Date: Tue, 22 Nov 2005 15:30:55 GMT
From: "anonymous4371@juno.com" <anonymous4371@juno.com>
Subject: Surplus Sale (Part 5) - Authoritarian

SURPLUS SALES V: The Fallout

by Bill Smith

     My other friends, Jacob, George, and Jeff, found somewhat different
lives as slaves.

     Jacob, just we had predicted, fell into his slavery with ease,
actually preferring a life where someone else made all the decisions, where
his magnificent body and superb sexual equipment were constantly on full
display and well appreciated, and where his toil was directed to those
things he knew best and was comfortable with: bricklaying and sex.  Just as
we had forecast, his old construction firm made sure they had the highest
bid when he was auctioned off in that the firm needed a good, reliable
bricklayer they didn't have to train and a slave who had already
demonstrated he could get along with others in his work crew.

     For Jacob, there weren't too many adjustments from his old life as a
free man.  Now he worked totally naked at all times, clad only in a heavy
slave collar around his neck and a large band fitted around his genitals to
make sure he never forgot he was now a slave for life and the company's
property.  Now he was equal to the others on his work crew since all
workers at the firm were now slaves and, as such, he could relate with them
better since there was no social distance or envy between them.  Now his
co-workers could fuck him if they wanted instead of always the other way
around, a change that made it easier to relate with each other since no
games of dominance and power were involved - a change Jacob didn't mind
since he often enjoyed a good fucking himself if his partner knew what he
was doing.  Now, he was subject to a slave's discipline, so he felt the tip
of a whip often enough when he slowed down in the afternoons or went he put
a brick in wrong, but he wasn't whipped or prodded more than any of the
others.  Now he was branded to prove he was company property, but it
somehow told him he belonged now and established someone else was
responsible for him.  And now he was open game for the sexual advances of
the overseers who utilized their advantage over the slaves whenever they
got horny, but like the whips, it was no more than the others had to put up
with and some of the overseers were downright appreciative if you took care
of them properly with a ready hole or an eager mouth. In fact, cooperating
in that area with a smile on your face pretty well guaranteed you got fed
all you wanted; got some special treats now and then, and even a little
extra rest period when you looked a little worn down.

     Overall, Jacob had few complaints about the direction his life had
taken.  He had always wanted a legitimate excuse to display his body and
his ample equipment - now it was routine and expected - and he enjoyed the
envious stares and looks of lust he often got from people just walking down
the street as he worked. In fact, some of them just stopped and enjoyed the
sight of his beautiful body in strained motion with the rivulets of sweat
highlighting his masculine beauty while his big prick, forced into
prominent protrusion by his tight fitting genital band, flopped around
semi-erect in front of him.  Just seeing them staring at him gave him a
full hard-on, and if they kept staring very long with the right kind of
look in their eyes, he started dripping as well, much to their excitement.
He was even more popular and well-liked by his fellow workers than when he
was free because now he really was one of them and they didn't have to beg
him to fuck them or trade their bodies for the little treats he gave them
now and then.  Now they could just ask to be fucked or to fuck him - all
was equal among slaves.  Somehow, just as his friends of long ago had
claimed, he was happier as a slave than he had ever been struggling along
as a free man.  It just suited him better.

     George, the black law student, was also bought up by his former
employer, the slave training center located near the law school he had once
attended.  In that job, he had 'broken' new slaves to their sexual
responsibilities, which translated into teaching them now to take a
thorough fucking without complaint, now to suck properly on demand, and to
stretch their holes to where it was reasonably comfortable for them to do
so. At least to the point where they no longer screamed in protest at every
dick sliding up their backside or choking and gagging at every shaft jammed
down their throat.  George had been a natural for the job with his huge,
thick prick, his ability to keep a hard-on for hours on end, and a
well-formed musculature that allowed him to fuck slaves for hours on end
without tiring.  Besides, being black, he was useful to acclimate new
white, Latino, and Asian slaves to serving black masters if that's who
ended up buying them.  The training center paid a hefty price to obtain
George, but his price was little more than the wages they had previously
paid him over the past couple of years so, all in all, he was a good
bargain even though they did have to feed him now, but slave chow was
relatively cheap and clothing cost nothing at all since he was kept naked
at all times.  The only other cost was his shiny new slave collar, his tit
rings for ease in leashing him as needed, and the fitted nose ring that
denoted his trainer status at the center.  No genital band was installed in
that the center didn't want anything getting in the way of full insertion
when he fucked the new trainees and his equipment was so huge he hardly
needed to have it highlighted by a genital ring anyway.

     George would never become a lawyer now, of course, but, as his owner
commented when he bought him, "he'll still be putting the screws to his
clients, don't you worry."  George did exactly that over the next decade,
over and over and over, heaving bodies struggling beneath him and trying to
mute their screams as his huge organ "opened them up" and "broke them" one
after another as the new slaves were trained in what was expected of them.
George himself couldn't instruct the new slaves in how best to accommodate
him, however.  The judge's advice when he was sentenced had been taken and
acted upon: he had been silenced almost immediately after enslavement with
one simple snip far down his throat as his vocal cords were severed
forever.  So with only some grunts and hand signals was he able to
communicate to all those sweating bodies placed beneath him.  As the years
passed, his virility remained remarkably stable and seldom was his prick
not hard and rigid as yet another new body was placed under him to be
"broken."  But the nose ring was no symbol of status to him no matter what
the training center thought. It was continually bothersome and really
irritating when an overseer used a short leash to hook his nose ring to the
rutting bench so his movements were limited even as he was fucking away.
The advantage was no one needed to worry he would stray from the task at
hand; the disadvantage was he felt like a prize bull chained in a studding
station which of course had a semblance of truth to it.

     By the age of 43, he just couldn't get it up and hold it like he used
to and was transferred to the position of general house-slave trainer
equipped with a whip, electric prod, and a whole series of control leashes
to teach new slaves to instantly response to an owner's request, how to
present and position themselves in an owner's presence, how to administer
enemas to themselves as well as body shave themselves, how to serve a
master or mistress at the dinner table, how to clean an owner's house, how
to do their laundry, how to dress and bathe a mistress or master, and a
myriad other duties expected of house slaves.  He was good at this despite
being mute and generally enjoyed the position of authority he had been
given, discovering that punishing the slaves under his whip was a
reasonable substitute for sex if you really got into it.  This made him a
most efficient trainer, if not an unusually harsh one, but no one minded as
long as the slaves under him weren't permanently damaged, their sales value
was maintained, and the training was thorough enough to last a lifetime.
By 60, he was recognized as the best house slave trainer in the center.
George enjoyed the recognition and respect he got from his owners for this
although he knew the slaves under his charge hated him, then feared him,
and finally, viewed him as an unstoppable force they totally acquiesced
their body and soul to.  It was then they became a good well trained slave
ready for the marketplace.  George lived to 62 when a stroke felled him and
even now, a picture of him graces the training center's hall of fame, the
first black to obtain such an honor. How many lawyers do you know who are
featured in a hall of fame?

     Jeff, the city's old municipal construction slave supervisor was never
noted for his brains, but had proven to be reliable and loyal when he was
free.  His big frame and sturdy physique stood him in good stead and, as
soon as he had finished his basic slave training, he was sold to an auto
assembly plant where he installed headlights on new trucks coming down the
line.  The job didn't call for brains, but did require long hours of work
bent over at a very rapid pace as a new truck came down the line every 45
seconds.  In that short time, he had to install both headlights carefully,
adjust them for the proper height, and get two more headlights in his hand
from the bin for the next truck. Any mistakes, falterings, slowdowns, or
breakage were dealt with swiftly: a severe jolt was administered to his
balls via the battery- operated electronic shock band welded around his
genitals. During the typical 14 hour work day, Jeff had his balls fried
briefly about eight times on a good day, and up to 20 on a really bad day.
He was leashed to his work area by a chain attached to an ankle band, was
forced to take his water (and urinate) in place at his work station since
there were no rest breaks where he was unchained, and was only fed before
and after his work when, now leashed by his neck collar, he was allowed to
eat, drink, shit, and shower before being caged for the night, usually with
seven others just like him who used each other for their only sex life.
His work schedule was 14 hours on; 10 off 365 days a year.  Once Jeff got
used to the work day, he found the work boring and would have liked to
daydream a bit but he could never let up for even a little bit for fear of
having his balls shocked once again. A few of the brainier slaves went
berserk occasionally, but in every case, the ball shocker got them back in
control of themselves and hustling away like never before.  About the only
relief was playing with the other slaves in the shower room where a few
liberties were allowed as long as you were quiet about it and enjoying each
others bodies in the cages at night where most anything went as long as you
didn't make too much noise and got enough rest to work efficiently and
steadily the next day.  Jeff, like the others, soon discovered that sexual
relief found early in the evening allowed him to sleep soundly the rest of
the night, so the minute he was caged, he paired up with whoever was
willing and drained his usually sore balls the best way he could. Assembly
line slaves generally didn't last too long, usually being sent to the
rendering plants by their mid thirties.  But Jeff was a tough old goat and
he wasn't carted off until he was a little over 40.  By then, his balls
were black from being burnt so often, his prick had shriveled up
considerably from its youthful glory, and his frame looked wasted from
overwork.  But, for what he had cost originally, and considering how little
it took to maintain him, the car company had certainly gotten his cost back
many times over.  Although car companies, like all the others, could only
compete in world markets using slave labor, Jeff had been way above average
in offering good value for the capital invested.  If all industrial slaves
like him lasted as long as he had, the productivity charts were go ever
higher and cars would be even cheaper than they were.

     The most profitable fallout of the enslavement of the poor, however,
was in agriculture where food was now produced at highly competitive world
market prices.  The nation had lower labor costs now than almost any nation
on earth and could sell food abroad cheaper than most countries could
produce it themselves.  Even countries where the cheapest starvation wages
were being paid to the free peasants working their farms and even with the
added costs of transporting the food long distances there, our country it
cheaper using slave labor.  It was only a matter of time until all nations
would have no choice but go to unpaid labor if they were to survive, at
least in food production.

     Strangely, the Italian slave owned at one time by my old friend Jeff
who always kept him in harness for some strange reason, had ended up at one
of the Western agribusiness farms rather than being exported like most bred
slaves. The confusion may have come from that darn harness that his master
Jeff had welded on him so he couldn't wiggle out of it ever.  Just seeing
him, you would assume he was some sort of industrial or farm slave and
that's where those charged with classifying slaves for the market put him
up for sale. Rhinds Agribusiness picked him up in a lot of 500, stripped
him of that stupid harness, branded him with their logo, re-collared him
with their signature slave collar where he could easily be chain ganged,
and, before he knew it, he was in California harvesting artichokes by the
ton working in a chain-gang of 100 under an overseer that made sure that
gang met their production quotas each and every day or everyone in the gang
was short-rationed as well as beat until their backs were red with blood.
If one in the gang stumbled, ruined an artichoke, by squeezing it too hard
or dropping it, ate an artichoke in his hunger, or malingered in any way,
the entire gang was punished with the electric prod or hot irons or the
mylar whip.  But if the offense was particularly bad, like grumbling or
giving an overseer a rebellious look or hesitating in fulfilling an order
even briefly, a bullwhipping to all was administered that left their backs
scarred for life and pain that made sure no one in that gang ever pulled a
stunt like that again.

     The Italian slave, used mainly for sex and housework until this, was
in shock the first day on the gang with his neck chained to the others, but
when he couldn't keep up the pace and his entire gang was punished for it,
he knew he would face hell in the gang's cage that night.  Hell didn't
describe what all the gang did to him that night, but the next day he made
sure, no matter how much he ached or how tired he was, that he kept up with
the others and didn't do anything that would get the gang in trouble.  That
night, no one was beat with the bullwhip but the beetles forced down his
ears which had caused indescribable pain had hurt his hearing forever and
the live sewer rat forced up his asshole had died fairly quickly but not
before it tore a hole in his rectal lining which was still bleeding and
would no doubt hurt for weeks, especially when he took a shit.  With no
tools other than their hands, his crew mates were ingenious in how to
discipline one of their own when their own welfare was at stake.

     Seldom did the Italian mess up after that, but still there was the
constant whip, the backbreaking work that left you totally exhausted long
before the day was over, the chronic feeling of never feeling full, and the
knowledge you would be too tired to ever enjoy sex again, filled him with a
feeling of remorse for his previous life where all he had to do was keep
his master happy and sexually satisfied at all times.  But he realized this
life was the life of millions of other slaves - they survived - so could
he.  He also realized he wasn't given a choice in what life he led - no
slave did.  Rhinds Agribusiness was prospering however, who bragged their
food products could compete anyplace in the world. After all, they had
received the nation's top award for productivity only last year and were
honored by the President himself for contributing to keeping the nation's
trade balance on the plus side.  Who could argue with such success?

     The fallout from the major changes in our nation's laws could not be
clearly seen when they were first enacted.  But the politicians had been
right.  The nation, beset with problems, had tackled them head on and won.
The fallout had all been positive as far as anyone who mattered could see.
As for the slaves - well, no one asked them about national policy.

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[Your comments on this tale are always appreciated.  Please forward them to
anonymous4371@juno.com.  Thanks.  Bill Smith]