
extraordinary bonus.

     Mark's last two purchases were both mixed-bloods. One was obviously a
Eurasian mixture of Chinese and European; the other was obviously an
Afro-Asian. Both were trim and muscular, somewhat short (around 5' 5"), had
hairless bodies, were well defined, and were beautifully equipped with
massive organs that were well shaped and smooth. Although enslaved for only
three years now, according to the dealer, they were obviously very well
trained and eagerly stood in full display for Mark's inspection with a
come-hither look in their eyes which pleaded "Buy Me."  When Mark asked if
they would like to be purchased by him, both broke into tears of happiness,
and, thrusting their huge erect organs into his open hand (rubbing them in
his palm as an open invitation to use them), promised their potential
purchaser that they would do anything possible to please him and he would
never ever be disappointed in buying them, no matter how much they
cost. When Mark announced to the dealer he was going to do just that, the
two slaves both spurted off in his hand they were so elated.

     "You're going to have learn better control than that, slaves," Mark
laughed as both slaves instantly apologized for their behavior and began
licking their new owner's hand clean of their residue.

     "We learn to control ourselves good, master," one slave promised in
his broken English.

     "Yes, master, we spurt off only when you say, Master," the other
purchased slave added.  "We just got too excited at being sold to a young,
good looking owner like you, Master.  It's every slave's dream, master."

     Somehow, the extreme sincerity in the slaves' tone and the manner in
which both slaves stated it made the statements totally believable to both
Mark and his friend John, highly experienced in sorting out slave's
ingratiating babble from humble sincerity.  John assured Mark both slaves
seemed to be well trained, despite the fact neither one had been born into
slavery.

     "Yes, they are," the seller assured them.  "One thing we dealers here
in Barisal take pride in is marketing well-trained slaves.  Oh, some of
them are bred, of course, so you expect good behavior in those slaves.  But
most aren't that are marketed here and have had to be carefully trained.
By the time we market them, they've all fully accepted their new status and
have stopped thinking of themselves as anything but human animals, mere
commodities, whose only purpose is to bring satisfaction to their new
owners no matter what their new masters may desire.  After all, we have our
good reputation to maintain!"

     We weren't the only ones buying up big.  Most of the ship's passengers
were buying up one after another all around us, taking plenty of time to
thoroughly inspect and check out the stock before purchasing it, making a
lot of comparisons side-by-side in sexual response as those being inspected
and sold jumped through their hoops, and bargaining with the dealers to
obtain the lowest possible price for these quality goods. It was obvious
that many empty cages waiting for the new purchases in the Fantasia's hold
would be filled by nightfall.

     Most of the ship's passengers were buying in the same patterns as John
and Mark.  Many Bangladeshi were being purchased (mostly bred in nearby
slave farms) but a lot of mixed-bloods, so plentiful in the markets here,
were also being snapped up.  In addition, some very appealing whites and
blacks, obtained from some far away lands in international trade, were
purchased at reasonable prices considering the quality of the merchandise.
By sunset of the busy day in the Barisal markets, long lines of naked
slaves, all chained together by their collars, were ten abreast awaiting
transfer to the ship's hold.  They must have been close to a 1000 of them
at least. The Bangladeshi slave merchants had just experienced one of their
biggest sales days in decades and an air of exhilaration was evident
throughout the city where slaves were the one and only big crop.

     It was two in the morning before the last of the chained slaves could
be transferred to the ship and caged.  The slave handlers in the hold were
exhausted, too tired to even put much muscle behind the whips that were in
constant motion.  When the last newly purchased slave was finally stuffed
into his cage and the cage door securely locked, the handlers sighed with
relief and slipped back to their own quarters for a well-earned rest.  The
slaves had not been cleansed inside and out yet, had not been recollared,
and had not been fed the evening portions of slave chow yet, but they knew
no slave ever died from missing a meal now and then.  In fact, missing a
meal generally kept them on their toes a little better and certainly made
them more responsive to the handler's commands.  "Never bit the hand that
feeds you" was more true with slaves than any other animals, probably
because slaves had better brains. And the handlers knew all of the other
tasks of cleansing, collaring, etc., could all be done over the next few
days without serious harm to the new stock.  But, as they looked the stock
over while caging them, it was obvious Barisal was a great place to buy
slaves apparently - almost all the animals caged were good looking, well
built, well-hung, and obviously well trained to slavery.  As the handlers
sunk into sleep, they wondered how cheap they actually were.  Perhaps, when
they retired, they should look into investing in a slave or two from
Barisal.  After all, once they were no longer working on the ship, they
wouldn't have an endless supply of slave flesh around to amuse themselves
with and bed down at a whim.

     Meanwhile, upstairs, the ship's passengers still hadn't gone to bed,
so excited were they over the day's activities.  In the bars, they were
swapping notes on what they paid for such and such a slave, how many they
had bought, what types they had purchased and what markets they could
foresee for resale, etc.  By the time they finally wore down around 4
A.M. and returned to their rooms, only the room stewards and most of the
bar slaves were all that was needed to satiate the sexual needs of the
fatigued purchasers.  By 6 A.M., even fucking those slaves was all but over
and the entire ship was strangely quiet as everyone was sound asleep.  The
stock in the hold purchased prior to this latest stop wondered where their
handlers and morning rations were as they tried to twist around in their
cramped little cages, the baggage slaves enjoyed getting to sleep later
than usual, and the dining room slaves stood idly around empty breakfast
tables, enjoying not having to serve the meal along with the usual delights
of their naked bodies.

     Bangladesh was not a tourist's delight outside of this major slave
market, so the Fantasia had quietly slipped out of harbor just as soon as
the last new purchase had been brought onto the ship around 2 A.M.  Already
they were well out at sea in the Indian Ocean, headed for their next stop
many days away - the mysteries of Oman and the swarthy Arab slave traders!

TO BE CONTINUED

Comments always appreciated.  Bill Smith (anonymous4371@juno.com)