Date: Thu, 23 Aug 2007 18:50:21 GMT
From: "anonymous4371@juno.com" <anonymous4371@juno.com>
Subject: FULFILLING THE FANTASY - Chap. 7 (Authoritarian)

FULFILLING THE FANTASY VII

By Bill Smith (anonymous4371@juno.com)

     The temperature was delightfully cool as Mark and John descended the
gangplank of the Fantasia for their visit to Porto Alegre, a little known
Brazilian port right above the Uruguayan border. There was a nice breeze
present and the sky was so clear it was cloudless.

     "This is more like it," Mark remarked as he took in the perfect
climate.  "I thought I'd melt in Surinam."

     "Well, we're far from the equator now, so I suppose they have this
glorious weather a lot,"
 John added.  "I imagine our slaves in the ship's hold are enjoying the
change as much as we are.  Our steward said he almost passed out from the
stench down there where he was bringing some of boys up when the ship was a
lot further north around the equator.  I imagine stuffed in those little
shipping cages doesn't help the situation.  I always feel a little warmer
if I can't stretch out.  But, they're just slaves, after all.  Probably
used to it."

     "Probably," Mark agreed.  "No different than the slave pens we bought
them out of," he added. "What's the tour include today, John?"

     "Well, we're scheduled to visit some famous waterfalls located not too
far from here, then go to a ranch of some type out in the countryside, then
to a boat ride to see some piranhas, indigenous snakes, some exotic birds
located no where else, and some strange water lilies that are unique to
this area.  After that, we're supposed to go to some fancy reception at the
estate of Brazil's biggest slave breeder who, surprisingly, lives down here
close to his operations rather than in Rio When all that is over, we'll be
taken to the sales area where they promised they'd have their very best
stock on display for our perusal.  Some dealers I talked to who have been
here before love the place - not only for its great climate and sightseeing
opportunities, but they claim the slave market here is really something."

     "A full day.  Good thing we're getting an early start.  I won't mind
being out all day in this kind of weather."

     "Exactly," John added.  "It's good to stretch our legs and get off
that ship for a while."

     "Yes, and," Mark laughed, "it will be the first day in a week we will
go a full eight hours without fucking something or other.  Look at it as a
test!  Do you think our room steward will pine away, not having his butt
poked for that long a period?"

     "He's probably zonked out on the bed resting his sore ass as we
speak," John howled in laugher.

     Two fairly new Mercedes buses quietly arrived, thereby assuring a
separate double seat for each passenger. As each bus door opened, two
extremely handsome men emerged, both dressed in a smart form-fitting
uniform, complete with leather cap and driving gloves.

     "Smart looking employees," John commented to Mark as the two quickly
climbed onto the bus with the bus employees' ready assistance and welcoming
smiles.

     As the coaches got underway to the waterfalls, John leaned forward and
said to Mark, in the seat above, "I'd sure like to know where they hired
those two," nodding toward the driver and the attendant right behind him,

     "Real lookers, aren't they - I got a hard-on just looking at them,"
Mark replied.

     Both men enjoyed the two-hour drive to the waterfalls which took them
through vibrant forests, lush jungles, and numerous views of
wildlife. Along the way, the smart-looking attendant served them delicious
freshly brewed coffee and a tasty local pastry: a small donut coated with a
paste of Brazil nuts and coconuts. As the attendant bent to his tasks, Mark
studied his incredibly smooth skin and beautiful green eyes framed with
long curly black eyelashes.

     The waterfalls were truly incredible and well worth the long bus ride.
Both Mark and John had never seen anything quite so spectacular, although
speech was impossible due to the overwhelming roar of the falling water
practically surrounding them. From there, they reboarded the bus for the
ranch, which the attendant announced was only a short distance away while
refreshing their cups of coffee.

     Soon the bus turned into the entrance of the ranch and then traveled
six more miles down a narrow one-lane road until it reached the main
doorway of the "estatione" manor house where the ranch owner, dressed
regally in the Portuguese manner preferred by the major Brazilian
landholders, personally greeted each of us warmly as if we were long lost
relatives. As we entered the manor house, we were impressed with the rich
furnishings, the polished hand-made tile floors, and the huge staff of
collared naked slaves who lined the walls in readiness, all holding
themselves in rigid attention with heads and eyes straight ahead. All were
young and handsome with fully shaved bodies, and all very a very light
brown color with dark brown hair and jet black eyes.

     "Welcome to my humble abode," our host greeted us. "My staff has
prepared a simple barbeque for your enjoyment - all Brazilian specialities
- which we can enjoy as soon as you finish your tour of our famed stables
of Andelusian ponies which we are most proud of, the herds of Black Angus
cattle unique to this part of Brazil, and witnessed a modest rodeo
demonstration by the ranches' gancheros, our version of the American
cowboy.

     The small ponies, bred to perfection, were led through they paces when
we visited the barns housing them. The huge staff of slaves we'd first
witnessed in the manor house had apparently followed us and were now in
charge of demonstrating the ponies' trotting, prancing, and dressage
skills. The ranch owner carefully explained the exact breeding behind the
select ponies and was most proud of the ranch's reputation as one of the
top stud farms for Andelusians in all of Brazil. Most of the dealers,
including Mark and John, were as impressed by the collared slaves leading
the ponies through their paces as in the ponies themselves, although the
slaves themselves were never mentioned as if these properties were as
nothing compared to the well-trained ponies.

     We were led to an elevated observation stand where it was possible to
see miles in every direction, notable because all you really saw were
cattle everywhere - tens of thousands of Black Angus cattle, all appearing
well fed with shiny coats radiating good health. The owner explained these
cattle produced particularly tender, well-marbled beef that was prized
throughout the world for its great flavor. Each year we slaughter 20,000 to
25,000 head dependent on market conditions.  When we expressed our
astonishment, the host laughed and said all things were possible which you
owned over one million acres give or take a little.  This led to even more
astonishment among his guests, which the owner obviously relished.  When
one of the guests said such a holding was unbelievable, the host laughed.

     "Not in Brazil, my friends," the owner explained.  "Several ranches
throughout the country are even larger.  But its not the land, but what's
on it that counts. "Here we take pride in the huge number of Black Angus
the land supports, our prize Andelusian ponies, and, of course, we can fed
and house the 2,400 slaves it takes to run the place without buying any
outside feed or supplies. We bred our slaves in house just like the ponies
and the cattle and sell our excess off in the Porte Alegre markets - a good
500 to 600 a year usually since over 800 of our slaves here are females.
But I'm sure you'd guessed that since our slaves all look more or less
alike after five generations of careful breeding.  We're trying to
establish a breed of slaves here unique to this ranch, much like our ponies
and cattle."

     We all broke into spontaneous applause at that announcement whereupon
our host blushed with pride and then led us to the waiting barbeque
featuring lamb, beef, pork, and chicken grilled over an open fire, along
with barbeque sauces in varying degrees of spiciness, baked potatoes, baked
beans, corn on the cob, and a delectable cole-slaw. We were sitted outside
under the shade of a huge tree on tables laid out with silk tablecloths,
sterling silver tableware, and beautiful crystal dinnerware while the
handsome slaves graciously served us our choice of food and wines. The food
was delicious, the service impeccable, and even the haunting music of
Brazil was provided by a small group of slaves playing native instruments.

     As soon as the scrumptious meal was over, the host invited us to make
use of the slaves waiting on us if we so desired, but our tour guide warned
us we were on a tight schedule and, nice as the invitation was, our group
wouldn't have time to use his slaves today - an announcement that was
received with a chorus of boos and catcalls from the dealers while the
ranch owner smiled delightedly motioning for his coterie of handsome slaves
to display themselves for our selection. Each of the slaves, all appearing
to be in their late teens or early twenties, instantly placed their hands
in back of their heads, flexed their muscles, and thrust their pelvises
forward for our inspection.

     "Oh!  Very well," the tour guide laughed.  "Fifteen minutes.  But
everyone must be back on the bus in 15 minutes if we want to get to the
boats on time for the river tour."

     The dealers scrambled to seize a slave that appealed to them. John had
a sandy-haired black- eyed beauty on his knees sucking him within the
minute while he kneaded the slave's big ringed tits.  Mark acted almost as
fast, choosing a smooth skinned well-muscled slave with silky blondish
brown hair reaching his shoulders and quickly had the slave on his knees
enveloping his erect organ. Almost all the dealers, due to the time
limitations placed upon them, had the uniformly light brown slaves doing
oral service.  Only five or six had their chosen slaves on their backs
taking it up the backside for what was going to have to be, by necessity, a
quick fuck.. The air was filled with sounds of slurping, suctioning, gasps
of relief, a few groans and moans from slaves being face or ass fucked, and
a lot of heavy breathing, and finally, the slaves humbly voicing "muchos
gracious, Senor," as the guests withdrew from their bodies completely
spent. But within 15 minutes, every dealer had sincerely thanked their
gracious host and was on board the coaches for the next destination to the
tour guide's great relief who had feared the dealers might want to spend
hours enjoying the ranch owner's hospitality with his stable of
well-trained and admittedly quite handsome unique "breed" of slaves.

     The coach's attendant served a mint-flavored ice tea as the bus sped
to the river station.  There a score of small canoes, each holding three
passengers and two oarsmen, took them on a truly exotic ride up a small
jungle river where the clear waters easily revealed its treasures of
brightly colored fish, including piranhas of all sizes and colors.
Overhead the paddlers pointed out the huge snakes hanging from the
overhanging trees, laughing when the snakes would occasionally sway down
close to our heads, and the exotic birds that seemed to compete with each
other in display, dazzling you with their panopy of brilliant colors and
raucous calls. Even the canoeists seemed part of this jungle scene.  Native
Indian slaves, they were nut brown, small in stature, and wiry in
musculature.  Each wore only his slave collar, which was chained to the
canoe itself.  That way, we were assured, our safety was assured in that
the slaves would be eaten by piranhas if the canoe overturned, having no
way to escape the man-eating fish. Despite this, the Indian slaves were
solicitous in the care of their passengers and did everything possible to
make our trip as interesting and educational as possible. Since much of the
fairly long trip was upstream, most of the dealers marveled at the
canoeist's endurance - they never seemed to tire despite the current. When
Mark commented on this, another dealer said he imagined the Indian slaves
had done this their whole life, as if that made the task easier.

     Back on the bus, one dealer mentioned the solicitousness of the Indian
canoeists.

     "Yes," the guide laughed.  "If they're not, they don't get fed for a
couple of days. That's pretty common down here in Brazil.  An effective
discipline in most cases, I suppose, and probably saves a little on feed
costs."

     It was only a 30-minute ride to the reception at the slave breeder's
farm.  When the coaches arrived at the huge compound of buildings that
covered thousands of acres, all the dealers clearly understood why it was
billed as the biggest breeding operation in Brazil.

     "I wonder if this reception will include a tour?" Mark asked his
friend John.

     "I hope so, Mark.  Could be interesting."

     The reception included a fantastic choice of wines, the availability
of every conceivable mixed drink, and a delicious buffet of the most
expensive delicacies.  The ebullient host urged us to eat and drink all we
wished, but then added he would be willing to give us a quick tour of the
facilities if we were interested.  When all the dealers enthusiastically
responded they were, he seemed delighted and invited us to have our drinks
freshened and then take them with us on the tour.  We followed him out a
side door to the first huge barn.

     "The heart of the operation takes place right here," our host
announced after all the dealers were inside the anteroom of the barn.
"This is the actual breeding barn. We have 200 breeding stations, some of
which are in use right now. We practice selective breeding, of course, so
only the finest studs and broods are privileged to participate in the
program. Studs are used for about six years, generally from the ages of 20
to 26 when their fertility is at its highest level.  We have found a highly
fertile stud can be used six times a day without significant loss of sperm
count or libido if you have picked right and they can be used each and
every day at that rate. So a single stud can impregnate hundreds of broods
over a given year and thousands over the years.  Consequently, we really
don't need too many studs on hand at one time, so being chosen to be a stud
is a rare opportunity for a male slave.  The females are brought to the
stations at their peak period for "catching" within their ovulation period
and then submitted to a series of ruttings.  After each rutting, she is
tested for pregnancy four hours after fornication. If she didn't take, she
is brought back to the breeding station for another rutting, then tested
again four later, and so on and so forth until her pregnancy test shows
positive.  After four days, and still no positive results, she is recycled
28 days later for another round.  If she doesn't take in that series of
ruttings, she is again scheduled 28 days later.  If the three series of
ruttings fail to impregnate her, the female slave is reassigned to labor
befitting a sterile female or sold off.  This usually only happens when the
female brood is aging and has already produced 20 to 25 offspring, perhaps
30 or more if multiple births are achieved with the administration of small
doses of fertility drugs which we routinely give most of our broods,
thereby avoiding the problems of tiny, undeveloped sets of 5 or 6 babies
full dosages often led to, yet taking advantage of the 'boost' offered by
these drugs for simple twinning or, occasionally, triplets. Broods
producing a minimum of 20 healthy offspring before 'retirement' are often
sold off into service situations that slaves covet as a 'reward' for their
productivity: child care, nursing care, retirement home attendants, care of
the psychotic and mentally retarded, etc.  The 'retiring' stud is either
reassigned to more orthodox slave duties such as farm or construction
labor, but knowledgeable women buyers and a large number of men preferring
the pleasures of male flesh often snap them up at auction as 'house boys'
where their proven talents as ever ready studs are put to good use for
their enjoyment and pleasure.  That, of course, is every stud's dream," he
smiled as the audience murmured their appreciation of his humor. "Any
questions?"

     "Yes," one of the dealers ventured.  "How to you motivate these slaves
to perform their duties of making more slaves on a regular basis?  Do they
ever balk or give you any trouble?"

     "Oh, once in a while, but a thorough lashing with a bull whip or one
of those new Mylar whips generally corrects such a attitude," the breeder
laughed.  "Once, just once, even that didn't work and we simply sold the
stud, in this case, off to a mine where I'm sure he's still regretting his
mistake, although I doubt if he lived more than a year or so in that
environment, big and strong as he was," the dealer smiled. "That stud, as I
recall, kept muttering some nonsense that it was wrong to breed slaves like
cattle and bring babies into a world where they would always be slaves.
Obviously, no one understood what he talking about, least of all him.  Let
him preach to his colleagues in the mines, I figured.  Most of the slaves
there are half mad anyway knowing they'll never see daylight again."

      "But," he smiled even broader, "don't forget what we're ordering
slaves to do is a natural function born into them that is mighty
pleasurable if you do it right.  Most slaves understand this and enjoy the
privilege of being allowed to have sex, even if it is solely for their
master's benefit.  Most slaves aren't so stupid they don't realize their
master's welfare is their own welfare too.  Any more questions?"

     "Yes," another dealer asked. "Can you predict whose going to make a
good stud or brood?"

     "An excellent question. The answer is yes.  A good stud is easily
excitable, is quick to harden, quick to shoot off, and recovers quickly for
another round.  Good studs are also able to deliver big loads of thick,
creamy cum that has a pleasant, salty smell.  Good broods are also easily
excitable as evidenced by hardening of their clitoris to manual stimulation
and copious secretion of lubricants, seem to instinctually want to
encompass all of the male's organs within them (lifting themselves up onto
the male shaft if necessary), and are, for lack of a better word,
passionate with their assigned mate, such as putting their arms around his
body, scratching his back in the height of orgasm, and trying to kiss the
stud anywhere they can.  Once impregnated, good broods can deliver the
resultant pregnancy easiest if they're broad hipped, have large vaginas,
and are sturdy in build, but when we're breeding to produce exotic
beauties, these qualities in a brood would be counterproductive.  In that
case, we often deliver their offspring by Caesarian surgery.  It may
surprise you to know that healthy women, even the most petite with tiny
vaginas, can easily survive serial Caesarian births - we had one lithe East
Indian woman who had 23 progeny, each with a Caesarian delivery.  Any more
questions?"

     "Well, if not, we'll proceed with the tour.  You may have some more
questions when we're thorough."

     With that, we entered the giant breeding barn where huge ventilation
fans dominated both ends of the building to insure a fresh interior.  Each
"station" consisted of a smooth wide wooden bench about 18 inches off the
ground and four feet wide with a big number painted on it.  Shackles were
located at all four corners, obviously to hold secure brood slaves less
than enthusiastic for the forced mating.  Some broods were already in
position on the boards awaiting a stud, their arms and legs spread wide in
anticipation.  Other broods choose to position themselves on their hands
and knees with their lips of their vagina fully exposed for a rear
entry. The breeder explained that women were given a choice in which
position they preferred, since their research showed it didn't make any
difference in fertility rates.  Male studs, holding two number tags in
their hands, were busily trying to find the right station, but as soon as
they did, they hung the number tag of the station on a small hook at the
bottom of the mating table along with the other tag, the tag identifying
the stud so records could be double checked as to brood and stud for each
mating. As soon as the stud (already excited by previous conditioning, his
own thoughts about his role as a stud, the sexual activities all around
him, and his hand if necessary) climbed up on the table, the mating
commenced with no preliminaries.  Nothing was said between the partners,
there was no fore-play of any type, and where the woman had chosen to
position herself on her hands and knees, there was no visual contact of any
type.  Generally, within three or four minutes, the studs were howling and
hooting as they shot deep into the brood beneath them, and, once drained,
got off the table and went back to their cage to rest and be summoned again
in three or four hours. An overseer generally supervised six to eight
matings at once with a whip in hand.  He chained the broods down if
necessary (a fairly rare occurrence since every brood slave fully
understood she was going to get fucked regardless of her willingness),
whipped the stud's butts if their pistoning wasn't fast enough to led to
quick orgasm or if their insertion didn't include the entire length of
their shaft.  When the stud howled in orgasm, the overseers usually reached
between the stud's wide spread legs and squeezed his balls - if he had
drained himself properly, his balls were soft and spongy; if he was faking
orgasm, his balls remained hard and felt stuffed. Faking orgasm was a
serious offense, of course, and if a series of sound lashings didn't solve
the problem, the stud slave was usually disposed of to the mines. But this
was such a rare event, most overseers could only recall one or two times it
had occurred in their tenure. Most of their ball squeezing, they said, was
simply to make sure the stud had got the last drop of his man juices into
the brood slave.

     John and Mark were surprised how quickly one could get bored with
fucking when it was done on a production line like this.  Somehow, sex
seemed mechanical, not sensual and even the studs, each an epitome of
masculinity, their massive aroused pricks and balls swinging from side to
side as they sought out the correct mating table, went about their tasks
mechanically and without much emotion.  They looked like they might as well
be sweeping out a garage floor or hefting a bale of cotton as far as they
were concerned. Although most male slaves dreamed of becoming a stud at one
of the breeding farms, the reality seemed a little less glamourous.

     "Six years of fucking five or six times a day seven days a week with
no breaks," John said.  "I wonder when the studs are through their tour of
duty if they ever want to get it off again?"

     "Well, they're just slaves, after all, John, so what they want or
don't want doesn't have much to do with it, does it?" Mark shot back. "I
think it beats working in those Surinam mines we saw any day."

     "I think you've got more sexual energy in you than I do, Mark," John
laughed.  "I suspect you were just born all hot and bothered.  You might
make a good stud here."

     "Maybe, if I could choose the stud I'd mate with," Mark retorted which
left both doubled up with laughter.

     The breeder next showed us the stud's cages which were unremarkable
other than they were spotlessly clean and airy with bars on all four sides
so the stud could be viewed easily at all times to both prevent him ever
trying to unload without permission and to make sure he did his mandatory
exercises to keep his body in top shape.  The studs represented all races,
hair colors, hair textures, and eye colors one could imagine.  But all were
very large and muscular, very heavy hung (as one would expect a stud to
be), had large balls, and all were exceedingly handsome in most people's
opinion. They looked exceedingly healthy and disease-resistance which the
breeder assured us they were. As the breeder pointed out, it would be
foolish to use any other types of studs since you really didn't need that
many anyway.  You could afford to be extremely selective.

     Next we visited the brood's quarters where frequent urine tests to
determine pregnancy were the order of the day.  Elaborate scheduling on a
huge wall chart instructed each brood slave which breeding station she was
to position herself at and when, but no information was given them on the
stud assigned.  Broods testing out pregnant from the last rounds of
studding were congratulated and scratched off the list, usually being sent
back to their original work assignment until they were a month or so from
delivery where they would be brought back to the farm's brooding station
for a healthy delivery, a short period of rest and recuperation, and then
scheduled for the next mating sessions.  The breeder assured us most broods
didn't mine this routine too much in that they all looked forward to the
pleasures they got from being fucked (the only opportunity ever given them)
by handsome studs, but most of all to the one to three months "vacation"
they got when approaching delivery, the delivery itself, and the
recuperation period afterward.  It was the only "vacation" slaves ever got,
male or female, and the broods treasured this special privilege simply for
adding to their master's wealth a little.

     "Do they mind giving up their offspring?" a dealer asked.

     "Well, first of all, it's not their offspring, it's mine," the breeder
corrected him, "and the broods understand that.  But, in answer to your
question, the answer is 'no'."  Slaves bred for a purpose like this have no
expectations of keeping their offspring and have no idea of what they would
do with it, let alone care for it, once they had it.  After all, these
broods are regular slaves and have work assignments they go back to the
minute they are fully recovered.  How on earth would they care for an
infant?  Furthermore, the offspring belongs to the master, not to them, of
course.  It's the master that will take care of the offspring and really is
the only person capable of arranging care for it.  The broods understand
that without even being told.  The offspring never see their brood mother
generally.  The babies are whisked out to the nurseries here and fed by
wet-nurse slaves and cared for by them and old men and women slaves who
can't do much else but enjoy talking care of the next generation.  They
teach them everything they need to know as obedience, compliant slaves and
nothing else.  By the time, they're 14 or 15, we're able to harvest a big
crop each and every year and sell them at auction holding just a few of the
very best males back as potential studs when they're older. Bred slaves, as
you know, draw premium prices nowadays as people realize the advantages of
selective breeding and thorough slave training from the day they were
birthed."

     Although he wanted us to visit the nurseries and slave-training
schools run for the bred children, our guide explained we simply didn't
have time and, if we were going to be able to do any shopping at all, had
to end the visit now.  We all personally thanked the breeder for his
hospitality as well as his interesting and informative tour, but we all
found time for one final question.

     "If we want to buy some of your products, what do we look for?  Any
special identification at the markets?" brought up by a dealer from London.

     "The best question yet," the breeder laughed.  "Yes, there is a way.
We brand all our products as a permanent identification.  A small brand,
yet easily identifiable and not easily counterfeited.  Look for a small
star brand on the inside of their left thigh.  Out of way for those not
liking bodies marked up with a bunch of brands, but clearly visible if you
know what to look for.  Thanks for asking."

     "Thank you!" the dealer said.  "I'll be looking for it, starting with
our trip to the local markets within the hour."

     "You'll see some of our stock there, I imagine.  They usually hold
some of the prime stock back when they know a bunch of dealers are coming
in.  But we sell to wholesalers all over the world, so you're likely to see
one of our products for sale most anywhere these days," he said with
considerable pride.

     As the London dealer said, we were at the local market within the hour
and feasted our eyes on thousands and thousands of slaves eager to be sold.
Most dealers bought up at least a slave or two with the star brands on
their inner thigh as not only good investments, but as a remembrance of
their visit to the huge breeding farm outside Porto Alegre.  But the market
featured huge variety and fantastic choice - all at most reasonable prices
since slaves were so plentiful here.

     John bought up four more slaves - two young 18-year-olds white boys
with star brands on their inner thigh who were strikingly handsome and well
built as well as massively hung; a 25-year-old white Argentinian of
Greek-Italian descent with curly brown hair that formed ringlets, a
handsome face, and a great body; and a brown slave about 20 who was smaller
but very muscular and well hung and certainly displayed well. Mark bought a
slave with a star brand on his thigh as a souvenir of his memorable visit:
this 17-year-old boy was tobacco brown with blue eyes and brown hair and
had long curly eye lashes, a handsome face, and gigantic sexual organs that
were easily aroused.  Mark thought he looked perfect as an interesting bed
buck to have around the house and John readily agreed after quickly
fingering the boy's features.

     When Mark and John were finished making all the purchasing
arrangements and reboarded the bus for our trip back to the ship, Mark
again noticed the extremely sexy driver and the attendant.

     "Too bad I can't buy one of them," Mark said to John as the two of
them approached the bus door.

     "But you can," a voice appeared out of nowhere.

     Mark turned to the source of the voice and confronted a large man who
explained he was the manager for the bus line the ship had chartered for
the day.

     "All are staff are slaves," the man explained. "Don't be fooled with
their fancy livery.  Underneath all those fancy togs, every driver and
attendant you see is collared and often tit-ringed.  Didn't you notice the
ID tags riveted in back of their ears, sir?  Oh, I see the problem with
these two.  We have both of them in long hair so you can't see the tags.
Sorry!"

     "I'm not used to slaves being clothed," Mark stammered in
explanation. "Although, we occasionally uniform them like this or put them
in costume for one reason or another - usually for a show or a special
party or some such occasion.

     "Strip and display," he ordered the two staff in attendance at the bus
door.  Instantly, both threw off their tight fitted jackets and peeled out
of the ultra-tight pants which displayed their large baskets so well, and
then slipped off their patent leather shoes. Within 30 seconds, both stood
in the standard slave display position before Mark and John stark naked
with their thick slave collars and ringed tits fully revealed.  Both looked
as good without their clothes as they did in them, except the clothes hid
the high muscular definition and their very smooth naturally hairless skin.
The tight pants had not exaggerated their huge genitals which quickly
hardened when Mark hefted their balls and weighed them.

     "How much for this one?" Mark said, as he began to stroke the selected
slave's shaft and fondled his nipples.

     "I can let you have him cheap," the manager said "We're overstocked
with attendants right now and I was planning to sell him off anyway in the
near future."

     The price stated was about an eighth of the price Mark had paid for
the slave with the star brand on him just minutes ago in the Porto Alegre
slave market.  He was immediately suspicious. So was John from the look on
his face.

     "Both these slaves are sterile, I'm afraid," the manager said. "That's
all we buy to train to be drivers and attendants.  We never bred slaves so
to us it doesn't make any difference and we can get them dirt cheap in that
most buyers want a slave that can breed if the buyer decides he wants to do
that with the slave.  But we never bother with breeding - besides, how
could we possibly compete with that huge breeding farm outside of town?"

     "I'll take him," Mark said.  "I'm not going to breed him either.  Can
you take a credit card?"

     "Sure thing," the manager answered happily. "But could I deliver this
slave at the dock when they get the bus there and emptied?  I'll send down
another driver to pick the bus up.  That way it won't hold up the
passengers any. By then, I'll have my credit card machine right with me as
well as a bill of sale and the ownership certificates for transfer."

     "And I'll take this other one," John said as he continued stroking the
large smooth shaft of the driver who was beginning to drip a little. "Same
price?"

     "Same price.  Credit card as well?"

     "Yes to both. I'll buy the driver and yes, put it on my credit card.".

     "Alright if I get them back in livery for the bus trip back to the
dock.  Company policy, you know."

     "Sure, but we'll take delivery with them stripped.  You can keep your
livery for the next slaves in line," John said. "Leave the collar on them
along with the rings but undo their ID tags.  The ship will be happy to
install new ones for us."

     "Consider it done.  See you in about 20 minutes down at the dock next
to the bus.  I'll bring all the paperwork, the credit card forms, and that
device that unclips those ear tags.  We can throw their livery and shoes in
the bus as soon as they've stripped down there."

     Turning to the two naked slaves, he ordered them to don their togs and
greet the remaining guests as they arrived for the bus trip back to the
dock.  Within 30 seconds they were fully dressed and solicitously helping
each of the dealers back onto the bus who, like Mark and John, didn't
realize they were slaves for sale.

     When the two friends arrived at the dock, the bus company manager was
already there in his car with all the bills of sale, appropriate ownership
certificates, and the credit card machine.  As soon as the bus had
unloaded, he had the two slaves strip and kneel while he removed the
riveted ID tags from their ears with the special gadget all large
slave-holders had as well as most dealers. As soon as that proved
successful with only minor bleeding, the two slaves were ordered to their
feet and marched over to the ship's hold manager who knew exactly what to
do with them once he had their owner's names and room number
grease-penciled on their backs, chest and rumps until he could assign them
a cage in the hold.  The slaves involved had never said a word the entire
time.

     When the two masters got back to their suite on the Fantasia, their
Italian steward was waiting eagerly for them, as usual.  John remarked he
looked refreshed, and both he and the slave giggled.  But Mark kept
thinking about the attendant on the bus he had just purchased.  While John
was motioning the Italian to get on all fours so he could fuck him
doggie-style before supper, Mark went down to the cargo master's office and
asked if it would be possible to have a purchase he had made just minutes
ago be delivered to his room before the slave was cleaned and caged.

     The cargo master smiled.  "He must really be something, sir, but in
answer to your question, the answer is yes.  All we need is your name and
room number and I'll have one of the baggage slaves deliver him to your
room pronto.  But you'll have to clean him up yourself, sir."

     "Fine," Mark said. "I appreciate it."

     Mark returned to the room to find John plowing into the Italian's ass
which didn't surprise him, but he didn't have long to watch the fucking.
Within minutes after his return, their was a knock on the door and two
kneeling naked slaves outside.  One slaves had a neck leash on him, held in
the hand of the other kneeling slave.

     "The slave you requested, master," the slave holding the leash said,
his eyes glued to the carpeted floor while he lifted his hand to give Mark
the other slave's neck leash.

     "Yes," Mark said as he brought the new purchase into the room and shut
the door on the baggage slave still kneeling in the hall. The slave's hide
was still decorated with the grease pencil markings on his chest, butt, and
back.

     "Get in the bath and wash those markings off, slave,"Mark commanded,
pointing to the adjoining bathroom as he unhooked the neck leash.
"Otherwise, you'll ruin the sheets."

     "Yes, master," the slave said humbly as he hurried to fulfill the
command, unperturbed by the fucking of another collared property going on
in front of him.

     Within a minute the slave emerged marker-free.  Mark pointed to his
bed adjoining the bucking couple in the other bed and motioned for the
slave to get on his back and lift his legs for a fucking.

     "Yes, master," the slave said smiling as he quickly got on his back,
spread his legs wide, and then lifted them up over his shoulder to best
expose his hole.  It was obvious he was no stranger to being fucked and it
was also obvious this task came as no surprise to him. But the smile on the
slave's face gave one the impression he certainly enjoyed being fucked as
well.

     By the time the ship brought up anchor and slipped out of the Porto
Alegre harbor into the open seas, both John and Mark were lost in the use
of the slaves, both pumping into them slowly but deeply to prolong their
pleasure.  By the time they were completely satiated, they just had time to
hit the late dinner serving and the evening's entertainments.  The Italian
steward was given the task of taking the former bus attendant back to the
cargo master's office so they could mark his hide again.  Only then could
he be properly cleaned and caged at last.

TO BE CONTINUED

Comments are greatly appreciated.  Bill Smith (anonymous4371@juno.com)