Date: Tue, 10 Aug 2004 16:26:08 GMT
From: "anonymous4371@juno.com" <anonymous4371@juno.com>
Subject: RETURN TO OCEANUM   (Authoritarian)

			     RETURN TO OCEANUM


			       by Bill Smith


BACKGROUND:

     Surprisingly, even with the most modern spy satellites, not all
islands of the Pacific and Indian Oceans have been "discovered."  Some lie
far outside the observable "paths" of the satellites which generally cover
major shipping lanes, colonial possessions, or possible threats; others,
due to their lack of heat producing volcanos or man-made industry, simply
aren't detectable by infrared technology.

     Geoffrey Bowers was well aware of this when he deliberately purchased
an out-of-the-way island in the Indian Ocean which had plenty of fresh
water, fertile soil, no native population, and an obscure, totally
non-strategic location that literally guaranteed the rest of the world
would never notice it. After purchase, he had huge amounts of building
supplies delivered along with entire electric generation and supply
systems, including air conditioning, refrigeration, water desalination
equipment (just in case).  Since their were no deep sea docks, all this
materiel had to be delivered in small tenders and simply dumped in
temporary shelters on the beaches. The suppliers and carriers were paid in
cash promptly and just as promptly forgot all about the place when no
future orders came their way.

     But other much smaller ships, no bigger than tenders really, including
many a Arab-style dhow and Chinese style junk, began delivering goods
there, usually in the dead of night.  Again, cash changed hands quickly and
the small ships disappeared as mysteriously as they had first appeared.

     Within two months of these latter ship's visits, the island was
completely populated.  But the new population was entirely by Geoffrey
Bower's own design, a scheme he had carefully planned over the years.  For
everyone on the island, save himself, were slaves - fully owned properties
in a modern world.  They had been supplied by scores of clandestine dealers
operating discretely in Africa, Asia, the Middle East, Australia, Eastern
Europe, and the Americas. Geoffrey Bowers had spent years getting to know
these dealers personally, familiarizing himself when what they had
available, gaining information on what their stock was worth in today's
markets, learning the degree of training necessary to produce a good slave
in today's world, and, perhaps most importantly, developing their trust in
selling him "illegal" goods. He had spent as much time doing this as he had
in selecting "his" island to start with for the real estate had little
allure without its new population as far as Geoffrey Bower was concerned.

     Now, Geoffrey Bowers owned over 14000 acres, enough equipment and
supplies to build a small empire, and 650 slaves of practically every color
and nationality, although his preference for well built handsome black
males, based on his years spend in Brazil as an American ex-patriot where
his fortune was made as well as his natural sexual proclivities, was
clearly evident.  The total investment was approaching one billion
U.S. dollars, but no one ever claimed paradise was cheap.  It was, Geoffrey
Bower reflected, the best money he ever spent.  He named his island home
"Oceanum" in honor of its Indian Ocean locale.

     A month ago, Geoffrey invited five slave traders who he respected and
trusted (through many dealings over the recent past) to a week-end visit at
Oceanum.  The livestock merchants (some had also expanded into slave
breeding) were from New York, the Middle East, Nigeria, the Ukraine, and
Mississippi.  The visit had led to many interesting discussions as well as
exchanges of "gift slaves" and the six men, at Geoffrey's suggestion,
decided to meet again at Oceanum in a month.

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

THE NIGERIAN DEALER IS THE FIRST TO ARRIVE:

     "Hey, Mr. Naromba, he's a real beauty!" Geoffrey exclaimed as he
greeted his first visitor, Mr. Jaco Naromba, the largest slave dealer in
Nigeria. "Can I assume it's what I think it is?" he quickly added as he
visually swept the large, extremely muscular naked man attached to a leash
in Mr. Naromba's hand.  "Oh, Welcome to Oceanum, my friend.  I was so
excited as seeing the slave you had in tow, I forgot my manners," Geoffrey
smiled and warmly hugged his long time friend.

     "I'm glad to be back, Geoffrey, if I can be so informal. And I insist
you call me Jaco.  We've been friends too long to stick with last names."
Jerking the leash attached to the white slave's collar, he drew him closer
with a sharp command, "Display yourself to your new owner, slave.
Geoffrey, meet your new gleaming white slave - he's a gift from yours
truly."

     Instantly, the leashed slave spread his legs wide apart, put his
muscled arms in back of his thick neck, tensed his torso so every muscle
clearly stood out in rigid definition, thrust his huge penis and balls
forward, all while a beautiful smile spread across his attractive face.
His magnificently muscled body was highlighted by a light coating of sweat
on his totally hairless hide outside of the thick jet-black hair and
eyebrows accentuating his unusually handsome good looks.  His totally
shaved sexual equipment was super-sized and perfectly shaped, appearing
even larger than it was due to the lack of any hair in the region and was
rapidly getting even larger as the slave hardened to a full 13x6' erection
once he was being displayed - a bodily response expected of most
well-trained slaves up for inspection.

     "Master," the slave said softly in a deep bass voice with a lowered
head in acknowledgment he had just been given to a new owner as he thrust
his pelvis out as far as he could to symbolize his new master owned all of
him, including his sex.

     "A beautiful gift, Jaco, but totally unnecessary," Geoffrey said as he
reached forward with his right hand and lifted the slave's huge balls in
his hand (which couldn't begin to hold both of them at once) and squeezed
tightly until he heard the slave issue a slight gasp but noticed the slave
made no attempt to withdraw.  "The animal seems to be used to being
handled," Geoffrey commented pleasantly as he moved his right hand onto the
huge shaft and, although his hand could not reach all the way around it,
began to stroke vigorously while his left hand explored the erect tits
protruding from the slave's extremely muscular and well defined chest.

     "No need to fret about this slave, Geoffrey.  He's fully trained.
He'll welcome any use you want to make of his body - and then some," the
Nigerian dealer chuckled.  My trainers are so damn good that if we were
selling this boy to you, we'd offer a 90-day money-back guarantee on him -
we're that sure he's taken to his slavedom."

     'Impressive guarantee," Geoffrey noted.  "With all that fancy
training, I take it he hasn't been bred for market?"

     "Not this one, Geoffrey," the Nigerian dealer laughed.  "We can't bred
them this white yet - not in Nigeria, at least.  No, this boy was produced
the old-fashioned way - months and months of tedious, well-planned training
with lots of discipline and pain at the end of a good whip, careful control
of all of his bodily needs, and a trainer that takes pride in producing a
satisfying slave for life.  This boy's trainer was so proud of his finished
product, he branded his little logo onto the sole of the slave's left foot
as a little trademark - and to remind the slave of his training days if he
ever thinks of slacking off in any area.  We encourage buyers to bring our
trained slaves back to us for retraining if they're not totally satisfied.
With that little brand on the sole of their foot, we can put them right
back with their original trainer whose going to make sure, believe you me,
that the second time around the slave either shapes up once and for all or
dies a long and painful death.  The choice is up to the slave, of course.
But that way our trainers can take pride in their finished products and
know we won't allow slaves to compromise their training standards one iota.
Keeps the morale of the trainers up and adds considerably to buyer
satisfaction.  Of course, it's also to the slave's well being, although
they probably don't realize it while they're under a heavy whip in the
training procedures.  It's only later, when a new owner is putting them
through their paces, that they realize the essential value of a good
training regime."

     "Turn around and bend over, slave" was Geoffrey's only comment and the
new property promptly complied, grabbing his ankles and spreading his legs
even wider so that his hole was fully exposed and convenient to his new
owner.  Geoffrey inserted first one finger and then two all the way into
the gaping hole and pumped vigorously to test the slave's reaction to this
invasion.  The slave quivered slightly but never moved.

     "You like this, boy?" Geoffrey asked his new gift.

     "Yes, master, if it pleases my master," the slave answered tactfully.

     "But do you like to get fucked, I asked, and don't you dare lie to
your master, slave," Geoffrey repeated his question in a somewhat irritated
tone.

     "I hated it when I was first into my slavery, master, but now I've
learned to like it, master, especially if I haven't been allowed to unload
for a while," the slave answered carefully, gasping as the two fingers
thrust all the way in and out of him forcefully stimulated his prostate and
led him to drip pre-cum copiously on the floor beneath him. "Like now,
master" the slave added, breathing irregularly as the finger fucking
stimulated him and his organ was fully stretched and waving wildly in front
of him.

     Geoffrey jerked his fingers out of the slave's hole roughly as the
slave groaned, ordering the new property to again resume the "Display"
position.  As soon as the slave had done so, his prick jerking around in
heavy need as white precum dripped out of its head, Geoffrey ordered the
slave to "Milk yourself so I can get a taste of your sauce."

     "Yes, master," the slave responded as his hand flew to his prick and
he began pumping his huge shaft vigorously while his new master placed his
cupped hand in front of him.  After only three or four strokes, the slave
guided his prick head into his master's cupped hand and began discharging
load after load of hot cum until it took both of Geoffrey's hands to hold
it all.

     "The boy has a heavy output," the Nigerian dealer said professionally,
obviously comparing this slave's output to thousands and thousands of
others he had witnessed being milked over the years.  "And his cum seems
smooth but thick - the best product in my opinion.  How does he taste?"

     "As if you didn't know, Jaco," Geoffrey laughed as he began to drink
the full output from his cupped hands with obvious relish. "You're so
thorough, I bet you've tasted every piece of property you've got."

     "Thanks for the compliment, Geoffrey," Mr. Naromba shot back jocosely.
"But I don't like stud sauce for some reason or another - I leave that part
of the assessment up to my trainers.  But I admit I did enjoy the boy on
the long trip over - as you probably noted in your finger fucking of the
property, the slave has a very tight hole and is well trained in how to
properly use it for a master's pleasure. And his mouth is like velvet - be
sure to explore that avenue of bliss, Geoffrey.  You won't be disappointed,
I can guarantee.  Of course, I never let this slave unload so that he could
produce a good load if you wanted it - which, as it turns out - you did."
The Nigerian dealer looked up at the blazing sun and wiped the sweat off
his brow.

     "I don't want to be rude, Geoffrey, but are we going to stand around
in this sun all day long chit chatting about a mere piece of property or
are you going to hospitably get me into some air conditioning and," he
paused meaningfully with a quizzical look "some fresh black meat carefully
trained to the high standards of Oceanum."

     Geoffrey eyed his guest, licked the last of the slave's output from
his hands, smacking his lips in appreciation of the new gift's fine taste,
before doubling over in laughter.

      "Oh, Jaco, I'm so glad we're getting together again.  I love your
sense of humor as well as your refreshing candor.  Don't worry.  I can not
only produce some cool air but I've got a little welcoming gift for you all
flushed out, lubed and waiting anxiously for his new master.  I haven't let
him unload his balls for over a month now so the word 'eager' doesn't quite
describe his interest in being bedded down. I picked this one out special
for you knowing your idiosyncracies when it comes to slavemeat: he's mature
(28, I think), black as midnight, a weight-lifters' body that's so muscular
he's almost grotesque, hung like a donkey with balls the size of oranges,
has a face like a angel, skin as smooth as butter, a really nice
bubble-butt that just begs to be fucked, and, although totally compliant in
fulfilling every command, hates being used by other men but knows as a
slave he can do nothing about it but cooperate fully in satisfying whatever
his master wants.  It's that suppressed resentment that I know you enjoy
when you bed them down. To freshen his resentment, I told him when they
were flushing him out that I might give him as a pleasure stud to a white
mistress and he almost shot off just at the mention of it.  I can't wait to
see his face when I tell him he's your new bed buck."

     "I can't either," Mr. Naromba said with a chuckle.  "I'll hand it to
you, Geoffrey.  You really know what a guest will appreciate.  I can hardly
wait to see his expression when you introduce this 'pleasure stud' to his
new master who wants nothing more or less than fucking his new property
and, if he's really good, letting his new slave suck him off."

     Within minutes, the white slave had been led by his leash behind the
two masters into the airconditioned manor where, just as Geoffrey had said,
a magnificently muscled black slave stood ready and waiting - his huge
prick fully erect, his handsome face in an expectant smile, and his body
advantageously posed for a new mistress' consideration of her new pleasure
stud.

     When he saw the black slave dealer from Nigeria enter with his current
owner, along with a magnificent white slave dutifully following behind his
master on a leash, he quickly looked beyond them for a free female.  Seeing
none, his eyes quickly swept beyond the doorway looking for the white
mistress he was to be given to.

     "Full display for your new owner's inspection, slave," Geoffrey said
brightly, waving his hand toward the Nigerian dealer. "Your new master
especially likes big blacks that are very heavy hung for his bed bucks,"
Geoffrey said as he reached forward and hefted the slave's heavy balls.
"And," he winked at Mr. Naromba before looking the black slave straight in
the eye, "your new master especially likes big black slaves who deeply
resent being sexually used by their masters - knowing they can't do
anything but fully cooperate in the full exploitation of the pleasure their
own body might offer a sophisticated male owner."

     "But, master, I thought .. I thought ...you said.. I was going to be
given to a mistress," the muscle bound black slave blurted out in his
frustration, knowing as he said it he would be painfully whipped to
unconsciousness for his impertinence.

     "Slaves shouldn't think," Geoffrey said, "except as it should please
their owners.  I mentioned giving you to a mistress because I knew, no
matter how thorough your training to date, you have never abandoned your
natural heterosexual proclivities.  But, never mind, slaves can't afford
such luxuries as you well know by now, having serviced men exclusively (and
intensively I might add) during your enslavement.  If a master wants to bed
you down, then that's the way it will be.  It's your job to make sure it's
the best bedding down he's ever experienced.  You may never again be put to
a woman - who knows?  On the other hand, your new owner may sell you off to
fuck donkeys in the future or have you shirred and placed in a brothel of
eunuchs.  As a slave, your fate is entirely in other's hands now as you
well know.  My guess is that when your appeal in bed wanes - as it will
some day - when you're well into your 40s probably - that then you may be
sold off to be put to stud.  But until then, stop sniveling around and
display your body to your new master the very best you know how if you know
what's good for you."

     "Yes, master," the black slave said with a soft sob as he turned his
body toward the Nigerian dealer and thrust his pelvis out for full display
of his manly charms as his hands clasped in back of his neck to best
display his upper body - an action almost automatic in him since he has
done it thousands and thousands of times since being a slave.  Tears
streamed down his beautiful face as he realized the cruel joke that had
been played on him.

     But his disappointment didn't keep his huge prick from responding to
the Nigerian's handling - instantly he was hard and dripping in his new
master's hands.  Resigned to his fate, he quickly got control of himself
and tried to smile as his new owner stroked him back to a full, dripping
erection and then ordered him to bend over so he could check out his hole -
something every master got around to in very short order whenever they had
access to his body.  Once again, he found himself bent over with widely
spaced legs, his hole open and being explored fully.  Sighing, he relaxed
to the prying fingers and accepted his fate once again.  He knew his old
master hadn't exaggerated the fate of well-built slaves like himself.  One
of his cage mates related how he had been ordered to fuck all sorts of
weird animals at a previous owner's entertainment in front of hundreds of
guests.  And another one had narrowly escaped being turned into a eunuch
for a local businessman who had a private collection of handsome "unmanned"
house slaves.

     "Just what I like," Mr. Naromba said as he ran his hands over the
velvety skin of his new possession, reaching around with his other hand to
squeeze and pinch the slave's prominent tits.  "Thanks, Geoffrey.  This is
a perfect gift.  Now, if you'll excuse me, get a slave to show me to my
quarters.  I don't want to waste a minute in getting this boy bedded down."

     Geoffrey laughed and, with a motion of his finger, indicated a nearby
house slave should show the Nigerian to his guest suite, the new
hospitality gift in tow, still trying to control his tears.

TRYING OUT THE NIGERIAN'S GIFT SLAVE:

     Caught between fully exploring Mr. Naromba's gift of the beautiful
white slave and being on hand to greet the other expected guests, Geoffrey
decided to fuck the new slave right on the floor of the entry way after the
slave had brought him to full erection with his sucking mouth.  That way,
if other guests did show up, he'd be on hand to greet them, albeit a little
sweaty.  But he knew his guests would understand, being in the business
they were!

     "On your knees, slave," Geoffrey ordered.  "Suck me all the way down
your throat until I tell you to stop, then get on your back with your legs
up over your shoulders for a thorough fucking."

     "Yes, master," the white slave replied as he quickly sunk to his knees
with his mouth wide open for sucking.

[A SLAVE REMINISCES]:

     It wasn't long before his new master was fucking his ass hard - right
in the entry way.  Despite trying to concentrate on tightening his ass
muscles appropriately to enhance his master's pleasure in using him, his
mind wandered back to his last owner, a plain looking middle aged matron of
considerable means who had bought him strictly for her own amusement.

     Under her ownership, he was rarely fucked as he was now - just a few
times had she ordered another one of her male studs to fuck him as a party
entertainment.

     But he had to fuck - a lot!  But never other males - it was almost
always his mistress and a number of her favored friends.  Somehow, and it
was hard to explain even to himself, he was far more humiliated and shamed
being put to pleasuring his female owner than he had ever been a male
owner.  He didn't know what it was.

     Maybe because, prior to his enslavement, fucking a female was always
where he initiated the act and he was in charge.  That was hardly true with
his former mistress.  He had to fuck her whenever she pleased wherever she
wanted however she wanted it done - whether it was privately before
breakfast in her bed or after supper on the floor in front of a score of
people staring at him plunging in and out of her, always under her specific
and very direct commands.  She invariably forbid him to enjoy a
debilitating orgasm so she could use him just as long as she wanted - even
if she wanted to be fucked for hours on end.  Since there was no relief for
him, he viewed it as what it was from his viewpoint - a slave's duty to
please his owner, nothing more, nothing less. A woman using her property.

     Somehow, being fucked by a male owner seemed more 'natural.'  First,
you were generally passive - a slave's role in life.  Second, male users
often let you shoot off in the process so there was pleasure in it for the
slave as well as the master although giving the slave relief was never the
intent - more of a side effect. Third, there was no connection, at least in
his case, with his sex life before enslavement - being fucked up his ass or
sucking a master's prick down his throat was strictly part of his life as a
slave where he wasn't responsible for what he did as long as he followed
his master's orders.

     Yes, being fucked like he was right now - even in the open doorway -
wasn't anything like serving stud to a demanding old woman which seemed
somehow perverted by comparison.

     He squirmed around the huge organ driven well up his ass in
acknowledgment that his lot in life was improving with new ownership.  He
marveled at the size of his new owner's organ - almost as big as his - and
his new master's enthusiasm in delivering a sound fucking.  His new owner
was obviously still young and vigorous enough to take his pleasure very
physically. Even if he had any choice in the matter - and he was well aware
he didn't - he might well have chosen the man fucking him so forcefully as
a potential bed mate where male slaves were usually limited to sex with
their own kind if not with a master.  Even back in the dealer's slave pens,
where fucking each other was a regular occurrence the minute the guards had
gone to sleep, he might well have sought out someone looking a lot like his
new owner to fuck him - he was that good looking!

     The slave in his reverie was the first to hear the approaching
footsteps just as his new owner plunged his huge shaft all the way up his
stretched chute.

     "Ump," the slave groaned as he broke out in a full sweat, squirming to
adjust to the stretching.

THE DEALER FROM NEW YORK:

     "Geoffrey," the New York dealer said just as the white slave being
fucked was groaning on the floor. "I hope I'm not arriving at an
inconvenient time - or maybe it's a convenient time since that slaveboy
you're fucking is a mighty sexy animal if I do say so."

     Geoffrey looked up and smiled with a quick "Hi" and then continued
fucking the boy but with new haste until he finally plunged all the way in,
arched his back, and groaned as he unloaded in spasm after spasm into the
slave's clenched ass which was already oozing white cum and lots of lube
around his hole's stretched opening.  When he was fully drained, he
withdrew abruptly, let the slave quickly clean his huge organ with his
eager suctioning mouth and then slowly got up on his feet to greet his new
guest properly.

     "I'm surprised the slaveboy's white," the freshly arrived dealer
rambled on, undeterred by the grunting and groaning going on beneath him.
Apparently, I'm not the only one around who owns mainly black stock, but
still likes to fuck an appealing white slave given the chance.  Are you
going to give me a chance at him when you're through?" he blatantly asked.

     "You sort of caught me with my pants down," Geoffrey laughed as the
white slave he'd just fucked also struggled to his feet to assume a proper
position behind his new master, warm cum streaming down his legs as he got
upright with his legs properly spread wide, his balls swollen in need
matching his pulsating hard prick, and his head lowered as far as his neck
collar would allow.

     "Our Nigerian friend was the first to arrive with this house gift in
tow.  I thought I'd try him out while waiting for the rest of you to
arrive, but I see my timing was a bit off," he laughed.

     "Makes sense," the New Yorker replied, "but where's the Nigerian
dealer - Mr. Narowba, isn't it?"

     "Well, my guess he's in his guest suite doing the same thing I was up
to - fucking the hell out of my little hospitality gift to him - a huge
black animal hung like a horse.  That big muscle stud I gave him is
probably wondering about right now whether he's going to be split in half
or just suffer a sore asshole," Geoffrey chuckled.

     "Yeah, Mr. Narowba's hung like a bull himself as I recall," the New
Yorker laughed.

     "Speaking of being hung, I brought you a little house gift that'll
enter the record books I think." Turning around to look at the fully
clothed young man simply standing quietly behind him he ordered "Strip,
boy."

     "Oh, he's a slave?" Geoffrey said.  "I didn't know if he was a friend
you brought or some relative.  All that clothing fooled me and I didn't
notice a collar."

     The person under discussion never said a word but quickly removed his
shoes, shirt, pants, and socks until he was totally naked and then, without
being ordered, assumed the position all slaves are trained to take to fully
display their bodies.

     Geoffrey stared at the handsome light yellow, very muscular body
displayed in front of him.  He had blond hair cropped short, a strikingly
handsome face highlighted by high creek bones and heavily lashed blue eyes,
powerful muscles well defined in his arms and chest, and a loose
"ownership" necklace around his thick neck instead of the traditional tight
slave collar (with his slave name, his owner's name and address, as well as
a reward notice engraved on the pendant).  Burnt neatly into his sculpted
right pec was a large ownership mark with his slave identification number
tattooed onto the lower extremities of both arms.  Below his heavily
sculpted muscular abs was his extraordinarily massive sexual equipment,
appearing even bigger than it was.  This was due to the fact his naturally
hairless body had obviously been shaven clean in this area and his balls,
along with the base of his prick, had a thick ring clinched around the
whole of them, forcing the package up and out from his muscular body so
that it appeared suspended in space. [No wonder the crotch of his pants was
stretched to the bursting point in his crotch when Geoffrey had first seen
him clothed]. Below that, Geoffrey studied the heavy muscular thighs, the
sturdy calves, and even the thin ankles gracing the boy's feet.  At least
from the front, the boy was breathtaking!


     Geoffrey motioned with his fingers for the boy to display himself from
the back.  There, he was confronted with a tapered back featuring well
defined muscles, skin that was creamy smooth and flawless totally unmarked
by whip scars, and a butt that was perfect: uplifted to the point of being
jaunty; rounded to the point of being two distinct bubbles in suspension.
The left butt was highlighted by another ownership mark, this brand exactly
the same as the one on his right pec and just as neatly burnt into his
flesh.

     "Your hole?" Geoffrey ordered.

     Instantly, the slave boy spread his legs wide apart, bending over
fully, but using his hands to pull his ass cheeks as far apart as possible,
exposing a small tight-lipped hole that looked clean and inviting yet was
obviously not virginal.  When Geoffrey stuck his index finger in
tentatively, the hole seemed to suck his finger in fully as the ass lips of
the slave quivered in response to the stimulation.

     "You like?" the New York dealer smiled.

     "Indeed I do, Mark, at least so far," Geoffrey said.  "How old is the
slave?"

     "Nineteen, and trained to perfection," Mark Sicillia, the New York
dealer responded.

     "He'd have to be fully trained to be presented like this, Mark.  No
collar on this animal?  With clothes on, I didn't even know he was a
slave," Geoffrey said in amazement. "Do you think that's wise?"

     "Well, it's sure easier to get them through the airports these days,"
Mark Sicillia said, "and this boy has been in training for 19 years
anyway."

     "You mean he's a......"

     "He's bred alright.  Bred and trained to be a slave since day one.
Geoffrey, that's what's special about him.  My gift to you is the very
first product of our breeding operations.  I wanted to give you something
really special and I thought you'd like the first of our new line better
than anything.  Who knows?  He may become a collector's item sometime."

     "He's beautiful," Geoffrey said as he hefted the huge phallus up for a
closer inspection.

     "Well, I know we all agreed to bring you white skinned gifts this time
around, but, Geoffrey, I just had to deviate a little in this case.  The
boy's not really white as no doubt you can tell now that's he's in the
buff, but he's close.  He's been bred from a quadroon stud put to a white
brood.  That would make him seven-eights white - that's a lot whiter than
any slave I ever saw here at Oceanum, so I figured it was O.K. to give you
an 'almost' white slave.  I really do hope that his striking beauty makes
up for that tiny little trace of black blood in him.  I doubt when you fuck
him you'll notice any difference at all from that pure white slave you just
fucked on the floor here.  But I bet this boy's better trained than even
that white slave Jaco gave you."

     Geoffrey continued stroking the massive dripping shaft of the slave
being discussed.  "Mark, I didn't have a cue he wasn't pure white.  When
you get right down to it, he's whiter than you are as an Italian."

     "Well, I suppose you're right, although he's a little more yellow
overall if you look up close and we Italians are so damn hairy most of the
time," he laughed.

     "And generally, you're not hung anything like this boy here," Geoffrey
chided the New Yorker.

     "Oh, I've seem some Italian slaves that rival this boy," Mark said
defensively, "and I'm not all that small myself."

     "No, you're not!" Geoffrey said. "I was just trying to get a rise out
of you, and I see it worked," he laughed.  "Speaking of big Italian shafts,
how does this gorgeous half-breed take your big prick you're so proud of?"

     "Fine," the New York slave dealer said, "although you weren't suppose
to know I've fucked this boy five times since we left New York.  I wanted
you to think he was virginal."

     "Traveling with you?  Are you kidding?" Geoffrey laughed.  "I'm
surprised you limited yourself to five good fuckings.  If it were me alone
with this boy, with no other slaves available, I don't think I could limit
myself to a mere five."

     "You are a horny bastard, aren't you, Geoffrey?" Mark Sicillia
retorted.  "Me, I'm a refined East Coast New York type that models
self-restraint and good taste," Mark chortled.  "That's why I specialize in
the buying and selling of hot, sexy, willing and well trained
slavemeat. And, while I'm touting that line and, taking into account it's
still early, let me suggest we postpone your giving me the little
hospitality gift I suspect you have somewhere inside, and let me fuck that
new slave the Nigerian dealer just gave you while you have a trial run with
my little gift here which, Geoffrey, is officially labeled a 'mustee,' not
a half-breed.  'Mustee' means, the way I understand it, that a slave's
one-eight or less black and the rest is white.

     "Well, so much for technical details on slave breeding," the New
Yorker jabbered on. "I can see from the bulge in your pants, you're ready
to go again, and so am I.  How about it before the others show up and ruin
everything?"

     "You're on, my friend," Geoffrey laughed as he placed his hand firmly
around the 'mustee's' phallus he was still stroking and, with his other
hand, handed the leash of the newly gifted white slave to the New York
dealer.

     "He's all yours until the next guest shows up," Geoffrey said.

     Within thirty seconds, both slaves, the 'mustee' and the pure white,
were on their hands and knees with their asses open and ready for use.
Within sixty seconds, both slaves were fully stuffed and were adjusting to
a steady pistoning up their chutes as soft moans emanated from their
throats.  Within five minutes, both slaves were contracting their ass
muscles as hard as they could, exactly as they had been trained, extracting
the last vestiges of sperm out of their user's cocks, now buried deep
within them.  When their user's withdrew, the slaves hastened to clean
their user's organs completely with their eager mouths, again an action
drilled into them from the very beginning of their sexual training.

     By the time the next guest had arrived, both slaves had been sent off
to their new owner's pens where they would be fed and watered, given a
series of enemas, be body shaved once again, and oiled and lubed for use
that evening.

     The only slave now with Geoffrey and Mark Sicillia was Mr. Sicillia's
hospitality gift from his host, Geoffrey - a 6'4" super-muscular black with
a weight lifters body, the face of a beautiful young boy despite his
massive body, balls bigger than ripe peaches, and a very thick, full bodied
cock that was 11" long flaccid.  The gift slave's only adornment was a 4"
neck collar welded around his stocky neck which forced his handsome head up
at all times, thick 3" rings strung through both of his big tits, and a
large genital band forcing his sexual package into prominent display and
easy handling potential at all times.  A bright red leash attached to the
slave's genital ring matched the tinted steel of the slave's collar,
genital band, and tit rings.  The black slave had his hairless body heavily
oiled and he gleaned in the bright outdoor light - his massive musculature
reflected from every angle as he held his commanded display position that
showed off every aspect of his resplendent development.

THE MISSISSIPPI BREEDER ARRIVES:

     The display was especially appropriate considering the next guest to
arrive was none other than a person specializing in black slave development
- the Mississippi slave breeder.

     "That's one of mine!" Brett Harris, the well-known owner of the
largest slave breeding operation in the U.S., exclaimed as he quickly ran
his hands over the massive shoulders of the displayed slave and then hefted
up the banded sexual equipment, churning the entire package in his hands.

     "Correction!  Used to be one of yours," Mark Sicillia laughed.
"Geoffrey just gave the slave to me as a hospitality gift.  But until you
arrived, I didn't know I'd been given a Mississippi bred slave - I just
thought I had some magnificent black piece of merchandise bought off some
prison warden or kidnaped in the slums and then trained to perfection."

     "You old rascal, Mark.  You always assume all slaves come from the
sordid sources you rely on.  Some of us are improving the stock through
selective breeding," Brett Harris said self- righteously. "This slave here
is a perfect example of what we are striving toward."

     "Oh, Brett, you're just too cheap to actually buy slaves.  It doesn't
cost you squat to fuck up a new crop - I'm surprised you're willing to feed
them as well as you seem to until they come of age," Mark Sicillia smirked.

     "Mark, you bastard, you don't know squat about the exorbitant costs
involved in bringing a bred slave to marketable age," Brett Harris shot
back with a reddened face.

     "Mark's pulling your leg, Brett," Geoffrey intervened.  "He's now a
competitor of yours in breeding slaves for market - he just gave me the
first of the finished products - a 'white black' so to speak - a 'mustee' -
black with so much white blood in him he looks white - that's what he gave
me.  Just a hint of yellow in his hide to trace the boy's origins."

     "I'm well familiar with what a 'mustee' is, Geoffrey.  There's no need
to be patronizing to a person who bred every conceivable variation of black
slaves for two decades now, including thousands of 'mustees' or 'octoroons'
as they are sometimes called if they're exactly one-eighth pure black.
But, are you claiming we good Mississippians have to compete with New York
breeding sheds?" Brett Harris asked in amazement.  "First, what in the hell
would New Yorkers know about breeding slaves compared to those of us who
have done it for at least 300 years in one form or another?  But, with the
demand what it is, if both of us had our studs going day and night, we
couldn't possibly keep up with demand."

     The Mississippian continued in his lecture. "What we're concentrating
on is quality of product.  We're not into running some puppy mills that
seem to be springing up anywhere an owner can put two slaves together.
Hell, Mark, some guys are so greedy they're breeding brother with sister,
father with daughters - you name it - there's going to be some real genetic
flukes on the market before long and they're likely to spoil it for
everyone when it comes to bred slaves.  Just burns the hell out of me. No
better than the methods used back in the 1840s and 50s.  We've worked for
over 30 years now to deliver a real quality product that'll bring
satisfaction for years and years after purchase.  We've always aimed at
having bred slaves perceived as the best slaves available anywhere.  It's a
crying shame to let all that be spoiled by some avaricious amateurs
thinking getting a slave girl knocked up by any old prick that still shoots
cum out of it is the same as quality breeding. It's just criminal, I tell
you."

     "I'm not worried, Brett," Mark Sicillia counseled. "Quality always
pays off in the long haul.  After all, slave holders have been house
breeding their own for years - you know, offspring of a master and his
slave wench, a son's dalliance with his mother's maid - that sort of thing.
And every one with any sense breeds their own when they can - only makes
sense if you've got the stock to do it.  But to get REAL quality like what
we aim for at our New York station, you've got to have access to the very
best breeding stock to start with: top quality healthy studs and broods
that have the best genetic traits available and training facilities to turn
their whelp into the finest animals on the market.  I'm sure you're like we
are, Brett.  You pay plenty for a top stud that reeks of good health, has a
great big muscular body that's disease resistant, is super good looking,
hung like a bull, and compliant as all get out.  The same with those
wide-hipped broods that can produce 20 to 30 healthy pups before they're
all played out.  That sort of operation takes real money to start with,
lots of capital to see the product through to a long-term market, and a
reputation that will bring in top prices for the finished product.  Your
little mom-and-pop operations can't begin to compete with anything like
that.  In most cases, it's mating some little-dicked cheap scrawny buck to
some pile of bones resembling a female before she's even 14 years ago and
hoping the offspring will live long enough to get sold.  That's not
competition.  That only enhances the name products your operation, for one,
is noted for.  We've got some of your products in our breeding barns now,
Brett, which costs us plenty.  But we were happy to pay the price - we're
improving the breed too, as will everyone that wants to make real money in
slaves today."

     "Mark's right, Brett.  People like me - the big buyers - aren't going
to spend a nickel on anything but the best in class.  Me, I like blacks!
But I'm only going to pay big bucks for the best blacks on the market, not
those runts and splotchy bastards you see offered on nearly every street
corner these days that sell for next to nothing.  There's a market for the
cheap stuff I suppose.  The quarries, coal mines, steel mills, and
manufacturing plants have to have something to do all that work, but they
don't care what they look like or even how long they will last as long as
they get them cheap enough.  That's actually the mass market today and
someone has to fill it - let the mom-and-pop operations cater to that
market.  Most of those slaves, ugly as they are, don't last more than five
or six years under the heavy whip they face anyway so the market holds
steady.  But that market's so competitive you can't make any real money in
it anyway.  My God, Brett, most of them are being sold in mass labor lots
by the pound anymore - as low as 10 bucks a pound in the worst cases.
Compare that to what I pay for a good looking, well hung muscular black boy
who is well trained to do what I'm interested in - an outstanding bed buck
fully trained is bringing over 2000 dollars a pound now if you figure it
out.  Now tell me where the money's at!"

     "Case in point, Brett."  Mark Sicillia said.  "I don't know what
Geoffrey paid for this boy or where he bought him, but, as you yourself
pointed out, he's a product of your breeding operation down in Mississippi.
I don't know how many masters or mistresses he's had since he was
originally sold or what his duties were over the years, but, even now - I
would guess him to be no more than 22 now - I could easily sell him for
$650,000 back in New York - probably $750,000 if I happened to find the
right buyer.  That's value that holds up over the years.  And you know
what, the slave's worth it!  Perfectly trained, a 'best of class' offering
at any market in the world, and an big, eager prick and sexual willingness
that puts 100,000 other slaves to shame.  You don't see anything like this
at your neighborhood dealers!" he announced as he reached down and roughly
stroked the slave's monstrous shaft to a full dripping erection.

     "Look at this slaveboy!  You don't see this everyday - nosiree.  Why
just the other day, I sold a boy very similar to this to an ugly old German
women in her sixties looking for a little excitement in her life and that
old hag plunked down $850,000 for a stud just two years younger and not a
twit better looking or better hung than this slave right here," Mark
Sicillia continued.

     "God, what an easy life that slave had," Brett said.  "Probably a
couple of good fucks a day and the old lady thinks she's in paradise.  That
black boy probably thought he too had reached paradise until it dawns on
him it's boring as hell.  That slaveboy's only hope is if the old lady
starts loaning him out to her friends.  If she's the friendly type with
lots of friends, the stud's going to earn his keep," he laughed.

     "But, Mark, I see your point and it's well taken," Brett got back to
the topic at hand. "Stick with quality - both of us as competitors - and
we'll both have a big market clamoring for our products as fast as we can
get them to market.  It's certainly that way currently and I doubt if your
New York breeding operation is going to put much of a dent in the market.
How many do you plan to market when you reach full production, Mark?"

     "Just a 100 or so a year, Brett, so you don't have to sweat even if
they are perfection itself.  Compared to your output, it's like a grain of
sand on a beach."

     "If this animal here is an example of what we can expect out of your
barns, I imagine sophisticated buyers will have to get on a waiting list
for them," Brett said enthusiastically, a slave breeder to the core.  "I
wouldn't mind owning a couple of them myself as studs."

     "If you're serious, I'll call you when the next two males come down
the line," Mark said, "but they'll be expensive."

     "You call me, Mark," Brett said.  "And don't worry about the price.
We pay plenty for a top quality stud we can use for years. I've paid as
much as a million for a young stud who had all the genetic traits we were
looking for and then some.  We write the cost off over a 20 year period.
Mark, since you're new to the business, do you realize you can get 5000 top
quality slaves out of a single stud if it's managed right. For a million
dollar stud, that boils down to only about 200 dollars stud fee for each
new slave down the line."

     "Is that what you charge as a stud fee to outside contractors?"  Mark
asked.  "I ask because already we're getting inquiries from people that own
a few females they want impregnated for a little extra profit."

     "We get that all the time and only accommodate them if the stud isn't
pushed to quota.  But, in that case, if we're talking about a top quality
stud that costs us plenty to start with, we charge them a minimum $2000
stud fee but throw in a money-back guarantee.  That means the stud has to
keep mounting the wench until she's pregnant and still allows us a decent
profit," Brett explained.

     "And you can get it?" Mark asked.

     "We've got a waiting list for our best studs," Brett said.  "I'm
thinking of raising the fee to $3000.  I don't think most people would bat
an eyelash paying it - all they're thinking about is the beautiful well
built baby they're going to get to market in 17 to 18 years for some
tremendous price."

     "Well, regardless of renting the studs out, how many are you going to
produce each year now that you've expanded, Brett?" Geoffrey asked out of
curiosity.

     "Hopefully, around five to six thousand if all goes well - all male."

     "Jesus, that's a lot of fucking," Geoffrey laughed.  "It must smell
for miles around - sort of like my sperm producing operation reeks of hot
cum around the clock."

     "Hell, our neighbors like the smell - says it spruces up their sex
life," Brett laughed.

     "But enough of this chit-chat, Geoffrey," Brett said with enthusiasm.
I almost forgot the house gift I brought all the way just for you.  It's
special, at least for us.  He's pure white and we didn't breed him either.
But I can't waste time talking about him - let me show him to you.  It will
just take me a minute.  I leashed him right outside the door so he'd be a
surprise when the time came and that time is right now."

     Without further ado, Brett Harris walked out the entry doors and
returned a minute later leading a remarkably handsome young white man
behind him attached by a leash to one of the slave's nipple rings.  The
totally nude slave had curly sand-colored hair, green eyes, a beautiful
complexion, huge, almost overly developed musculature, and sexual organs
that were, well, unbelievable on a mere slave.

     "Isn't he something," Brett exclaimed.  "Bought him in Miami at a
close out sale of a drug lord trying to downsize.  He's a Puerto Rican,
according to the drug guy, enslaved by the Mafia for cheating on a drug
deal when he was 17, and given to the guy I bought him off of as a bonus by
the organization after they'd broken him to his slavedom, branded him with
their ownership mark, and trained him completely to meet the tastes of
anyone - absolutely anyone - they chose to give him to.  He wasn't really
so much a bonus as a sales prize for the dealer with the best sales over
the past year.  The Mafia man that won down in Miami enjoyed him for three
years, including sharing him with a lot of his friends, relatives,
customers, and the drug dealers under him, but then decided to retire and
didn't want all the baggage - he had over 20 slaves for his enjoyment as it
was.  So he offered him to me as a potential stud. But we're overloaded
with white studs right now and had no use for him, but I thought of you and
your hint you'd like to try out a few white slaves for a chance.  So - here
he is - all yours!"

     "He's something all right," the New York slave dealer licked his lips.
"Jesus, what a stud he'd make at our operation."

     "Maybe in the future, Mark, but for the immediate future, this boy is
going to warm my bed," Geoffrey smiled as he graciously took the tit leash
from Brett's hand.  "Thanks, Brett.  This one makes even my best black boys
look boring."  With that comment, Geoffrey reached down and hefted the
gigantic organ in his hand which quickly hardened.

     "How may I please my handsome new master?" the beautiful Puerto Rican
queried with a beauteous smile as he thrust his pelvis forward to make
handling his sex easier and dared to look Geoffrey straight in the eye with
an inviting glint.

     "Eager, isn't he," Geoffrey responded.  "Tell me, Brett, what was the
last time this slave unloaded?"

     Brett flushed a little in embarrassment.  "Would you believe 30
minutes ago when I fucked him right before we arrived?"

     "For old times sake?" Geoffrey laughed.  "I don't blame you looking
like he does, but I take it he shoots off when you fuck him?"

     "Unless you order him not to, Geoffrey.  The slave seems to really get
his jollies being fucked."

     "Great," Geoffrey smiled.  "He's going to get to unload a lot here in
Oceanum - and that's before we start milking him on a regular production
schedule."

     "I thought of you the minute I first saw him down in that Miami guy's
mansion."

     "Well, I appreciate that very much, Brett.  He looks like a great
gift.  If I wasn't all tuckered out by the games Mark and I were playing
with the other slave, I'd put him to the test right now.  But, as it is,
I'm afraid he'll have to wait until dinner time.  By then, he'll look
mighty good when the dessert course rolls around."

     Turning to go inside the house, he jerked the tit leash of the new
gift, leading him behind his guests into the house.  Handing the leash to
one of his slave handlers, he instructed that the slave be taken to the
pens, thoroughly flushed, shaved, oiled, and lubed, and then fastened by
his tit leash atop the dining table directly in front of him.

     "He'll make a great table decoration," he laughed as the handler
nodded his understanding.  "But make sure he's leashed so I have full
access to his bodily charms."

     Mark and Brett rolled their eyes, thinking of the forthcoming dinner
as soon as the remaining guests arrived.

JAMIL AND MR. YUROK ARRIVE TOGETHER

     No sooner had Geoffrey made arrangements for the Mafia-trained Puerto
Rican slave to be utilized as the dinner's table decoration than the last
two invited guests arrived, surprisingly, together.

     "Jamil combined business with pleasure," Boris Yurok explained as the
distinguished looking middle-aged Ukrainian slave dealer strode up the
mansion's main entrance alongside Jamil, the young and very handsome Middle
Eastern dealer who Geoffrey had done so much business with in the past.
"He flew up to Kiev three days ago, bought up a lot of 50 blue-eyed blonds
to sell in the Middle East where they're in hot demand these days.  Since
there were so many of them, we decided to take them back to Jamil's agency
in my private plane on the way down here."

     Jamil interjected, "Boris and I managed to make sure we got all those
cages off the plane around noon back at my dealership, but, as usual, it
was hot as hell and a sand storm was building up, making it hard to
breathe.  With all the sand blowing around, some of the stock got quite a
burn before we could get their cages out of the sun and in the shade and
hose them down. Sand abrades the skin you know, especially if you're not
used to it - particularly in the sensitive areas, so those blond Slavs I
bought probably thought their new owner intended to sand blast them and
then toast them before putting them on the block," he laughed.

     "It's lucky we got my jet back in the air with all the sand blowing
around," Boris said.  "I'm sorry we're late, but I suppose we're lucky to
be here at all."

     "Well, your plane must have been considerably lighter after you
emptied it of all that livestock," Geoffrey said graciously as he hugged
both of his friends.  "I'm just glad you were able to make it."

     "We didn't empty all the livestock," Jamil replied with a twinkle in
his dark eyes.

     "No, we each brought something special for you, my friend," Boris
added.  "With all that stock going down to Jamil's place, I brought a
couple of my slave handlers with me.  As soon as they clean them up,
they'll bring both Jamil's and my own house gifts up to the house.  And,
Geoffrey, look the handlers over too when they arrive.  Although I know you
wanted white skinned gifts this time around, the handlers are the type of
blacks you seem to favor and If you like them, I can give you a great price
on them - Jamil's going to buy them if you don't want them."

     Geoffrey doubled up in laughter.  "Boris Yurok, you'll be selling
slaves from the grave!  You're as bad as Jamil here who's always trying to
hustle you to buy just one more pair of balls before you leave his place.
I bet those handlers are cheap if Jamil wants to buy them if I don't.  I
admit Jamil's got some really nice stock on hand up in the front displays,
but have you ever looked in the pens way in the back out of sight.  Who he
sells those pieces of meat to I can't imagine, but some of them don't look
like they're worth feeding."

     Jamil's nostrils flared as he defended himself.  "Unlike a lot of
bigheaded dealers, I offer stock for all pocketbooks, not just the rich and
famous. Those back pens offer anyone with a little extra cash in his pocket
a chance to have a nice moist mouth on his prick or a nice hole wrapping
around his pole anytime he wants it. Even an old worn old ugly slave can do
that for a master and it doesn't cost much either.  Just the scraps off
your dinner table to feed him, a chain fastening his collar to a secure
place next to your bed, a good whip, and you're in business.  All for a
pittance compared to what you pay, Geoffrey, for that showy stuff you have
parading around everywhere."

     "I don't like to put sacks over the heads of my slaves before using
them," Geoffrey laughed.

     "Well, you can afford not to, Geoffrey, but have some compassion for
the proletariat, as Boris usually refers to my back pen customers," Jamil
responded.

     "Proles they are, all right," Boris mumbled.  "I have trouble telling
the buyers from the slaves.  Me, I don't deal in trash slaves.  I only sell
the big buck items, but some friends of mine in the business tell me it's
slave quantity, not quality, where the really big money is.  They claim if
you make only $100 a slave on a $1000 worn-out animal, but you're selling
them in lots of a 1000, you make $100,000 on one sale. My average profit on
a given sale is no where near that.  So you see their point.  Jamil,
apparently, wants to make money at both ends of the market - quality and
quantity."
     "Nothing wrong with making money wherever you can," Jamil smiled liked
a Cheshire cat.  "I've never shut my eyes to making a little profit here
and there."

     "A little profit here and there!" Geoffrey scoffed.  "Boris and I both
know you're worth hundreds of millions by now."

     "Perhaps," Jamil smiled demurely. "But one can always make more.
Dealing in human flesh has always been profitable if one knows what he is
doing.  My family has been in the trade for over 52 generations now, and
all of us have made a good living as far as I know."

     "Fifty-two generations?  Why, Jamil, that goes back to.....let's
see....around 1000 years ago.  Are you saying there were swarmy little
Jamil's peddling flesh to the unwary way back then?"  Boris asked
increduously.

     "None of them were 'swarmy' I'm sure, Boris.  They were probably as
good-looking, intelligent, and above-board as I am.  And I'm sure they were
offering a quality product at a good price even back then, and I doubt if
the customers were any more 'unwary' than they are now," Jamil smiled.  "So
you see I come by it honestly."

     "Oh, Jamil," Geoffrey laughed, "you just didn't know anything else to
do," as he affectionately grasped his friend's shoulder.

     "Well, at last," Boris commented as two heavily muscled black handlers
appeared, each with a freshly scrubbed, shaved, and oiled slave in
tow. Immediately upon their arrival next to Boris and Jamil, the handlers,
naked and collared slaves themselves, fell to their knees with their eyes
to the ground but with the leashes to the other slaves held tautly in their
hands.  The leashed slaves followed suit, making sure their legs were
spread as wide apart as possible when kneeling to allow plenty of room for
the leashes which were tugging at their genital rings assuring their sexual
equipment was pulled out from their body and fully displayed.

     "The two leashed by their balls are gifts for you, Geoffrey," Jamil
explained.  "The muscle- bound blue eyed Scandinavian with that monstrous
prick is from Boris, The brawny green-eyed Tunisian boy with the rings in
his nose and tits is from me."

     "Both are white boys - just like you said you wanted!" Boris said
delightedly. "And they're as muscular, well-built, and well hung as the
blacks you seem to favor," he added, "at least up to now," looking lewdly
at the two leashed slaves.

     "Display, all of you," Jamil commanded harshly.

     Instantly, all four slaves rose from their kneeling position and
assumed the position slaves were universally trained to assume when being
inspected.  The handler slaves dropped the leashes as they put their hands
in back of their necks, while the two gift slaves just let the leashes
dangle from their genital rings onto the ground as they spread their legs
far apart and thrust their pelvis out to best display their genitals.

     Geoffrey first looked the Tunisian boy over.  He had a beautiful
creamy light tan complexion, an almost delicate looking face with long dark
eye lashes and thick brows over his large green eyes along with high
creekbones and thin, sensitive lips which brushed against the large brass
nose ring hanging down from his septum giving him a definite "owned"
appearance which only added to his natural beauty.  Unconscious the slave
licked his lips in response to his new master's visual inspection.

     "His mouth seems too small to make him much of a cock sucker,"
Geoffrey commented as he ran his hand over the thin lips and jiggled the
nose ring to test for a tight fit.

     "You'll be pleasantly surprised, Geoffrey," Jamil said.  "His trainer
has worked hard on that shortcoming and the boy is able to deep throat even
the biggest pricks now - he's had a lot of stretching exercises."

     Geoffrey stuck his finger in the boy's mouth which was promptly
swallowed all the way down accomplished by a very tight suctioning motion
which hollowed the slave's cheeks.

     "Well, he certainly suctions powerfully," Geoffrey chuckled as he
withdrew his finger and reached down to tug on one of the boy's tit rings,
easily available since the boy's pecs, along with all his other muscles,
were extremely well developed, jutting his tits out into a most prominent
position.  "He's got big tits on him - I wonder if they were always that
way or it's a result of being ringed," he pondered aloud.

     "They've tripled in size since we ringed him.  That's not unusual, as
you probably know," Jamil said professionally. "They're nice now, aren't
they?"

     Geoffrey hefted the boy's banded genitals and admired the shaft's
unusual girth, even flaccid.

     "Measured him the other day - 6-1/2" around soft and a good 7" when
he's excited.  When we had him fucking some of the other slaveboys in
training, they squealed their heads off when he was pounding their butts.
More importantly though, Geoffrey, the boy's a literal cum machine.  You
can get a big load out of him every hour on the hour if you want.  I mean a
cup each time, regular as clock work.  Those big balls of his work
overtime," Jamil added with a dealer's flair.

     Geoffrey had the boy turn around and bend over, noticing the prominent
slave brand of Jamil's dealership on his left rump.  As Geoffrey started to
comment on the house brand, Jamil laughed.

     "Just so you don't forget who gave him to you."

     "Always advertising," Geoffrey laughed as the slave, without being
told, spread his legs wide apart and bent over as far as he could to best
display his hole to his new owner.

     Geoffrey simply ran his fingers over the small, quivering hole. "Nice
and tight, despite all the training you no doubt have put him through,"
Geoffrey commented.

     "Tight, but still able to take anything you can ram up there without
kicking up a fuss," Jamil said.  "It's the 'tightening' exercises after
they're stretched that does it," he added with some pride.


     "He looks great, Jamil.  Thanks.  I'm sure I'm going to enjoy him over
the next few years, starting..... no later than after supper if all goes
well - I think he's about third in line tonight," he chuckled.

     With a quick slap to the slave's rump as a sign the inspection was
over, the slave immediately assumed a full upright display position again
as Geoffrey moved over to the other gift displaying himself.

     "Perfect, Boris, " Geoffrey said as he ran his hands over the massive
pecs of the Scandinavian slave, now shaved to a total smoothness.  "I
always wanted a Viking for some strange reason."

     "That's understandable.  Anyone would like a blond giant around as a
change of pace surrounded by all this black flesh all the time.  A little
variety is a good thing.  I've always surrounded myself with the stock in
trade - blond Slavs.  But after you gave me that magnificent black animal I
took home with me last time, I've learned how important variety is.  I bet
I've had that black boy in my bed over half the time since you gave him to
me.  I'm still fascinated with his body despite the fact I have my choice
of at least 500 other slaves each and every night.  I can't thank you
enough for getting me out of my rut.  Now I intend to do the same to you -
get you out of your rutting only black animals," Boris laughed.

     "Well, as a matter of fact, I've already broke the addiction, in part
due to your house gift on the last visit.  I'm afraid that blond Russian is
a little worse for wear, but, afterall, when you're trying to break an
addiction to black flesh, what's a little wear and tear - we all have to
make sacrifices," Geoffrey shot back.

     "Russians are great to fuck," Boris agreed.  "We Ukrainians love to
fuck them.  They outsell my native stock three to one.  I guess we get
tired of moon-faced Ukrainians or maybe it's because they fucked us back in
the old days of the Soviet Union.  Well, whatever the reason, I'm glad
you're getting some real use out of my humble gift.  But if you like the
Russian slave, you're really going to like this slave here."

     "By God, he's big all over," Geoffrey commented as he hefted the huge
sexual organs of the Scandinavian slave and roughly massaged them in his
hand.

     "Your right," Boris chortled.  "We've put him to stud with a dozen or
so broods and half of them passed out before he had fully unloaded into
them with blood all over the place where he was tearing them up.  We got
scared he might damage some of our broods permanently, so lately we've just
had him fuck some male slaves resisting their initial training.  One
session with this slave fucking you and you forget all about resisting
anything - I mean anything - your trainer commands you to do after that.
Since then, Geoffrey, we incorporate a thorough fucking by a monstrously
dicked stud as part of any new slaveboy's training.  Calms them down right
away and that's the end of any lip or sass out of them no matter what
they're ordered to do. - when we 'it's breaking them in' we're talking
about a great deal more than just stretching their hole - it's a
psychological thing with them - changes them into thinking of themselves as
just a slave faster than anything I know of."

     "My overseers here do the same thing to keep the slaves in line,"
Geoffrey confirmed.  "In fact, most of them are fucking the slaves under
them at least daily now - they claim it's the best way to remind a slave of
just who and what he is.  They're right, I'm sure, so I allow it. At the
very least, it couldn't hurt the slaves being fucked - I've always thought
that, at least with blacks, there is nothing like being fucked to keep a
slave focused on pleasing his master."


     "Not just black slaves, Geoffrey.  All slaves," Boris stated with
confidence. "We do exactly the same thing with all the Slavs I have in the
pens.  Fucked each and every day by some well- equipped overseers.  Helps
the slaves remember just who they are now and keeps them nice and humble."

     "Turn around and show me your hole," Geoffrey ordered the huge
Scandinavian slave.

     Instantly, the slave turned so his back faced Geoffrey, spread his
legs wide apart, bent over and used his hands to spread his ass cheeks to
fully expose his hole which was obviously well used but still reasonably
tight.

     Geoffrey just as quickly jammed two fingers all the way into the
slave's hole and pumped them in and out to test for excessive looseness as
the slave groaned inaudibly in response to the familiar feeling of being
stretched.

     "A long way from being a virgin, but he's still got a few years left
in him," was the best Geoffrey could say.  At best, fucking him would be
warm and buttery, but hardly gripping.  "Maybe he makes up for it with his
mouth," he added, rather disappointed.

     "That's it, Geoffrey!" Boris quickly interjected.  "I admit he's been
over-fucked to the point no exercises are going to get him back to where he
was a few years ago, but his mouth is like a milking machine and his throat
muscles are trained to be fully open without any silly gagging or choking,
but still as tight as a vise.  This boy's throat muscles will literally
milk you dry without any effort on your part.  This slave told me he
understood the ancient Vikings took great pride in their oral abilities and
he was simply following in that tradition when I asked him about it."

     "Sounds interesting," Geoffrey admitted.

     "I'm giving him to you primarily for his mouth," Boris said, "not his
worn out ass.  But he'd also be might also be useful along the way fucking
some of your troublesome slaves as a good punishment and, if you get into
breeding, he'd make a great stud."

     "A great cock sucker for me with the potential of being a powerful
discipliner when he's ordered to fuck some slaves getting out of line,"
Geoffrey summarized.  "And, Boris, he's great to just look at - with all
those muscles, that beautiful skin, and that fabulous banded package of
his."

     "Well, enjoy the white property.  And when you tire of his charms,
think what he'll bring at most any market in the world. You could always
trade him in for some splendiferous black boy," Boris added
enthusiastically.

     "What about the handlers?" Jamil interjected.  "Any interest?  Boris
and I picked them out special for your perusal.  They're as close to what
your Oceanum stock is like as we could find: coffee colored, super good
looking, well built, heavy hung, and eager to please."

     The two black slaves tensed in their display position, aware they were
the focus of their master's attention now.  Their huge circumcised pricks
rapidly swelled to full size and began to drip pre-cum, a sure sign they
hadn't been allowed to unload in some time.

     "No offense, but I personally like them better than your gift slaves
although I know I insisted you bring me white slaves.  But that doesn't
mean I don't get a real turn on from a good looking black stud and these
two are real beauties.  I'll take both of them.  How much, you two
shysters?  You knew I couldn't resist them, didn't you?"

     Boris and Jamil broke into peals of laughter.

     "You win, Jamil," Boris finally choked out amid all the laughter.
Turning to Geoffrey, he explained.

     "Jamil bet me a small Arab boy I admired that you would offer to buy
them without even asking the price, and..." he again broke into peals of
laughter, "and...he won, hands down.  Now I'm going to have to give him a
long-dicked Russian boy he had taken a fancy to."

     "Despite your little games of swapping new bed bucks around between
the two of you," Geoffrey said, "I repeat...how much?"

     Again, the two dealers doubled up in laughter.

     Finally, Jamil blurted out, "$1000 each."

     "You're kidding.  They're worth at least $400,000 and I haven't even
looked them over yet."

     "No, no, Geoffrey.  Boris and I owe you so much as a long time
customer.  We decided - and we won't take no for an answer - to sell these
two blacks to you for a mere $1000 each. It's our way of saying 'thank you'
for being such a great friend as well as a good customer.  And we both knew
you'll like to bed these blacks down the minute we laid eyes on them back
at that out- of-the-way market in Brazil we both ended up at last
month. Two thousand bucks and they're yours forever.  We already have the
ownership papers made out we were so sure you'd like them."

     "I just can't let you be that generous.  Not after giving me these
great white slaves that must have cost you a fortune.  I've got to pay at
least what you paid for them at ... where was it you got them.... Brazil,
did you say?"

     "Forget it, Geoffrey.  Give us $2000 bucks and they're yours and we're
adamant about it.  So just forget it," Boris said emphatically.

     "No negotiating, Geoffrey," Jamil said.  "Just shut up, pay us the
token two grand, and sign the ownership papers. We made up our minds a long
time ago that's what we wanted to do and we're doing it - no arguments.
Case closed.  Finished!"

     "Not finished yet," Geoffrey laughed.  "Inside I've got a hospitality
gift for each of you to enjoy while you're here and then take home with
you.  But you know, I just remembered I have two more gifts for you which
will be caged and on your plane by the time you take off - a couple of good
looking black boys I getting kind of tired of fucking.  Thought you could
help me alleviate my boredom by taking them off my hands."

     "I told you, Boris," Jamil smirked. "Geoffrey always has to get the
last word in."

     "I don't know about you, Jamil, but before I start raising objections
to a good friend's over- generosity, I want to see what he's talking about.
My guess is those cages on the plane are going to hold something I could
find very appealing myself."

     "That's your loins talking, not your manners," Jamil laughed.  "But,
some of my best career decisions have been made below the belt."

     "Thanks, Geoffrey," both Jamil and Boris said simultaneously.  "As we
suspected all along, we end up getting tic for tac.  There seems to be no
way to ever give you a gift without some gift coming back.  If I remember
my American history, it's called 'Indian Giving.'"

     "The best type," Geoffrey smiled as he led the two men and his four
new slaves, two white and two black, into the house in preparation for the
dinner.  Within seconds, the slaves had been wisked off to the slave pens
in the basement, while Jamil and Boris were shown by unusually handsome
house slaves to their guest suites where their 'gift' slaves from Geoffrey
awaited them, freshly oiled and lubricated in readiness.

     As soon as they had left, Geoffrey told his chief steward his plans to
give two older, but still nice looking slaves, to these last two guests in
addition to the slaves he had already given them, no doubt having their
bodies fully explored by their new owners even as he spoke.

     "Pick out two that you feel don't fully appreciate their extreme good
fortune of ending up at such a slave haven as Oceanum," Geoffrey said
meaningfully to his steward.

     As the steward nodded submissively that he understood, he instantly
thought of two that would fit the bill perfectly.

     One was a handsome jet black 18-year-old newly enslaved boy who
flashed a look of deep resentment at the steward when he had been ordered
to his knees with his mouth open for the steward's enjoyment one evening at
bedtime.  Although he had sucked the steward off to perfection just as he
had been trained, the steward remembered that trace of resentment that
still lingered in the young boy, showing his training wasn't complete yet.
That, plus the fact the beautiful black had spit the hot cum out of his
mouth in a nearby potted palm when he thought the steward wasn't looking
instead of swallowing every drop as he'd been taught to do.

     Another that quickly came to mind was a fine looking brown 26-year-old
boy who was enslaved only a few months before the Oceanum's master had
bought him at a market in Mexico City.  The steward remembered the last
time the Mexican slave had been ordered on his hands and knees with his ass
up in the air posed for a good fucking by a very heavy hung coal black
African slave in a rehearsal for one of the master's evening
entertainments. Although the brown- skinned Mexican slave had complied
readily enough to the steward's command to take a good fucking, the steward
recalled him muttering something like "it's not right to let that freak
fuck me - he's nothing but a nigger" under his breath as the black slave
plunged into him and further speech was nigh impossible.  The Mexican was
totally unaware the steward had overheard his treacherous and certainly
prejudicial remark, but, the steward smiled, he would pay for such a poor
attitude now.

     "The two you pick are to be cleansed inside and out, oiled and lubed,
and then penned in the guest's airplane parked on the runway so they'd be
in place the minute my guests Jamil and Boris want to depart," Geoffrey
continued. .

     "Master, the plane will be stifling hot sitting in the sun and I'm
afraid the slaves will stink from their own sweat if I cage them right away
in the plane, especially if your guests stay here as long as they have
planned.."

     "A few day's sweat never hurt a slave, steward," Geoffrey replied.
"Better they sweat a little than have me face the embarrassment of
forgetting to give them away.  I doubt if their stench will matter anyway.
My guess is, that after discovering the pleasures their gift slaves they're
exploring right now can offer them on their journey home, the slaves you
pick won't be of much interest to them other than merchandise for their
next auction.  If that's the case, the next shower those slaves will ever
get is right before they're put out on the auction block for a potential
buyer God knows where.  But, if I'm wrong, and my guests want to use them
on their trip home, they can always have the slaves shower on the plane
before bedding them down."

     "Of course, master.  Forgive me, master, I should have thought of
that."

     "Yes, you should have," Geoffrey said menacingly to his long time
slave, now serving as his steward.  "A few more errors like that and I'll
have to send you over to the construction crew overseers for a little
refresher course in where you came from."

     The steward shivered, thinking of his tenure under a constant whip
working 17 hours a day in the blazing sun with his only relief being milked
once a day for his fresh cum.

     "I'll be more thoughtful in the future, master," he assured his owner.

     "You do just that," Geoffrey ended the conversation as he dismissed
his steward, still displaying a magnificent well-muscled body and
appealing, huge thickly banded semi-erect sexual organs despite his age.

     Geoffrey never doubted his orders would be carried out to perfection
but he did wonder how his steward would pick out the two slaves he wanted
on the plane - all the slaves at Oceanum seemed so settled and happy in
their new home.  But, he ventured, the steward probably saw a few things he
didn't, being a slave himself.

     The two slaves identified by the steward, the 18-year-old black and
the 26-year-old Mexican - both magnificent specimens of slaveflesh or
Geoffrey never would have bought them to start with - had no idea of what
they had done wrong when they were ordered to give each other a series of
enemas, bathe and shave each other, oil themselves down all over, and
finally, told to insert a 10x5 butt plug up each other's chute, something
they hadn't been ordered to do since their initial training period.
Shortly after that, they were marched out to the waiting airplane cargo
department (with the butt plug "fucking" them each and every step of the
way) and each slave was placed in a separate cage barely large enough to
hold their cramped bodies.  Within 72 hours, weak from lack of water and
food, temporarily unable to walk due to the cramped muscles of their
confinement, and drenched in layers of dried sweat as well as their own
urine, they each found themselves in an auction center's holding pens once
again.  One was shivering in the steppes of the Ukraine, one was sweating
profusely in the torrid heat of the Middle East.  As they were again being
douched inside and out, they could only ponder what the future would hold
for them, but from the look in their eyes of the overseer of the holding
pens, one thing was sure.  As soon as their bodies were clean once again,
they would be offered up for the overseer's personal enjoyment before being
put on display the following day.  Then, experience told them, anyone with
two coins in his pocket could do whatever he wanted with their bodies on
the pretense he was "testing them out" for a potential purchase.


THE EVENING MEAL

     Dinner that evening was rather unexciting as it turned out.  All five
dealers had taken full advantage of their hospitality gift slaves who had
drained their new masters repeatedly right up until it was time to dress
for dinner.  By the time the five arrived for the elaborate meal, it was
impossible for any one of them to even get semi-erect, let alone utilize
the eager, willing waiters, who had been picked, of course, for their
beautiful naked bodies, their huge well-shaped organs always fully erect
and dripping in need, and their seductive good looks.  At most, a few of
the black waiters were stroked a bit, a few of their balls were weighed,
and a few tits were massaged, but the waiters could hardly hide their
disappointment at not being involved in some heavy action where they had a
chance of alleviating their heavy (and constant) need. Even the fabulous
new white slave given to Geoffrey leashed to the table as a decoration got
only a few glances of lustful appreciation.

     The entertainment offered was equally unsuccessful in arousing the
spent guests, although it was beautifully done and was, well, very
entertaining in and of its own right. Throughout the evening, absolutely
breathtakingly beautiful specimens of black manhood sucked and fucked each
other to classical music so gracefully it looked like it had been carefully
choreographed.  The cast chosen for the evening's performance was
apparently indefatigable - each black slave involved must have shot off no
less than eight times before the dinner concluded.  Every person in the
audience, all dealing in slaveflesh their whole adult life, knew how you
produced studs like that - they obviously hadn't been allowed any outlet
for at least a month, suffering constant need and swollen balls until the
big event planned by their master all the while being exposed to a constant
barrage of sexual fondling, witnessing and smelling other slaves fucking
and sucking each other off within their immediate surround, and even shown
pornography around the clock - all the while forbidden, under threat of
death, of alleviating their need.  All so they could put on a good show
when scheduled.

     But they had put on a good show and now, at last, they had been
granted some relief, albeit a totally public relief.  They were grateful
their master had been so generous with his prize studs, well aware other
masters were often never this generous in that they wanted a constant show
of urgent need with no relief ever.

     After dinner, Geoffrey, himself still trying to recover from use of
the gifts he had been given that afternoon, suggested everyone retire early
with breakfast scheduled rather late - around 10 A.M.  After breakfast, he
said he had a few things he hadn't had time to show them previously that he
thought would be of interest to them.  Then, he continued, he had planned a
late lunch followed by an afternoon siesta where they could all enjoy the
full use of his hospitality gifts as well as the house slaves assigned to
their suite and, around 7:00 P.M. they would again gather as a full banquet
was planned but this time without much formal entertainment so that they
would have plenty of time for the discussions they had so enjoyed on their
last visit to Oceanum.  Of course, he quickly added, there would always be
waiters in attendance so any of their needs could be met on the spot if
desired.

     This last comment brought a few chuckles, but all indicated the plan
sounded excellent.

     "You've piqued by curiosity about these 'new things' you want to show
us, Geoffrey, but I'm sure I can divert my interest into use of that
handsome black you've given me.  He's even better than the last one you
gave me," Jamil said and the other dealers all spontaneously clapped in
full appreciation of their host with 'amens; and 'hoo-dahs' adding to their
thanks.

     All of the guests took one last look around the dining room where all
the waiters still stood in full display, their hard pricks dripping in need
as their eyes pleaded for use and the 'table decoration,' his body gleaming
in sweat, looked frantic in pent-up frustration to unload his swollen
balls.

     "I'll feel considerably more hospitable if each of you took at least
one of the waiters back to your suites with you.  No matter how you feel
right now, you never know when you might wake up and want to try one of
them out.  At least, you'd have something new and different on hand when
you first woke up the morning and wanted perhaps a little hot cum wake-up
drink or a hot hole to take care of that early-morning erection," Geoffrey
said graciously.  "Each of you should take at least one of them - just in
case - you never know."

     There was a short period of looking all the waiters over again, and
then each of Geoffrey's guests beckoned first one waiter and then another
over to feel their balls, stroke their shafts, milk a little pre-cum out of
them for a quick taste, or fondle their pecs and abs or tits and butts to
get an appreciation of their musculature and skin texture. Finally, after
examining a few of the slaves most appealing to them, they each fastened a
leash (conveniently lying beside their dessert plate) to the genital rings
of the one or two they finally selected.

     The dealers quietly departed to their suites, the chosen waiters
heeling tightly behind them due to the short genital leashes, smiles all
over their faces knowing they had a possibility of being drained sometime
before breakfast if they were lucky.  The waiters not chosen, still
dripping pre- cum in need, hid their disappointment as they quickly went
about the task of clearing the dining room and then completely cleaning the
room, including all the pre-cum that had dripped out of their pricks all
over the floor during the course of the evening, Following house procedures
laid down by the current steward, all those drippings were tongue cleaned
by those who put it there to start with.  So, you could say, the floor was
"spit polished" and the waiters at least got something tasty to eat before
the evening was out.

GEOFFREY'S FIRST PLANNED EVENT:

     Breakfast the next morning saw everyone refreshed and ready to go if
you overlooked some of the waiters who had been chosen to accompany
Geoffrey's guests back to their suites.  They looked sort of haggard and
most of them were struggling to show hard as they were trained to do when
on duty, a tell-tale sign they had been well used at some point during the
night.  The five dealers all ate a hearty breakfast in anticipation of the
planned visits Geoffrey had mentioned before retiring the previous evening.

     "Just follow my lead in the rickshaws awaiting us," Geoffrey
announced.  "There's a separate rickshaw for each of us, but our first stop
is quite a ways.  You're going to have to use the whip rigorously to keep
the pace up on this long a trip.  The dray slaves are used to it."

     As Geoffrey and the five dealers stepped outside to the main entrance
of the Oceanum manor house, six well-polished rickshaws were already in
line, each with a huge, heavily muscled black slave between the poles.
Each of the animals was decorated to match the rickshaws: a large red plume
adorned their heads held on by a tight head band which also helped keep the
sweat out of their eyes; a large brass ring in their noses was attached to
the lead reins; tiny bells were fastened to their large tit rings as well
as to the thick genital bands surrounding their sexual organs which forced
them into full protrusion as well as served as an unusual permanent metal
athletic supporter of sorts; and tight and very tall neck collars, fitted
with long protruding razor sharp metal spikes, forced their heads into a
constant upright position despite the strain put upon their body by the
heavy loads they would be pulling.  A tight fitting red leather harness
fitted to outline their pectoral and back muscles completed their attire.

     Each of the dealers, familiar with Geoffrey's penchant for rickshaws,
got into the vehicle awaiting him and, following Geoffrey's lead, picked up
the long red leather whip from the seat.  As Geoffrey slashed the whip over
the rump of his hitched slave to start the procession, the others did
likewise as the black slaves stifled their screams in response to the whip
tearing into their flesh.  Geoffrey continued to lash his slave until the
pace was brisk; his guests had to follow suit with their own dray animals
to keep up.  Soon the small caravan was zooming down the macadam road clear
to the other side of the island where the road took an upward slant as it
climbed up a mountain side.  The bells attached to their tit rings as well
as their genital bands tingled in harmony with their constantly swaying
muscles.

     "Lay it on heavy," Geoffrey shouted back as, taking the whip firmly in
his right hand, he began to flog the back, shoulders, rump, and thighs of
the harnessed slave directly in front of him.  "They need some
encouragement for grades this steep."

     The guests followed Geoffrey's example and soon all six slaves's
backsides were red with blood as the whips tore their backs up, their
screams of agony practically drowned out by their gasps to fill their
tortured lungs.  Sweat covered every portion of their bodies from head to
foot and flew off their bodies, along with droplets of blood, as the wind
whipped by them. The groans of agony from their pain-racked backs and the
frantic panting of their lungs drowned out the melodious sound of the
tingling bells.

     After 10 more minutes, Geoffrey jerked back on the reins attached to
his slave's nose ring (acknowledged by a scream of pain) to bring the
conveyance to a halt and laid the blood soaked whip back on the seat as the
slave struggled to stay upright between the poles, gasping for air.  His
guests did likewise, but as all were alighting they couldn't help noticing
that none of the slaves had been able to keep their heads fully upright the
entire trip, especially on the long climb up the mountain.  The razor sharp
spikes from their collars had taken its toll on their massive pectorals
which were now bleeding almost as bad as their backs.

     "Quite an exciting ride," Brett Harris commented as he studied his
blood soaked whip.  "You don't see rickshaws used much where I come from."

     "Nor in the Ukraine," Boris Yurok added. "It's a sport all to itself,"
he said as he studied the huge animal that had been hitched to his
rickshaw, the black's huge muscles quivering from the heavy use they had
been put to, sweat dripping off the end of his huge banded shaft.

     "They need a little more training," Geoffrey apologized.  "They still
haven't learned to keep their blood from splattering back on their driver
occasionally, especially in those long uphill inclines.  A trainer in
Yugoslavia told me to give them a shot of blood thickeners right before
they're hitched up and you can generally solve the problem.  I should have
done that - I'll have them properly punished for making such a mess, of
course, but, in the interim, I apologize.  I'll pretty well spattered
myself, as he wiped a few traces of blood off of his face and arms."

     The guests, equally messed, wiped the excesses off and followed
Geoffrey into a small factory atop the mountainside with an intriguing sign
outside the entrance: "Oceanum Rendering, Inc."

     "This is one of several operations I didn't have time to show you on
your last visit," Geoffrey explained as he took his guests into a sparkling
clean white room with large stainless steel tables placed neatly in rows
with immaculately clean naked slaves working busily away on bodies
stretched out on each table.  "It's turned out to be quite profitable."

     "Rendering?"  Mr. Narowba asked.  "Rendering what?"

     "Slaves," Geoffrey answered simply.  When Mr. Narowba and the others
look puzzled, Geoffrey explained.

     "The best thing to keep a slave's resale value up is, as you all know,
a sound scientifically based diet with no frills, lots of good hard
exercise, a chance for some decent sleep, and good, sound discipline backed
up with the whip or electric prods.  Some claim draining their balls at
least once a week helps considerably, but there's no solid proof of that to
date although we do know nutted slaves tend to resist aging somewhat better
than those with their balls intact.

     "But, regardless of good care, there comes a day, usually when the
slave is in his 40s, when the symptoms of age begin to show and that's when
you have two choices: sell the animal for whatever you can get at a good
livestock auction; or 'render' his body for whatever price his components
will get on the open market.  Me, I'm going this latter route because,
frankly, guys, it's considerable more profitable these days."

     "More profitable than trading them in on younger stock?" Mark Sicillia
asked.  "That's what I do despite the heavy losses I take on their trade-in
value."

     "Yes, more profitable, Mark," Geoffrey replied, "at least in my
experience.  If you don't trade them in until some symptoms of age are
being to show, you don't get much for them anymore at auction - they're
just too many of them available and it's driven the trade-in price down to
the level of trash slaves.  That's why they always end up in the back pens
half-starved begging someone to buy them so they'll get fed.

     "Well, that's generally where we get the trash slaves we can offer
dirt cheap to the middle class," Jamil said defensively.  "The only thing
trash slaves have going for them is their super low price.  But, Geoffrey,"
Jamil continued, "there are getting to be too many of them on the market.
It's getting to the point where I can't get enough out of them on the sales
block to even pay for the cost of feeding the miserable bastards awaiting
sale."

     "Well, there you have the dilemma," Geoffrey said as the slaves
beneath them in the workroom busily worked away on the bodies laid out on
the tables.

     "Now here's what I'm doing about my stock when they loose their
attractiveness.  One, if they are still disease free, I sell all of their
organs to the underground organ suppliers that have sprung up in every
country in the world what with the latest medical advances.  I get $10,000
minimum for a good heart; $15,000 for a good kidney; $18,000 for a set of
lungs; $14,000 for a liver; $8,000 for each cochlea, $9,000 for each
retina, about $8000 a square foot for transferable good quality skin (but
black skin has a limited market); $11,000 for a heavy producing set of
balls; and only about $2000 for a good sized prick - that price is so low
because generally only blacks want a black prick on them.  I know the
prices are peanuts compared to what a recipient pays the surgeons for those
same parts, but, hey, everyone's got their hand out when it comes to
selling these organs on the black market. I know you're surprised at how
little these organs are getting, but it's the greedy surgeons that are
making the big bucks.  They're marking the products up 10 to 20 times over
what they're paying in most cases.  Talk about raw greed!


     "But you can get considerably more if you're selling white parts -
there's just more demand and this whole enterprise is simple supply and
demand, after all.  But, regardless of their hide, it all adds up, and even
before I get to the rest of the 'rendering,' you've made a hell of a lot
more off their individual body parts than you would ever get as a complete
package still fully functional and breathing.

     "But, after the sellable organs are gone, there's still a lot left in
that hacked-up body.  And it's that little extra where you can make quite a
bit of additional profit."

     "You sure you get more for the individual parts than a whole slave
still smiling at you with a big hard-on begging to be fucked?" the Nigerian
guest asked skeptically.

     "Anymore you do, Jaco, with the markets as overloaded as they are with
aging slave stock.  It's the same as with cars, I'm afraid.  They
overproduce, shell out big rebates to clear the lots, and in the process
undersell the used car market, forcing the price of a good used car down to
next to nothing despite the fact there is a lot of wear left in the car.
The slave market just parallels that situation.  Demand has gone up, but
supply has gone up even more what with all the prisoners of war,
overcrowded prisons, and a more tolerant attitude toward "getting rid" of
society's problems without too many overt concerns, let alone all the
breeding operations reaching full capacity around the globe churning out
slaves so perfect, the rest of them look like trash. The end result:
selling their parts off brings in more than keeping them around eating
their owners out of house and home.

     "Your facts are irrefutable," Boris said.  "But I am curious about one
little technicality.  You mentioned skin for transplants.  I thought that
had to be done when the body's blood supply was still functional, in other
words, when the slave was still alive."

     "I can see you've sold some of your stock's skin now and then,"
Geoffrey laughed.  "You're right, it's got to be stripped off while the
slave's heart is still pumping away, but you take their heart right after
you've stripped them, so they really don't have long to endure the ordeal.
Probably no worst than enduring a thorough flogging that generally strips
most of the skin off your back anyway.  I imagine some slaves are more or
less use to the feeling."

     "Probably," Mark Sicillia added.  "After a good correctional beating,
so many of the bastards in my training pens mutter they wish they were dead
or something like that - well, Geoffrey here is just granting them their
wish."

     "As I mentioned previously, you still have a lot of parts left that
can turn a profit," Geoffrey got the conversation back on track.

     "Like what?" Brett Harris asked.  "Is that where the 'rendering' comes
in?"

     "Exactly, Brett," Geoffrey answered, "athough technically you're
'rendering' when you take those organs out for sale. But, after the organs
are gone and on their way to some new body to continue their function,
there's still plenty of skin left, their bones, lots and lots of muscle
tissue, a tad of fatty tissue if you've been overfeeding them a bit, First
we harvest the best of their remaining skin, especially if we can strip it
off in pieces at least 6x6" as a minimum, then we cut out all the remaining
body tissue and put it in a big vat, then we extract all the teeth from
their head for future tooth implants (dentists are now finding them a lot
very than the old-fashioned crowns and they are considerably cheaper), and,
finally, we take all the bones (that's about all that's left) and put them
into another huge vat.  That's what the slaves working away in this room
are doing, basically.  First they extracted the transplantable skin.  Of
course we have to strap the slaves down very tightly for this procedure.
Next, they extracted all of the sellable organs and got them packaged for
shipment.  After that, as you see them doing right now, they're taking away
the remaining skin, extracting their teeth, and finally, taking the flesh
and bones left and separating them, placing the flesh on the one conveyor
belt right over the tables and what's left on the other conveyor belt with
all those bones on it.  That, my friends, is the end of that particular
slave," he laughed as he led his guests to the next huge room where even
more slaves were busily working away, impervious, apparently, to the very
strong, stale smell of warm exposed flesh.

     "In this room, we make up products from slave hide which has been
tanned by the best curing agent in the world - slave piss which we collect
in barrels from the slave pens here at Oceanum.  The smaller segments are
turned into wallets, credit card cases, key holders, purses, and billfolds.
Larger segments are utilized in those beautiful briefcases you see
displayed over there on the wall, along with portfolio cases, and larger
ladies accessories.  Black hide is particularly in demand right now and is
bringing top prices for manufactured goods, especially if the wallet or
purse features a nice slave brand or a simple slave identification tattoo
or owner's logo.  Products featuring slave hide with tattooed identity bar
codes embedded in them are bringing in astronomical prices but who knows
how long the fad will last?  Right now, we're making steering wheel covers
- black hide is perfect for that and lasts as long as the car if you oil it
occasionally.  We've also made covers for cane handles, walker grips, desk
mats, and even ceiling fan blade covers out of slave hide - all finding a
ready market. The NFL is trying to get me to make footballs out of the
stuff, but I don't think it's a good idea in that most of the players are
slaves anymore and it's sort of rubbing it in their faces so to speak -
especially when they're staring down at a big brand mark on the ball.

     "How about the market in white hide?" Boris Yurok asked.

     "Brining about 60 percent as much as black hide currently, but, how
knows, the market is fickle and seems to change daily.  Tattoos and brands
show up a lot better on white hide, as you know, Boris."

     "Anyone bored, or do you want to see the other rooms here?"  Geoffrey
asked.  "If you'll rather, we can always take a little ride around the
islands and watch some of the draft slaves in action like you did on the
last visit."

     "No, no," they all answered in unison.  "Let's see the rest of the
rendering plant."

     "Well, the next room is where we sort out all those teeth used for
tooth implants," Geoffrey said as he led the group into another room.  The
dealers were amazed at the literal mountain of extracted teeth piled on one
sorting table after another. "We leave those ugly red roots right on them,
but sort them by tooth number in the human head, then by length and width
(there is a world wide standardization code for this), next by hardness,
and finally by color.  Did you know there are hundreds of different sizes
of teeth for each tooth location, 45 levels of tooth hardness, and there
are over 33 classifications of whiteness of teeth?  It amazed me when I
first got into the business, but we sort them to all those classifications
exactly and then flash freeze them and ship them out in individual
insulated packages packed in dry ice within two hours of extraction.  You'd
be amazed how much you get for teeth if they've been graded to all those
classifications probably and, of course, we have the advantage that most of
the teeth we're extracting are in great shape due to the healthy diet of
our slaves over the years.  Just a little wear and tear now and then,
especially with those bitted as pony slaves, but mainly sound as a rock.
It's a great market.  You know, there's no reason, anybody can't have a
great set of teeth anymore, thanks to our slave population."  Geoffrey
appreciated his audience's rapt attention as he spoke about the profits
involved in selling such a small thing as slave's teeth.

     "This next room is where we handle all those bones left over,"
Geoffrey yelled over the heavy noise of the super hot bone crushers.
Pointing to 100 pound sacks labeled for garden shops, he said one big
market was for gardeners in that 'sanitized' slave bones made a great
natural fertilizer and by packaging it in small lots like this, he could
get maximum profit out of the product.  Pointing to some ever nosier
grinders, he shouted out that sterilized bone meal was used in a variety of
food products as filler, made a great paint base, and was a key ingredient
in slave chow, whether in pellet, biscuit, or bar form. "About as
nutritious a product as one can imagine," Geoffrey said enthusiastically,
"especially if you mix it with some protein and vegetable products."  We
sell tons of bone meal to slave food manufacturers."

     "The ultimate in recycling," Brett Harris said.

     "Exactly," Geoffrey said, "and nothing better for your slaves in the
long haul - loads of calcium, antioxidants, all the minerals and vitamins
they'll ever need. Cheap, but very nutritious.  There's no slave in the
world that doesn't benefit from the stuff.  We'd be a lot better off
ourselves if we ate more bone meal."

     "We do," Mark Sicillia said, "but it comes from horses and cows
primarily."

     "Because of that squeamishness, we're denying ourselves the best bone
meal around.  Slaves are just another animal, after all, Mark."

     "Well, yeah, but they're still physiologically at least human," Mark
argued.  "I don't know about consuming any part of them."

     "Well, as I said, you're consuming it now if you just paid attention
to what was going into your flour, your breakfast cereal, and a thousand
other things.  Once it's sterilized, as any manufacturer of food products
will tell you, it doesn't make any different whether it came from a horse,
a slave, or even one of us - it's just bone meal and it's all alike."

     "Mark, you better hang onto your hat when we visit the last room
here," Geoffrey laughed as he led the group to an even larger (and
considerably smellier) room.  Again, the noise was deafening as huge
grinders ground and mashed all the slave's flesh (after gutting the
intestines of course) into a thick pink-colored paste which was squeezed
into 100-pound tubes resembling huge sausages.

     "This is how we ship it out in refrigerated containers.  As you know
from your previous visit here, we use fish entrails for the protein in the
rather stinky slave chow we make right here and feed our Oceanum slaves.
But we have the advantage of a cheap, readily available supply of fish
right at hand.  Most manufacturers of slave chow don't and have to rely on
other sources of protein.  A lot use legumes for a purely vegetarian
product, but most owners want their slaves fed some red meat in one form or
another on the grounds slaves bodies are best served by a little meat in
their diet.  I don't buy it myself, but each person has their own ideas on
this. Now, Mark, before you get all squeamish on us, I'm telling you right
up front that's where most of the product in those big tubes ends in -
flavoring for slave chow, including most of the chow headed for the U.S."

     "So that's what 'assorted meat products' means on the label," Mark
flushed.  "Jesus, I've been sort of feeding my slaves their own kind.  What
if they ever found out?"

     "Mark, slaves aren't stupid just because they obey their masters
without question," Brett Harris lectured.  "They make the same adjustment
in attitude you do when you eat a big beefsteak.  What makes it right to
eat a cow or a pig or a chicken?  Just custom, that's all.  It's a custom
of slaves to eat what's available as opposed to starving to death.  And, as
Geoffrey pointed out and every slave in the world that's not half-witted
knows, it's all sterilized anyway, so what's the difference.  We've all
eaten a little 'assorted meat products' at some point in our lives whether
we realized it or not. But we handle it just like our slaves do smacking
their lips over the good taste - we just don't think about where it came
from.  After all, farm boys have been eating the little pet lambs they
loved since the dawn of time.  It's part of their growing up and it's part
of our slaves growing up."

     "How much do you get for this stuff?" Jamil asked, always interested
in profits.

     "A hell of a lot more than it would bring standing up on an auction
block pleading for someone to buy it," Geoffrey answered promptly.  "A lot
more in today's market."

     "But, Geoffrey, you might be accused of raising stock here at Oceanum
as a food commodity," Mark persisted.

     "Yes," Geoffrey said.  "Doesn't bother me as long as it doesn't bother
you buying it to feed your slaves as you have been doing for years now."

     "But I didn't know," Mark said flushing in embarrassment.

     "Well, now that you know, are you going to switch to feeding them
beefsteak or chicken which will cost you at least 20 times more and won't
be nearly as nutritious for your slaves as the slave chow you're currently
using?"

     "No, I'll stick with slave chow.  I've had good luck with it and my
slaves have always liked it once they get used to the taste."

     "Then let the matter rest, Mark.  It's not an issue with anyone else I
know, including those chomping down on it everyday who enjoy being well fed
and healthy just as much as you and I do."

     "Some operation, Geoffrey.  No wonder you seem to be able to afford
anything your little heart desires," Jamil said admiringly.  "Thanks for
sharing this with us - most informative and I, for one, got a lot of good
ideas."

     "Me too, Brett Harris quickly chimed in.

     "It would be even cheaper to do in Nigeria," Jaco Naromba added.

     "Meat is so expensive in the Ukraine now that some of the lower
classes are reduced to eating dog food to stay alive.  I bet slave chow,
under a clever new name, would sell well with a little good advertising,"
Boris Yurok added, obviously already thinking of a Ukrainian label that
would tout the nutrition of the product but hide its origins.

     Leading the group outside to the waiting rickshaws, Geoffrey because
philosophical.  "Rendering aging slaves is not only humane, when you think
about it, but really the only moral way to solve a social problem - what to
do with slaves when they are beginning to lose their appeal and usefulness.
This way, there's really little pain overall, they're helping to prolong
free people's lives, and they're contributing to the economic well-being of
the whole world.  When you think about it, it beats the way we end up -
suffering long-term illnesses and incapacitation, not contributing a thing
to the world but taking from it instead, and dying with a sense of
worthlessness.  That's not true with those bodies you saw on the tables in
there.  Each and every one of them left this world practically pain-free,
filled with a feeling of contributing to the larger good just as they had
in their lives as slaves, and knowing they were going to be used, even in
their afterlife, for the common good.  We could learn, boys, from our
slaves, you know.  The whole society could if we weren't so damn hung up."

     "Amen," all five dealers said in unison.  "We're not managing our own
destinies nearly as well as that of our slaves," Brett Harris offered which
was promptly agreed to by all.

     As they started to get into the rickshaws, Geoffrey took 12 hot dogs
out of the insulated picnic box on the floor of his rickshaw, carefully
wrapped and packed in advance by his steward before their departure this
morning.  Handing two to each of his guests, he invited them to join him in
a little mid-day snack.

     "Anything to put on them?" Brett Harris asked.

     "These aren't made out of ....  you know ...  the meat we saw inside?"
Mark Sicillia inquired with a pale face.

     "'No,' they're 100 percent beef, Mark, and 'Yes', there is plenty of
condiment available, Brett," as he strode in front of his rickshaw, grabbed
his dray slave's huge black penis, wiped it off with a moist towelette, and
began pumping it forcefully.

     Within 40 seconds, the first volley of thick hot cum was sprayed onto
the hot dog, smothering it before the slave shut his eyes in pure bliss.

     Geoffrey's guests all chuckled, went in front of their respective
rickshaws, and, after wiping the big sweaty black pricks down, delightedly
milked the huge slaves attached.

THE NEXT PLACE VISITED:

     With their coated hot dogs in hand, the rickshaws took them swiftly to
the next destination since the slaves pulling them were rested and
pleasantly drained as well by this time.  Since the next stop was only
about five level miles away, the slaves between the poles could handle it
without constant encouragement from the whips.

     Within 35 minutes all six rickshaws pulled up to a long low building
with a small sign at the front entrance: "Oceanum Chemical Enhancements,
Inc." The building was windowless which was less bothersome than it seemed,
since it was located in one of the only non-scenic spots on the island.

     Again, the rickshaw slaves were panting heavily and their harnessed
bodies were coated with sweat from the strenuous run. Despite their recent
milking, their pricks were once again hard.

     "Before we start our little tour, would anyone like a little relief?
The dray slaves powering the rickshaws are equally well trained in
servicing a man," Geoffrey canvassed his guests. "All that panting and
heaving lends a new aspect to a good sucking and those muscular butts are a
delight once they're in proper positioning for a good fucking."

     "Its' tempting," Jamil said as he eyed the beautifully rounded butt of
the slave pulling his rickshaw and studied the slave's nicely shaped thick
lips.  "How about a raincheck, Geoffrey?"

     "And the rest of you?" Geoffrey queried.

     "A raincheck for now, Geoffrey," Brett Harris added, "although I'm
curious.  What does panting and heaving have to do with a good suck?"

     "Develops their throat muscles," Mr. Naromba offered.

     "And sucking in all that air probably leads to learning to suck in
general," Mark Sicilla added.

     Since no one ordered any of the slaves to their knees for servicing,
Geoffrey proceeded to lead the group into the building's entrance.

     "Exactly what are you up to here, Geoffrey?" Jamil asked.  "You're not
into illegal drugs, are you?"

     "No," Geoffrey laughed.  "Illegal slaves are enough deviation from the
law for one lifetime, I think."

     "Then what is this 'chemical emhancement' the sign says," Brett Harris
persisted.  "Your not into experimenting with cloning slaves. are you, or
seeding slave embryos outside a host body?"

     "No," Geoffrey laughed, "nothing that exotic.  Besides, no one's had
much success in those areas anyway as far as I'm aware, profitable as it
would be in the slave business.  My interests are much simpler.  I'm simply
exploring what low-cost drugs readily available or easily synthesized could
be employed to enhance specific slave behaviors that their owner may
desire."

     "Speak English, Geoffrey," Mark Sicillia laughed.  "Now go through
that again."

     "Simply speaking, let's say I want a slave with a perpetual hard-on
for display purposes.  Is there a low cost drug out there (or a drug I
could easily make right here in the lab) which would accomplish this
without any or at least few negative side effects and which would damage
the slave's worth on the resale market.  If there was, I could save myself
a lot of fancy training which is what most people are doing now in the area
I mentioned.  Or say, an owner wanted an extraordinarily muscular slave
without practically killing the slave with exercise routines in developing
his body like a lot of masters are doing now that are into that sort of
thing. What if I could administer some simple steroids into that slave's
diet every day and accomplish the same thing with only moderate forced
exercise.  A lot quicker - a lot simpler - a lot cheaper in the long haul.
And, of course, I would want some steroids that didn't hurt his body or
attitude in any way - no impotency risks, no shorter life span, no loss of
libido, no muscle damage, no addiction possibilities.  Or, better yet, say
I bought a newly enslaved boy that was so resistance to the standard
slave-breaking routines that his trainer ran a risk of killing him in the
process of breaking him to what I wanted as his owner.  What if there was a
simple low-cost drug we could give him once a day that would make him three
times more amenable to his trainer's well-intentioned efforts to help him
adjust to his new slavery and its demands.  Sort of an 'obedience' drug if
you will.  And such a drug did just that and yet had no long-term negative
effects on either his mind or his body.  Wouldn't that be worth something
to about every dealer in the world, as well all of those slave training
facilities charging an arm and a leg to "break" slaves to their new
reality?"

     "You're on to something, Geoffrey," Jamil responded enthusiastically.
"There's a solid market out there right now that could make anyone a
billionaire overnight if they could deliver."

     "That's what I thought, Jamil.  That's why I'm exploring a lot of
leads down that avenue right here in this building."

     "Getting anywhere?" Mr. Yurok asked.  "If so, I'll be first in line
with my checkbook in shaping up some of those pesky freshly enslaved
Russians and native Slavs we deal with day in and day out."

     "Yes, I am, Boris, I'm happy to say.  "Already I've found a genetic
form of Cialis without any side effects I can see that costs next to
nothing and does just what I want - gives a slave a big raging dripping
erection hour after hour, day after day, no matter how often we drain him.
You know slaves trained for brothel duty have to be trained for months and
months to learn to keep it up under heavy usage - I think we can skip the
training and just feed him the pill every day.  The customers wouldn't be
able to tell the difference between my brothel stud whore and one trained
for a year, I'll wager."

     "Promising, Geoffrey," Boris admitted.  "Me, I solve the problem by
going through thousands and thousands of slaves until I find one who is
able to do just that naturally. That's why brothel studs are so damn
expensive - the natural born ones are relatively rare"

     "Well I train slaves to that level," Brett Harris said, "and remember
I'm starting with slaves bred from studs who never had much trouble in that
area to start with or they wouldn't have been put to stud.  But the
training does takes months, just as you say, Geoffrey, and it certainly
adds to a slave's cost.  The training works well with most of them and it's
relatively long lasting, but popping a pill down their throat would be a
hell of a lot simpler and certainly cheaper.  Are you sure dosing a slave
around the clock year after year with that drug isn't harmful.  Looks to me
by the time they were 40 or so, they'd be over the hill for sure."

     "That's what they said when they first worked out the behavior
modification procedures to produce slave with continual erections, but it
never happened.  They were just as able 20 years later to stand on display
all day with a dripping erection as the day they left training. Seems to
date like the drug is no different except, of course, the minute you stop
administering the drug, that constant erection is history and the slave is
just 'normal' again."

     "Let me get this right, Geoffrey," Jamil cut in.  Taking this one
little example, in this case having a slave with a constant erection, there
are three ways to do it: One, as Boris does, is by selection - you go
through thousands in the pens and see who holds an erection all the time no
matter what and buy him up for the task at hand.  Two, as Jaco does, you
can train the hell out of them, using a system of rewards (such as food and
water) and punishments (such as the whip) and produce a slave who will show
a good hard dripping erection any and everytime you want by command.  And
three, the Geoffrey way, where you poke a chemical down them and they show
hard all the time as long as you poke the pill down them - sort of a
chemical dependency to get all excited over nothing.  Boris' slave is
always hard no matter what the rest of his life and you had no training,
just a lot of painstaking selection. Jaco's slave gets hard whenever you
want more or less as long as you control the rewards and punishments, which
in a slave's case is the rest of his life, of course.  And Geoffrey's
slaves show hard when they're drugged, but the minute you skip the drug,
you're right back to where you started - a slave who is flaccid most of the
time unless you manually or visually stimulate him rather vigorously.  Is
that about it, Goeffrey?"

     "A perfect summation, Jamil," Geoffrey laughed.

     "Well, your way is the cheapest and easiest," Jamil responded. "I'll
hand you that."

     "Fine and dandy for dripping hard-ons," Brett Harris said rather
impatiently. "There's a wider market with the 'obedience' drug you were
talking about. Any luck there?"

     "Yes, Brett, although I'm still not certain about long-term outcomes
and so I'm not marketing it yet.  But quite a few of the new
anti-depressants have the interesting side effect of making a person a hell
of a lot more compliant. But some of the popular ones have another nasty
side effect of killing off the libido which no slave owner is going to
tolerate in his expensive goods.  But there is a new synthetic on the
market which doesn't seem to affect the sex drive, keeps the slave's
spirits high no matter what you're doing to him, and, in general, makes him
much more amendable to rapid pre-determined behavior change - you know,
what we in the trade call "breaking."  I'm trying that out now with some
young bucks who have only recently been enslaved, have been notoriously
resistant to their new status, and yet who are randy as all get out. A good
dose of the drug mixed into their slave chow and so far, it's eliminated
their rebellion in the basic slave training classes, noticeably perked up
their attitude toward their trainers and me as their owner - I mean viewing
us as the 'good guys' helping them adjust to a bad situation that is
inevitable for them - and still frisky as a young pup in bed.  If I don't
see any ill effects over the next two years with those randy young bucks,
I'm going to start selling the stuff - especially now that I found a
supplier who can synthesize the stuff for me for next to nothing.  I'm
bottling it as "Easy Trainer" and I plan to sell it for one buck a pill.
It will sell like hotcakes.  Hell, a good whip costs at least 20 bucks
these days and you tear one of them up every three days or so with this
type of slave generally.  Besides, the "East Trainer" boys don't have those
torn up backs that drastically lower their price on the resale market."

     "Brilliant, Geoffrey.  Just brilliant," was Brett Harris' reply.
"Sign me up for the first case.  We've always got a few, bred or not, who
cause us more trouble than they're worth, especially in the initial
training phrase where we're teaching them all the things they're expected
to do to please an exacting owner paying big bucks for their fascinating
bodies."

     "But you mentioned steroids in muscle development," Mark Sicillia
said.  "We've got a big demand for muscle studs these days and spend a lot
of time and money forcing them in the constant exercise routines and
special diets that takes. Takes a lot of trainers to enforce all that and,
even then, most of the slaves in the program end up with permanently
scarred bodies from all the lashing it takes to enforce constant heavy
exercise. We even force them to eat special diets of raw eggs and uncooked
red meat to get more muscle on them.  Have you really found some steroids
safe to use?  We've tried them, of course, but usually we end up with a
slave with shriveled up sex organs, no sex drive at all no matter how much
we stimulate him, and a lot of them simply died of cardiac arrest. We don't
go near steroids anymore - too much loss for a few bloated muscles."

     "I agree with you, Mark.  Steroids are dangerous as all get out.  I'm
using androgen hormones that have the nasty things filtered out - like
violent temper tantrums and other forms of uncontrollable aggression, the
sex problems, over-stimulated heart rates, etc.  The stuff I'm using, at
least so far, pumps their muscles up fine, but leaves their metabolism and
sex drive alone as well as their emotionality.  The only thing you have to
really watch for is weight gain - that's because their metabolism is
unaffected by the drug and with all those new muscles, they tend to build
up an appetite.  So we keep them on a strict diet, making them weigh in
every day, and, to play it safe, we milk the boys twice a day to make sure
their sexual organs are working fine and that they're just as interested in
sex as when we started the program.  You know better than I, Mark, that the
market for muscle studs is primarily based on sex.  Buyers of muscle studs
primarily want them for their bed as much as anything.  That's why, when
we're shooting a new slave full of the androgen hormones and exercising him
heavily to develop all those muscles, we simultaneously enroll him in our
sexual techniques training course. That techniques development course is
just as important as how big his biceps are if an owner going to be totally
satisfied with him."

     "Hey, Geoffrey, if all this works out like you seem to think it will,"
Mark responded enthusiastically, "sign me on the dotted line for the first
shipments out of Oceanum Chemical Enhancement, Inc."

     "If this works out even one quarter as well as you describe, Geoffrey,
you're going to end up so damn rich you will easily be able to buy all of
us out and most of our fellow flesh-peddlers as well. Congratulations."

     "Yes," Mr. Naromba added.  "It just shows that brains pay off in the
end.  Geoffrey, you're one of the smartest young men I know. And certainly
the cleverest."

     "You need to get to know Jamil better, or Mr. Harris, Joco.  And I'm
sure you already know how clever Mark Sicillia and Boris are before you
pass final judgment on that.  Would you like to see some examples of my new
products?"

     "Yes," was the unanimous response.

     Geoffrey led the small group into the building and first showed them
five young blacks all in a display pen displaying almost unbelievable
musculature under their smooth creamy skin.  Each had a come-hither smile
on their handsome faces and each sported full dripping erections.

     "These are my androgen boys," Geoffrey said proudly as the slaves
flexed and unflexed their huge muscles to fully display them.  He opened
the pen door and ordered the slaves out so his guests could have full
access to their bodies and feel them properly, which they did for the next
ten minutes, three of the slaves shooting off in one or another of the
guest's probing hands as they did so.

     Leading them to the next room down the hall, he showed them his studs
on sexually energizing drugs.  All six of them were rock hard and dripping
copiously.  When ordered out of their cages in order to be inspected by
their owner's guests, within a minute all had shot all over the place but
remained rock hard.  The guests proceeded to milk them again since they
were still hard and eager, and were pleasantly surprised to find the second
discharge was just as thick and creamy and plentiful as the first and,
again, they remained rock hard and eager.

     "They'd make fabulous studs at a whorehouse," Jamil commented.  "I
know a buyer for all six of them sight unseen if they're like this most of
the time."

     "They are, Jamil, but I won't sell them until I'm finished with all my
observations of the effects of the drugs.  The minute they're available,
though, I'll give you a call if I decide not to keep them for myself."

     "Geoffrey," Jamil laughed, "you can only fuck so many, you know.  You
can easily spare these six from your harem."

     "I wanted all of you to see my last group if I haven't worn all of you
out," Geoffrey said as he led the dealers to the largest room in the
building.  Opening the door to that room, he said, "this is where the real
market is - the 'slave breaking' drug."

     Inside were a dozen young slaves obviously new to slavery as they were
still fiddling with their tight collars, were obviously very aware of their
totally exposed bodies, and a few retained looks of resentment mixed with
despair in their eyes as they, almost defiantly for a slave, dared to look
at their visitors.

     "They've only been on the drug for three days now but already you can
see a big difference in them.  And the trainers say they're only having to
whip them about half as much to get a decent response to their commands.
Promising, but, of course, three days under the whip totally nude and
surrounded by other slaves leads to steady improvements too.  We're
comparing their training progress to another group in the next room that's
just like them except they don't get the drug.  It's only when we compare
the two over time that we can judge the true effect, if any, of the
anti-depressant derivatives.  But the last comparison bunch indicated the
drug cut their training time roughly in half.  Looks promising, like I
said."

     Jamil had reached over to one of the well hung young slaves and hefted
up his organ for an inspection.  The slave boy jerked back and spit at
Jamil with a curse in his native tongue.

     "Well, this one will be a good test," Jamil laughed as the slave
trainers pinned the errant slave's arms in back of him and then gave him a
tremendous jolt with the electric prod.  As the slave screamed in agony,
writhing on the floor, the trainer kicked him to his feet and ordered him
to allow his owner's guest to feel him, threatening him with the prod once
again.  Sobbing, and still writhing in pain, the slave struggled to his
feet and, biting his tongue, spread his legs as Jamil once again reached
over and put his hands around the slave's large shaft. When Jamil started
to pump his shaft, the slave again jerked back as best he could in the
trainer's restraint and cursed, but the prod again cut him short.  This
time he was unconscious as the power level had been set up a notch for a
second offense.

     "Yes, a real test," Jamil chuckled as he placed his attention on
another heavy hung slave, who, having seen what happens when one rebels,
stoically allowed the guest to stroke his shaft to a full erection with a
sad look of resignation in his eyes.

     "Seen enough?" Geoffrey said as Jamil lost interest in the slave's
erection.

     "Interesting," all agreed as they headed for the exit.  "We've got a
lot to talk about at dinner tonight."

     "That's just what I hoped," Geoffrey said delightedly. "When we get
back to the manor house, we can all relax and enjoy those well trained
bodies in our suites who, no doubt, are already flushed out, lubed, and
eagerly awaiting us.  Supper won't be until seven so we can all unwind a
bit," he winked.

     "What should be wear for dinner, Geoffrey?  Formal tonight?"  Brett
Harris asked.

     "Nothing if you prefer. Brett, you can wear anything from a pair of
boxer shorts to a tux.  Basically, anything that comes off easily when you
see a waiter that you'd like to explore," he laughed.  "And," he added,
"you can always bring down anyone in your suite you're not tired of yet. If
you've got a stitch of clothing on before the dinner's over, I'll whip your
waiters for not being accommodating enough," Geoffrey laughed.

     "Actually, there is no planned entertainment tonight, but that doesn't
mean we won't be entertained.  First, I'm bringing all five of the white
slaves you brought as house gifts.  I've been able to sample each and every
one, but you've probably only enjoyed the bodily delights of the particular
one you brought me.  Tonight, at dinner, you'll have the opportunity to try
out the other four gifts as a little treat from yours truly.  Along those
same lines, in the spirit of share and share alike, I would urge you, if
you're so inclined, to bring down the hospitality gifts I gave you upon
your arrival which I hope you've enjoyed to date, but the other guests
haven't had an opportunity yet.  That will give us 10 well-trained gift
slaves altogether to enliven the evening: five white and five black.  Jamil
and Boris sold me at a ridiculously low cost two other black slaves that
are new to Oceanum and are magnificently muscled and well hung and, I
understand, well trained to pleasure their betters.  I've ordered my
steward to have them completely douched, lubed, shaved, oiled and in full
readiness for usage during the dinner tonight.  There's no use depriving
ourselves, so I've asked the steward to also round up and cleanse all of
the suite attendants I've furnished you so everyone can have a crack at
them if so they so desire - you never know what might turn you on, even
though all of them are black, of course.  Finally, we always have the
troupe of well- trained waiters at our disposal.  Let's see, that's at
least 30 to 40 eager slave boys for each one of us to try out.  So freshen
up well this afternoon," Geoffrey laughed as he suggestively rubbed his
crotch. "I want each and every one of you totally spent by the time you on
your way home.  That's the best way to remember Oceanum.  'Surfeited
sexually' is a phrase we take pride in here at Oceanum."

     "Sounds to me like you plan to have us fuck ourselves to death," Jamil
chuckled.

     "But it's a great way to go," Mark Sicillia added.

     "How would you know, Mark?  You're still alive," Brett Harris
interjected.

     "My best slaves whispered the knowledge in my ear right before their
untimely demise," Mark shot back, whereupon the entire group doubled in
riotous laughter and drifted off to the awaiting rickshaws for a
fascinating ride home through site after site where gangs of well built
naked black slave were busily working under the whip of numerous
jumbo-sized muscled nude overseers.  Equally beautiful were the shiny
Oceanum slaves pulling them as they breathed heavily in their efforts -
magnificent animals as splendiferous as the blue skies overhead, the white
sandy beaches all around them, and the solid green of the unique ferns and
flora everywhere.

     By the time they climbed out of the rickshaws to go to their assigned
guest suites, each of the guests was again fully aroused.

THE SECOND DINNER:

     Each of the five guests had indeed brought their own hospitality gift
slaves with them, completely cleansed inside and out and made ready for a
long evening of use judging by the lubrication already oozing out of their
assholes.  In addition, they had followed Geoffrey's suggestion and brought
the slaves regularly assigned to their suites with them also, similarly
prepared for usage.  The 20 waiters, all showing full erections, had also
been readied, their bodies gleaming with a fresh coating of oil, their
asses lubed, and all the rings, collars, and bands enhancing their bodily
features freshly polished.  By the time all the guests were seated, there
were over 35 totally naked splendid black bodies standing in full display
awaiting usage, all heavily muscled, handsome beyond description, perfectly
featured, and hung like horses.  Any one of them would sell for a minimum
of $500,000 on the open market.

     "Do you realize there's at least , conservatively speaking, $17
million dollars worth of black flesh standing around us," Brett Harris
remarked in a whisper, almost in awe.

     "More like $20 million at my market," Jamil added, also in a hushed
voice, totally impressed with Geoffrey's affluence and the good use it had
been put to.

     At that moment Geoffrey entered the dining hall, accompanied by his
newly acquired five white slaves and two black ones, their leashes flowing
from their tightly installed genital rings to Geoffrey's left hand.  As
soon as Geoffrey unhooked their leashes all seven slaves instantly assumed
a full display position so the guests could easily view all aspects of
their bodies.  Each was fully erect and copiously dripping pre-cum in their
excitement of being displayed.

     "Whow!" Jamil said.

     "Impressive," Mr. Naromba added.

     "Want to sell them?" Brett Harris joked.  "I'm first in line."

     "I know you have questions, so let me introduce this little bevy of
beauties before I get comfortable," Geoffrey said as he first went to the
huge blond Scandinavian slave.  "This blue- eyed muscle bound Viking is
Boris' house gift.  Boris didn't mention it at the time, but I've found the
slave's skills in bed equal to the size of this mammoth prick," he said as
he lifted the slave's balls and tightly squeezed them.  "I urge all of you
to at least try him out before the evening's over. "

     "And this green-eyed slave," Geoffrey said putting his hand around the
phenomenal shaft of Brett Harris' gift, "was trained by the Mafia no less
and was given away as a a sales incentive prize to one of their outstanding
drug dealers.  Brett located him in Miami at an estate sale and thought of
me.  This boy's been around and puts all that training to excellent use if
last night was any example. He's one you've simply got to try out for
yourself.  Words can't quite describe it."

     "This big-dicked blond boy is the first of a new breed of slaves being
offered at Mark's establishment in New York.  He's the first down the line
of their new breeding operations and Mark gave him to me as a potential
collector's item.  One-eighth black for musculature and sexual vigor;
seven-eights white for fine looks and refinement - I personally found him
superb in bed.  After you try him out for yourselves, I'm sure you'll agree
with me that Mark's got himself a fine new line of bred slaves if this boy
is any example.

     "This well built pure white slave with the donkey dick is Jaco's gift,
rare as white slave's are in Nigeria, let alone one built and hung like
this. I wore out before I could fuck him, but I can tell you he sucks like
nothing you've ever seen.  He's had some real training, Jaco," Geoffrey
laughed as he nodded to his friend.

     "And this sandy haired green-eyed beauty is from Tunisia - a gift from
Jamil.  I don't know what appeals to me the most about this slave - those
huge tightly clinched sex organs that seem to float in space in front of
those muscular abs or that glorious brass ring through his nose that gives
me a feel of real mastery."  Geoffrey put his finger through the brass nose
ring and jerked the slave's head to an upright position. "Isn't that smart
looking, fellows?"

     "And, last but not least," Geoffrey laughed as he hefted first one and
then the other of the black slaves' huge organs that were on display, "are
these two sales items from Boris and Jamil that they let me have for a song
and a dance as a little thank you for all the slaves I've bought from them
over the years - probably at inflated prices and these two blacks are
nothing more or less than expressions of their guilt for robbing me over
the years!"

     The guests all broke out in laughter and pointed to Jamil and Boris.

     "Well, Geoffrey may have a point," Boris laughed.  "Jamil and I did
think of Geoffrey the minute we saw the black beauties up on the auction
block.  I don't know what it was - their weight- lifter bodies, their huge
always erect shafts, or their handsome faces - but it wasn't guilt, I tell
you, although we both admit we've made a fair commission on our sales to
Geoffrey over the years"

     "I never complained, so these two sex machines are just a bonus,"
Geoffrey laughed as he stroked first one and then the other, both almost
instantly squirting all over the floor a full load of hot, sticky cum.
"See what I mean by sex machines.  You just touch these blacks and they're
spurting off."  Turning the two black slaves around, he motioned for them
to bend over and display their holes.  As soon as they did, Geoffrey said,
"They're still tight but easy to fuck.  Both of them are apparently fully
trained in being fucked. The minute you stick it in, they get their ass
muscles going to pump you dry."  To demonstrate, he stuck a finger up the
hole of the black slave nearest him and, indeed, all the guests could
easily see the slave churn his ass muscles around the invading finger,
drawing it in deeper and deeper into the slave's hole without any effort on
Geoffrey's part.

     "Beautifully trained," Mark Sicillia complimented the displayed skill
of ass churning, first by the one black slave and then demonstrated equally
well by the second black slave.

     Both blacks broke out in smiles of appreciation at the overheard
comment, but could not respond vocally - both had had their vocal chords
clipped when they first entered slavery, a common practice in their country
where most slaves were permanently muted.

     The introductions over, Geoffrey seated himself with the others and
the first course was served immediately - a fresh shrimp topped with hot
cum sauce, the sauce provided on the spot by the waiter serving it.  This
was followed by the main course - roast chicken marinated in pineapple wine
blended with day-old slave cum, and root vegetables flavored with butter
and topped with another application of fresh cum, again from another set of
waiters who hadn't been drained yet.  Finally, dessert was served, again
unique as well as clever - chocolate coated penis, which consisted of
sucking a thick coating of rich chocolate off the throbbing erect penis of
a waiter laced with the slave's thick cum discharged as you chewed the
chocolate off of their organ.  By the time the dinner was over, each guests
had been able to taste three different slave's fresh cum as well as enjoy
some true gourmet food.

     Conversation followed, but quickly drifted into a discussion of the
differences, if any, between black and white slaves in delivering sexual
pleasures.  Most of the guests thought blacks were better in bed, but
other's argued that was simply because they were white themselves, pointing
out that black owners invariably argued that white slaves made better bed
bucks.

     "Blacks usually receive more training in their sexual duties," Jaco
argued.  "That probably accounts for any perceived differences."

     "I think whites, if they haven't been bred to slavery, are simply more
inhibited than blacks.  It's not that there's any real differences, it's
just that white slaves have more inhibitions to overcome once their
enslaved.  When bred white slaves start flooding the markets, you're not
going to see a penny's worth of difference between whites and blacks,"
Brett Harris opined. "Our new bred slaves are every bit as frisky in bed as
any black, no matter who or what they're bedded with."

     "That's true with our new bred line of near whites," Mark added in
support.

     "Then why did you inject one-eight black blood in them?" Boris asked.

     "Just to play it safe," Mark chuckled.  "No use taking any chances in
case Brett's theory about inhibitions isn't right."


     "Well, this is the time to put it to the test," Geoffrey
announced. "Each of you take a white slave you didn't give me and enjoy him
on your couches.  As soon as you've sampled what that white body has to
offer, take one of the black hospitality gifts I gave one of the other
guests and use them the same way so you compare.  Then switch and take
another white and then another black until you've tried out all my white
gift slaves and all the black gift slaves I gave out.  Then we'll take a
vote."

     Geoffrey quickly distributed the white slaves around to a guest who
had not given him that particular slave and ordered his steward to line up
a Oceanum black slave he had given out as gifts to a guest he hadn't been
given to yesterday so he could be used immediately when the guest was
finished with the white slave he was bedding down.  Geoffrey himself took
the pair of blacks he had purchased yesterday from Boris and Jamil.

     For the next hour, all conversation consisted of short muttered
orders, grunts and groans of compliance mixed with a chorus of "Yes,
master," and "Thank you, master," the sound of the unshaved skin of the
masters slapping on the well-oiled smooth hides of the slaves, the heavy
breathing and sighing of animals in heat, and cries of orgasmic relief.

     When all five guests, as well as Geoffrey, were too tired to continue
without a break, Geoffrey called for a vote.  It was an even tie: 3 voting
for blacks; 3 for whites.  All agreed it wasn't the color of the hide
anyway: it was the fact they were heavily trained slaves - bodies trained
to extract the upmost pleasures for their users. The vote was 6 to 0 that
the basic training of slavery made the difference.

     In the discussion that followed this interesting topic, practically
everyone agreed that the real factor underlying the sensational sexuality
of slaves was that slaves chosen for sexual service, whether it was to
serve as a personal bed buck, a whore in a brothel, a corporate host slave,
or even a simple house slave such as the waiters all around them, were
chosen in large part on their looks and quick response to sexual
stimulation. With such appealing and responsive bodies to start the
training with, it was little surprise slaves of this type ended up being
sensational in bed regardless of their color.

     "Then why are the good looking blacks destined for bed duty selling
for a little more than whites currently?" Jamil asked.

     "That's an easy one, Jamil," Brett Harris answered.  "We all tend to
find slaves different from us in some aspect a little more appealing
whether we realize it or not.  Blacks find white slaves more sexually
appealing; whites find black slaves more appealing and whites outnumber
blacks when it comes to whose buying slaves these days. That drives black
slaves' prices up - at least for bed bucks.  But when it comes to
agricultural slaves or slaves destined for the mines, you won't find much
difference in price by color of their hide - there it's all based on their
strength and how many years of hard work is left in them."

     "Makes sense," Brett conceded. "Speaking of draft slaves, is the
market holding up - our bred slaves are too expensive for that market so
I'm out of touch."

     Jaco and Boris spoke at once.  "Go ahead, Jaco," Boris said.

     "Prices are steadily going up," Jaco reported, "as more and more
corporations find they can't compete in world markets paying free labor
costs.  So they've found a way to hide their plants and mines and
plantations from public scrutiny and stock them with slaves.  The working
conditions aren't conducive to long life, but even restocking their labor
every six or seven years it's still a lot cheaper than free labor and keeps
them competitive."

     "Jaco mentioned the working conditions," Boris added.  "The
corporations decided to spend the very least they possibly could on worker
housing, meals, medical care, and sanitation and invest heavily in
"motivational" tools such as electric prods, bull whips, shackles, and
punishment dildos. The end result is slaves have to work practically round
the clock with a body torn by the whip and burnt by the prods, eat slop,
sleep in crowded pens barely sheltered from the sun and rain, and tough it
out if they get sick.  Lasting seven years under those conditions is
stretching it, but the whips keep them at it.  After they die at the plow,
so to speak, they're instantly replaced with another body fresh from the
markets."

     "Does that really pay off?"  Mark asked.

     "Every year of work over four is the break even point.  Six years and
they're well into the high profit area for a slave.  Seven and they
practically kiss the slave's ass he's made them so much money," Jaco
reported.

     "What do they do with all the dead bodies?" Mark asked.

     "No rendering' here," Boris laughed.  "They just bull doze them into
the dump and let the vultures have them.  No one wants the organs out of
diseased worn-out bodies like their's and their skin is so scarred up by
that time, you couldn't possibly make a wallet or something out of it -
it's just all scars and no skin by that time.  And the little flesh left on
them isn't worth harvesting in that most of them are diseased anyway and
there's usually damn little pickings left on their starved bodies."

     "Pays to be born with a handsome face, a great physique, and winsome
genitals," Jamil laughed.  "Those slaves end up here at Oceanum and its
cushy little assignments."

     "Changing the subject a bit, I want to point out one aspect of
training that Geoffrey has obviously mastered that is highly effective,"
Jaco Naromba stated.

     "What's that?"  Boris Yurok responded, always interested in training
issues since thousands of Slavs were processed through basic slave training
at his establishment each year.

     "In the experiments to test the effects of anti-anxiety drugs on basic
training, I hope you all noticed Geoffrey was always training in large
groups.  Like that very basic training we witnessed where a new slave is
learning to accept fondling of his body.  When the first rogue resisted and
was promptly punished with the electric prod, the fact that resistance led
to instant pain was not lost on all the others in the pen.  When that slave
accepted being fondled the next time it was attempted, not resisting until
his trainer started to pump his organ, all the other new slaves in the bed
saw that their fellow slave had decided it was all right if others felt his
body.  But when he resisted the stroking, again resistance led to instant
pain, in his case pain so bad he passed out if you recall.  Then when a
nearby slave was handled, you saw that he not only allowed the handling
without resistance, but even allowed being stroked to a full erection.
When the trainer goes to milk the other new slaves in the cage, he's not
going to run into much resistance - first, they've learned the lesson that
resistance equals pain by seeing it done on another slave so you don't have
to have every single slave experience something to learn; secondly, if one
slave allows himself to be fondled and stroked, it must be all right or
that slave wouldn't have allowed it - therefore the slave decides it's all
right for me to allow it.  The whole process is called 'social
facilitation' training.  Breaking slaves in one by one is tedious and long-
term; breaking slaves in groups with 'social facilitation' working for the
trainer, it's dynamic and takes about one-third as long."

     "I'm glad you pointed that out, Jaco," Brett Harris said.  "We never
train our bred slaves except in groups for that very reason - it's just a
lot more efficient and the training takes hold better.  I would guess it's
also long-lasting."

     "Long-lasting training is always the best kind, but to be more
efficient to boot - I'm going to make sure we do all our training in groups
immediately when I get back to New York.  We've doing some of it now, but
not all - I can see the advantages," Mark Sicillia said.

     "All this heavy talk has got me sort of horny again," Jamil said.
"Obviously our host has used 'social facilitation' to train these waiters.
There doesn't seem to be anything they won't do now for our pleasure - just
look at them - hard and dripping and eager no matter what we come up
with. I'm sure when they were first enslaved, they resisted most every
aspect of use of their bodies."

     "That they did," Geoffrey laughed, "but that's all behind them
now. The minute one of them broke to the trainer's demands, it was just a
matter of days until they were all doing anything the trainers demanded."

     Geoffrey glanced around the room and smiled. "Jamil's probably right.
We've talked so much, I suggest we enjoy another little snack of hot cum
sauce straight from the source and then have another round with a different
white and then a different black gift slave.  Remember, pick one out you
haven't had before!"

     He snapped his fingers and instantly, the waiters thrust their erect
dripping organs in front of each guest's mouth for a draining of their
balls.  Each guest, with no further urging, took the huge black organs in
their mouths and, within minutes, found themselves struggling to swallow
the huge loads of thick hot cum produced.  With a few good gulps and then
allowing time to savor the aftertaste in their mouths, they each pointed to
a 'new' white slave and a 'new' black slave to their couch.  This time
around, most seemed to be interested in fucking the slaves, at least
initially, an interest that was quickly accommodated by the white slaves
being bedded down.  By the time the black slaves took their place, most of
the guests didn't have the energy left to actually fuck the slaves, so they
ordered the slaves to first get them hard with their mouths and then mount
their erect pricks and pump their butts up and down while the guests
relaxed on their backs, in essence, ordering the blacks to fuck themselves
on their poles.

     Geoffrey did the same, but again with the two recently purchased black
slaves who were beginning to show signs of fatigue.  But that fatigue
wasn't unique - indeed the guests were about worn out themselves and after
the last black slave crawled off of a satiated white guest, his asshole
dripping loads of white cum, his body coated with sweat from his pumping
efforts, and thanked the guest for "using him", the dinner party was
obviously at an end.  To a person, Geoffrey and his guests fell asleep on
their couches in the dining hall, too tired to let their slaves take them
back to their assigned suites.  The 35 slaves spent the night there also,
napping when they could, but always vigilant if one or another of the
guests wanted to use their body for anything.  It was good they stayed in
place.  During the night, two of the guests woke up and motioned for a
nearby slave to join them on the couch where the slave placed the guests'
usually flaccid prick in his mouth for the remainer of the night.  Others
just wanted a slave's balls to massage in their sleep or kneed a slave's
swollen tits as they drifted in and out of sleep. Still others like to have
a slave's prick in their mouth so they could chew on it during the night
like a big tit.  Whatever the desire, it was met by the well-trained slaves
instantly and without question.  As slaves, they were used to this sort of
duty for the main part.

     When everyone finally woke up in the morning, the slaves helped the
guests to their respective apartments where a decent bed, a plethora of
willing bodies, and, eventually, a good hot shower awaited them.  It was
noon the next morning before any of the guests had even begun to dress, let
alone pack for the returning trip.

THE FAREWELL LUNCH:

     It was 3 P.M. before the guests had again assembled for a meal.  Each
was dressed for traveling, their luggage was packed and waiting for
transfer outside the main entrance, and their gift slave, fresh from a
series of enemas, showered, body shaved, and oiled, stood beside their new
owners in full display, their naked black bodies resplendent in the strong
light.

     "I've had the steward pack you a lunch to take with you since we're
running so late," Geoffrey announced, embarrassed that things had sort of
gotten out of control.  "I want to take this opportunity to thank you once
again for those splendid white slaves you gave me, and wish you a good trip
home enjoying those blacks I gave you as a little remembrance of Oceanum.
I apologize for keeping you up so late last night, but we did settle a
number of questions of interest to those of us appreciating quality slaves.
I hope you enjoyed the discussions we've had over the past two days as much
as I have.  Very informative!  And very stimulating."

     "Hear, hear!" the guests cheered.

     "A wonderful weekend - probably the most educational we had since -
well, when we were at Oceanum before," Jamil exclaimed.

     "Too good to let it just die," Mark said.  "Couldn't we do this again?
I learn so much!"

     "We can do it again and we shall," Brett Harris said definitely.  "But
I hate to ask Geoffrey to keep hosting us.  We'll met a month from now, but
this time you're all going to visit the 'Old South' and its breeding farms
as my guest."

     "Great idea! Brett," Geoffrey joined the others in his enthusiasm for
the suggestion.

     "But how will we find it?" Jaco Naromba asked.  "I've never been to
Mississippi before."

     "By the smell of all that semen and sweat emanating from the rutting
sheds," Brett replied.  "I told you our neighbors are always complaining
about the smell. But, in case your nose is all stopped up, I'll send you
full directions and coordinates by fax.  We have a hidden landing strip
just like here, and run a private van from a secret dock down near Biloxi
on the Gulf so you can boat in if you want as well."

     "Great, we'll be there," the five others said in unison.

     "Just remember, we're a breeding operation - none of these little
businesses and ventures Geoffrey intrigues us with.  We're just breeding -
around the clock, day and night - breeding and breeding and breeding.  I
can guarantee you you're never seen so much fucking going on in your
lives," he laughed.

     "Just so we're not left high and dry," Jamil warned.

     "Oh! Don't worry, Jamil.  I'll have a little something lined up to
handle a sexy little boy like you," he laughed.  "And boys, if you're going
to bring me a gift, and I know you will, remember we're only interested in
breeders - if they can't stud, we don't have much use for them but the
resale market."

     "Jesus, now he's telling us what sort of a gift he wants us to bring
him.  What nerve!" Boris laughed.

     Mark Sicillia had ben quiet as long as he could. "Well, I hope you
give me a little hospitality gift like Geoffrey always does, Brett.  And
since we're telling everyone what we want as gifts, I would like a bred
slave you think would make a good breeder for us up in the cold climate of
New York."

     "I'll give it some thought," Brett Harris laughed.



				  THE END

  [Comments on this story should be forwarded to anonymous4371@juno.com]