Date: Sun, 27 Nov 2005 17:10:29 GMT
From: "anonymous4371@juno.com" <anonymous4371@juno.com>
Subject: Surplus Sale - Part 6 (Authoritarian)

        SURPLUS SALES VI: TAKING CARE OF THE INCIDENTALS

                         by Bill Smith

SIX MONTHS LATER:

     I had completely lost track of all of my former friends as well as the
five bred slaves we had once owned by this time.  Now, of course, we were
all slaves in one capacity or another.  >From overhearing my mistress'
conversations with her friends from time to time, and occasionally getting
to glimpse a TV or catch a newspaper headline when she was out shopping, I
was aware of the major changes in the our nation's society. As you are no
doubt aware, slaves are never allowed material to read or to watch TV or
radio in that there was no need for them to be informed, but, nevertheless,
occasionally, I pick up on a few things now and then.

     First, I was aware most slaves from the breeding farms were being
exported in exchange for oil imports and I assumed that was the fate of the
five slaves my friends and I had once owned. Second, I knew the vast
majority of those newly enslaved since enactment of the penury laws were
now owned by the big agribusinesses or corporate manufacturing industries.
Only the best looking (and I suppose the luckiest) who were very well
equipped and easy to train to domestic service ended up like I did,
'display studs,' brothel slaves, and gentlemen's bed-bucks, generically
referred to at the slave markets as 'sex slaves' no matter what exact
duties we were put to or with whom. Third, I knew that using slave labor to
produce most products nowadays had made our nation's products extremely
competitive in world markets, had solved our balance of payments problems,
and, as a bonus, practically eliminated any welfare program costs as well
as eliminated the national debt through the gains made from the sales of
millions of newly made slaves. Fourth, I knew the country's breeding farms
were exceeding production quotas and were churning out more new slaves than
ever, each new batch genetically improved through selective breeding, and
so there seemed to be no supply problem of slaves now or in the foreseeable
future, each new batch on the average bigger, stronger and more muscular,
more disease resistant, more enduring, better looking, and better equipped
sexually. In the next generation, about 50% of the bred slaves would be
exported; the other 50% would be replacement stock for the nation's
corporate needs, replacing the large numbers of people who had been
enslaved initially due to the penury laws but who were now getting rather
scarce.

     All of this didn't effect me directly, of course, in that I was
consumed with the demands of my current mistress, fulfilling her seemingly
insatiable sexual needs, being displayed in all my glory in her daily
shopping and social expeditions, being loaned out to her friends for their
amusement, and, not infrequently, being sent to her husband's bed which
generally turned into 'all-nighters' leaving me exhausted, sore and aching
the next morning.  But it was the public outings by my mistress where I
picked up most information about what was going on in the world at large.

     I had always wondered what happened to my friend George's old slave, a
real hunk who was young, hung, eager and as black as his owner.  When we
had shared our slaves between friends in the old days, I always enjoyed
drawing the straw where he was mine for the night.  He was always
cooperative, eager, and inventive, even though he wasn't my slave and had
simply been loaned to me for the night, and he always did what I wanted
without a hint of protest, whether it was the hours on his knees between my
knees sucking me off, or bending over the bed taking my prick up his ass
for even more hours. He was the first black I had ever fucked and I found
the experience exotic in that the blacks marketed for personal use, even
then, were considered premium goods due to their smooth blemish-free hides,
their bubble-butts, their pretty eyelashes and handsome faces, as well as
their muscular physiques and invariably ample equipment.

     Being a bred slave originally, was he now in some foreign land
satisfying some strange foreign master or mistress?  Or had he ended up in
a chain gang on some farm enterprise in this country?  Or was he toiling
away in some factory, chained to a work station with a ball shocker
strapped on?

     One day, when being towed by my leash behind my mistress at a nearby
shopping mall, I got my answer.  There, on a huge billboard, was George's
old slave with an appealing smile on his face, a fancy helmet on his head,
a tight very thick gold-colored collar welded around his neck, and the rest
of him covered completely with a skin tight football outfit of gold-colored
spandex that highlighted every feature of his suburb muscular body.
Emblazoned across the front and back of his uniform was "DETROIT TIGERS" in
black with his team number and team nickname "THE CRUSHER" directly below
that.  On both exposed arms, right below his shoulder pads, was the Detroit
Tigers' logo brand (an stylistic "DT") which also had been burnt into his
right cheek.  His thick collar had been engraved "Property of the Detroit
Tigers."  His helmet, in team colors, simply said "THE CRUSHER" across the
top, front, and back. The uniform itself, thin, slick, and close to
transparent, displayed every aspect of his super-muscular build of muscle
piled on top of muscle, huge pectorals with prominent tits practically
sticking through the material, row after row of perfectly defined abs, a
huge bulge over a prominent, very large protective cup over his genitals,
and every curve and indentation of his perfectly shaped butt and
thighs. The uniform protected his hide from the cuts and scrapes of the
game, made him hard to hold on to if tackled, and yet hid nothing of the
hyper-masculinity of his body and the pleasures that body could offer once
it was stripped from his body.  At first, I thought it was some slave just
reminding me of George's old slave, but, upon closer inspection, I knew it
was him.  After all, I had been over him, in him, behind him, and beside
him many a night and had studied his face carefully as he had sucked me off
or I stared into it as I fucked him when I took him on his back. No, it was
him all right.  I chuckled at how he was now named "Crusher," something I
had done to him often enough when I fucked him back in the olden days when
I was a poor, but free master and he was a naive new product just hitting
the market straight off the breeding farm serving his first master, my old
friend George, the struggling black law student who sexually trained new
slaves in his spare-time job.

     'Crusher' was being featured in an advertisement for a forthcoming
Detroit Tigers game.  He was, apparently, a star tackle, and was being
hyped based on his past game performance as well as his stellar good looks
and handsome body.

     Up until just a few years ago, athletes were free men who demanded
exorbitant contracts in the millions of dollars to don their designated
uniforms and grace the field usually with displays of hot tempers, a
put-upon attitude, and numerous missed practices and even games.  Their
off-duty behavior was even more scandalous filled with arrests for
disorderly conduct, public drunkenness, driving while drunk, drug-taking,
trashing hotels, and beating up the whores they seem to prefer for sexual
companionship.  The salaries they were paid had jacked ticket prices into
the ozone layer and attendance at major sporting events was waning in
protest to the high ticket fees. Football, soccer, baseball, and basketball
all were threatened with falling profits and eventually a lot of red ink if
something wasn't done to correct the situation immediately.  When the
athletes went on strike for a demanded 20% more on top of the millions they
were being paid each year, the corporate owners had had enough and switched
to slave-athletes almost overnight who could be bought at almost any good
slave market and trained to a much higher level of athleticism with no more
pay than a good whip, an electric prod, and careful control of the food,
drink and sleep available for the well-developed, very muscular and
handsome super-masculine bodies they favored buying.  Ironically, most of
the former highly paid athletes, uneducated and having no other skills,
squandered their fortunes quickly and often found themselves in the slave
markets themselves within a year or to due to the penury laws.  Indeed, a
good 40% of current athletic teams were now composed of slaves who had once
been professional free athletes and required little additional training,
but a heck of a lot of stern slave discipline before they met their new
owner's demands.

     Slave-athletes had tremendous advantages over and above not having to
pay them.  First, they could be trained to levels thought unbelievable
until their coaches realized they could do anything to slaves to achieve
better performance - there were no restrictions now, no player's unions to
contend with, no holds barred.  All that was necessary was to protect the
owner's investment if possible and, if a few were lost in the process of
the severe training imposed, the loss was negligible when a replacement
didn't cost all that much.  Second, the rules of the game itself could be
changed in that most of them had been designed to protect the players -
that was no longer necessary when the players were expendable if the game
was improved.  Third, athlete-slaves could be marketed way beyond their
performance in the game itself - if you owned a player, he was yours to
market both on and off the field, impossible in the old days when free
players were only duty-bound during the games and practices they had
contracted to perform.  Thus, star players now were rented out as sexual
playmates to interested women and men most nights when they weren't
scheduled to pay the next day; were leased to professional slave breeders
when it was time to make a new generation of slave athletes; had their
sperm sold by slave hawkers in small cups at the very games where they were
performing as an expensive souvenir for the spectators interested in
literally having a 'taste of their favorite athlete'; were often sold as
sex performers for wealthy clientele hosting a memorable party; and
frequently called upon to 'entertain' corporate owners and shareholders who
enjoyed nothing better than fully exploring all the attributes and goodies
the athletes had to offer once they were stripped down completely, flushed
out, body shaved, and had their hides oiled in the privacy of their own
homes.

     In fact, 'off-duty' performances were often as valuable and prized as
'on-field' performance and athlete-slaves were trained accordingly.  This
meant they were taught to use their bodies to bring utmost pleasure to both
genders in whatever was called for; were taught to costume themselves in a
variety of form-fitting but attractive outfits way beyond their uniforms
including no costume or uniform at all in many cases; were taught to
exhibit themselves to best display their masculine attributes at any and
all times; and to accommodate their milking whenever indicated in that
their sperm sold for big prices in the stands at the games, at sport shops
in frozen format, or canned where it was frequently used to mix into a
drink or a hot cup of cocoa or even flavor a roast for devoted sports fans.
Truck stops always featured small cubes of frozen sperm, available right
out of the case by favorite team and player, complete with an enclosed card
with all the stats and a picture of your favorite sports star in four
poses: naked front and back, a close-up of his erect shaft and balls; and
another close-up of his exposed hole, stretched and lubed.

     Slave-athletes, like George's old slave, generally didn't have to
worry about old-age.  Players were severely punished for not winning at any
cost.  This meant players usually suffered a lot of broken bones over the
years, torn muscles, and ugly scars where their hides had been torn open by
bare teeth and sharpened fingernails.  Once a player was injured to the
point where simple rehabilitation couldn't get him back on the field along
with the heavy use of a bullwhip and electric prods, he was generally just
sold off for body parts still functioning, such as his kidneys, balls,
lungs, heart, etc.., or if those were valueless as well, he was simply sold
off to a good rendering plant who salvaged his hide generally if it wasn't
too scarred up for potential souvenir sales (hides featuring the team's
logo branded into it were particularly prized) and the rest of him turned
into - well, you don't want to know although rumor had it most fertilizers
for the home garden had a lot of slave in it.  There was a dark rumor on
the internet that the new higher-cost 'high-protein' slave chow being
marketed was primarily being produced by rendering plants, but a government
investigation seemed to downplay that notion claiming "there were much
cheaper ways to obtain high-protein ingredients for slave chow than
reprocessing dead slaves which would require considerable energy to
transform the raw meat into a dry food product.  Furthermore, that whole
process would involve considerable danger of used putrid meat if it wasn't
done quickly.  This is not to say that the product under investigation may
not be used for fertilizer or pet foods dependent on market conditions."

     But even while a slave-athlete was a full member of a team, he was
exposed to a lot of discipline.  Coaches now routinely used the bullwhip
and electric prod as coaching tools and several teams were experimenting
with the ball shockers used widely with manufacturing slaves although they
tendered to temporary immobilize a player for too long a period to make
their practical at this point.  Every team had a whipping rack right next
to the sidelines where a player's mistake or a player thought to not be
putting forth his best effort was reminded of his obligations in one bloody
display after another (which a lot of the fans thought was worth the price
of the ticket alone). And coach's assistants usually had some red-hot
branding irons quickly available on the sidelines if a player had made a
really serious error on the field.  Huge dildos were frequently rammed up
the asses of slaves needing motivation to play harder and with more
aggression, held firmly in place by specially designed jock straps. Playing
a hard game with a thick 12" dildo driven far up your rectum did indeed
make a player more aggressive, especially when he had typically been
injected full of testosterone just minutes before the game which keep him
on edge the entire game and throughout the long locker- room visitation
period afterward when he was stripped down and being viewed in the buff by
anyone willing to pay the $3 fee charged for admission along with the right
to feel any part of him they wished as long as they didn't bring him off.

     The end result of these methods were slave-athletes who had hides torn
up with bull whips, scarred with the burns of electric prods and branding
irons, chafed from the fondling of the locker room fans, and bones and
muscles suffering constant bruising, minor tears, and dislocations.  Add to
that the 'off-game' demands of being frequently milked until their balls
were dry, being fucked until they could barely walk the next day, and
serving stud until their thighs and ass muscles ached, their bodies went
fast despite the special high-nourishment high-protein diets (usually
supplemented with lots of red meat obtained cheaply at road-kill collection
centers) and wonderful medical care and personal hygiene they received. An
athlete-player's career generally lasted around five years, although a few,
through pure luck, lasted six or seven, while others, usually through
injury, lasted only a few months. George's old slave seemed to be a
survivor from looking at his billboard.

     My mistress saw me staring at the billboard and put two and two
together.

     "Do you know that slave" she asked, "or are you showing hard because
you want to fuck something like that?"

     "He once belonged to a friend of mine back before I was a slave,
mistress," I responded, instantly putting my eyes down to the ground.

     "I suppose you were fucking him, then, if your friend was generous
with his slave," she inquired.

     "Yes, mistress. We used to share our slaves with each other,
mistress."

     "As we all do now and then," she purred, referring to the many times
she had loaned me out to friends, both female and male.

     "Well, judging from your hard-on, I take it he was a good fuck or are
you just turned on by any black buck?" she laughed.

     "Yes, mistress.  He was a bred slave and had been well trained in that
area, mistress," I replied, ignoring the second part of her question.

     "Well, he is handsome in that Tigers uniform, I must admit, and it's
reassuring to know he's well trained for bed duties.  Perhaps I'll go see
the game if any of my friends are interested," she added, tugging on the
leash attached to my genital band to indicate I had stood staring at the
poster long enough, pulled me rather harshly into the next shop she wanted
to browse in and where my naked body could be admired by a new audience.

     Two of her friends did accompany her to the game the next day where
each of the threesome took their display studs with them.  I had never been
to a football game before or after my enslavement due to the high costs and
found the experience exhilarating despite the fact I was there as a naked
sexual object on full display in front of thousands of sports fans, all of
whom, it seemed, enjoyed ogling and fondling the likes of us as much as
they liked seeing the game itself.  The three of us 'display studs' had to
stand the entire time beside our mistresses who were seated in a box for
four, but our owners still had to pay the half-price slave fee for our
admission so I was most fortunate in being there at all.  By this time, of
course, all three of us slaves were used to being displayed, even with
dripping hard-ons, and the box kept most onlookers from handling us much,
although our mistresses made up for that throughout the game. One of my
mistress' friends owned a light brown17-year-old Puerto Rican 'display
stud' who was almost delicate in his build although having the prerequisite
huge, always erect circumcised prick 'display slaves' were selected for.
Nevertheless, he seemed incredibly naive - although I realize it is hard to
construe of a 'display slave' as being naive. Her other friend's slave was
an older man who was as muscular as any athlete on the field in front of us
- a huge black with monstrous organs who had been one mistress or another's
sex object since he had first been enslaved, like me, around the age of
21. Over the years he had seen it all - including serving stud in a rutting
shed at one of the breeding farms a short stint in his mid-20s and an even
briefer stint as an athlete-slave until he was slightly injured during his
first game - not enough to get snuffed, but enough to get resold as a
'display slave.'

     The game in front of us was so brutal and violent it was beyond belief
to anything I had seen in more innocent times. There was blood everywhere
with the sound of bones being crushed and skulls cracked drifting clear up
into the stands.  Attendant slaves were kept busy carting injured slaves
off of the field - on stretchers if they could be repaired; just dragging
them off the field as they screamed in agony if they couldn't or were too
far gone to scream anymore. The bullwhips were in constant action on the
sidelines of both sides, as was the sizzle of electric prods and hot irons
bearing into slave's exposed hide, now quickly stripped of their uniforms
so their bodies were not protected.  Several times, one player or another
got their teeth into another's leg or cheek or neck and wouldn't let loose
until a piece of flesh had been torn off those attacked or the aggressor
had been knocked unconscious. One tactic was to stomp on the big protective
cups placed over an athlete's genitals until they cracked and the slave's
balls could then be crushed with either a bare hand of their attacker
squeezing them as hard as he could or using his knee to grind them into
pulp while the slave screamed until he generally passed out. By the end of
the first quarter, five percent of the players on the field had been
eliminated through injury or death.  By the end of the game, only 80% were
left intact and alive.  The survivors weren't through, however.  They now
had to strip completely, shower, and let anyone with $3 in their hand grope
and fondle them for the next two hours when they would be fed, douched,
lubed and then sent to their evening's assignment where someone had bought
the complete use of their body for a night's enjoyment or they were
scheduled for a 'performance' at a company party, a corporate reception, or
a 'motivational' dinner sponsored by a corporate sponsor.

     George's former slave played admirably, survived the game, and, as he
was headed for the locker rooms spotted me standing in the box seats near
the team's exit corridor. A smile lit his face as he saw a face he knew in
the crowd and laughed as he saw I was now a slave myself obviously being
used sexually judging from my obscene naked display enhanced by my
mistress' stoking my shaft vigorously with one hand and massaging one of my
swollen ringed tits with the other.  He winked lewdly at me as a comrade in
service knowing both of us would be in someone's bed being used in whatever
fashion someone, mistress or master, wanted. Soon his body would be fondled
just like mine was being right now and before the night was over both of us
would have sore asses or be totally drained or probably both.

     He was right.  My mistress and her friends each paid the $3 for the
locker room grope and close-up inspection of the Detroit Tigers entire team
while I and the other two 'display studs' were leashed out right outside
where visitors seemed to think we were there for exactly the same reason
without the $3 charge.  But eventually, the three of them returned to
retrieve their properties, but not before my mistress had paid the
considerable fee to have "Crusher" for her own use that night.  As soon as
we got back to her home and said farewell to her friends and their slaves,
"Crusher" was delivered back in his tight revealing Detroit Tigers uniform.
Once in the house, he was ordered to strip out of that and there I saw for
the first time the many whip scars, burn marks, and healed skin wounds that
covered his body only adding to the raw masculine look he projected with
his hypermuscularity.  I was ordered down on my hands and knees with my
legs spread wide while "Crusher" was ordered to fuck me as "turn about fair
play" as my Mistress giggled, referring to the many times I had fucked
"Crusher" back when he was George's slave and now he was, at last, able to
fuck me.  That he did under her constant direction which urged forceful
entry, powerful plunging all the way in, and an unrelenting performance
until she tired of the scene and I had plenty well collapsed down to my
elbows and shoulders from being fucked so hard.  Then, she had him mount
her for the slow, lingering fucking she preferred that went on for hours
and hours since "Crusher" was forbidden to have an organism while fucking
either one of us while I wiped the sweat off his body and arranged the
pillows around my mistress so she was always comfortable. My mistress
certainly got her money out renting him that night.  By morning she was
satiated but still had him fuck me one more time since "he probably enjoys
fucking a former master."  Just when he had plummeted me thoroughly, again
with me on my hands and knees, since my mistress had decreed "animals like
it better that way," the delivery van arrived to pick "Crusher" up and take
him back to the Detroit Tigers kennel for caging. It was the last I saw of
him myself.

     But that athlete-slave turned out to be a phenomenon.  He played for
the Detroit Tigers for three more years before, finally, fate caught up
with him and he died on the field of a brain concussion pitted against the
New York Jets who featured an all-black team. By that time, he was a legend
and his hide was turned into over a dozen wallets, each selling for over
$500 as valuable mementos of one of the greatest slave-athletes to ever
play for the Detroit Tigers.  The tanner had made sure each wallet featured
the brand of the Tigers and at least one scar from a field injury or a
touch of the coach's own whip.

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

     Two other enterprises had experienced similar problems to professional
athletics in that the players were paid too much and proved hard to
control.  One was the movie-TV industry; the other was musicians.  Both of
these problem areas were handled the same way that had proven so successful
in sports - the free players were brusquely replaced with slaves who had
the necessary qualifications.  Movie stars were the easiest to replace.
All you needed was a slave looking like the role to be filled; some acting
lessons taught with a heavy whip, an electric dildo harnessed up their ass,
and a food supply given spoonful by spoonful dependent on their successful
completion of a given scene in front of the cameras.  A busy hype
department created "stars" just like before, but sexual liaisons, drug
taking, drunkenness, and punching out photographers and overzealous fans
could now be easily controlled.  And the usual benefits of slavery were
even more apropos in this area: "stars" could be rented out for sexual use;
production schedules could be considerably accelerated; and the infamous
casting couch seemed quaint when any slave was there for the taking without
a lot of subterfuge.  The only problem was making sure the raw fear of
severe punishment didn't show up on the silver screen or the TV screen.
Some slaves whose acting coaches used a bit too much of the whips, dildos
and prods available produced an actor who trembled too much when he spotted
the everpresent whips right beside the cameras, whose lips quivered
whenever a new direction was given by his coach/director; or when the
electric dildo frequently buried invisibly in them when the camera was on
moved a little due to his movements and he overreacted to the internal
stimulus even though the shock apparatus within it had been turned off for
the screening.  Some slave actors, once making a successful movie or TV
show, found themselves acclaimed wherever they went and were beseeched with
screaming fans who pawed at their bodies and groped them unmercifully
since, as slaves, they were fair game until the company body guards shooed
them away if it looked like they might damage the property.  But popularity
on the screen meant heightened appeal to a public intent on getting
bragging rights they had fucked "so and so," their favorite star, or been
sucked off by yet another of their favorites.  They could do this, of
course, if they were willing to pay the steep prices asked by the studios
for such a privilege.  It was surprising just how many came up with the
price and most slave actors were kept as busy in fan's boudoirs as they
were in front of the studios cameras.  In fact, studios soon found that
with successful marketing, the slave actors made more money as whores than
they reaped in as actors.  Nothing new about whoredom in Hollywood, of
course, but now all of it was channeled directly into the studios pockets.
From the slaves' perspective, it guaranteed they were well fed, well
rested, given the best medical care, and kept in excellent physical
condition.  They had decent caging when they weren't being used, keep on a
busy, but limited sexual usage schedule to insure longevity and maintenance
of their youthful looks, and given plastic surgery as necessary to maintain
"the look" that had been marketed to the public.  Some slave-actors played
the roles of young men well into their mid-40s and then glided into player
older roles without too much trouble while still being able to be sold
sexually, albeit to an older clientele.  By their sixties, many slave-
actors became acting coaches for new slaves and thus maintained their worth
to the studios.  It was only when their health failed that they hung it up
- literally at a rendering plant, but, in exceptional cases of stardom,
stuffed and displayed at the Hollywood Museum.

     Musicians were also primarily slaves nowadays - everything from
screaming rock performers dressed in nothing but some body adornments to
opera stars outfitted in the costumes of their operatic roles to country
singers fitted out in tight blue jeans, cowboy boots, and hat, and,
anymore, bare-chested to best show off their pecs and abs, honed to
perfection by their managers.  Each slave demonstrating perfect pitch, a
melodic full ranged voice, a good musical memory, and an appealing
appearance could be trained for whatever was needed by market conditions
whether it was a classical tenor, a nasal sounding country singer, or a
screaming rock performer. Costuming was a good part of the performance and
great attention was paid to how slaves were presented to their public.
Opera singers were trained to be dignified and refined in public, always
polite but never brassy.  Country singers were trained to be exuberant and
enthusiastic in public, almost overly personal, and suggestive that they
wouldn't mind being fucked by whoever their audience was. Rock singers were
trained to be totally uninhibited, unabashed by their constant nudity,
exhibitionistic, and showy with ringed tits, rings in their noses, and
tattoos all over their bodies.  Most were taught to show hard the entire
time they were on stage, ejaculate at least two or three times during a
given show, and pitched their off-show availability at a sizeable fee that
went to their owner between every song.

     A nice benefit to the public was a drastic lowering of concert prices
so everyone could afford most any performance they wanted to attend; an
increase in cultural events in that community orchestras and choirs were so
affordable most any town had one now; and no argued that cultural standards
had taken a definite upward swing.  No one had to been envious of the
Europeans anymore in that area.  Furthermore, bought slaves under the whip
were a hell of a lot easier to handle than the temperamental divas managers
had had to contend with before slaves were utilized.  The country singers
and rock stars brought in a pretty penny being rented out for sexual use by
devoted fans and, surprisingly, even opera fans were willing to fork out
quite a bit once they realized opera singers could have good looking
bodies, handsome faces, and appealing sexuality in addition to a great
voice.  The only losers were those who had once been free agents in the
music industry before slaves took over the market.  Most of them had been
quickly reduced to poverty as soon as the jobs dried up and it was only a
matter of time until they were before a judge for penury, sold into
slavery, and often found themselves again playing their old violin, singing
that same aria, pelting out that same rock classic, or whining away at the
same old country tune they had done for thousands of dollars in a different
time.  This time, though, they had a collar around their neck, a whip over
their head, and often were in a cage rather than their old apartment when
the performance was over unless, of course, someone had bought them for an
evening's fun and games.

     Agriculture, manufacturing, entertainment, culture, sports, export and
import commodities, barters for oil, adjustments to the balance of
payments, reductions for the national debt, elimination of the tax-sucking
poverty-ridden lower classes and all their costs in social services,
alleviation of sexual frustration for almost all free citizens - you name
it, slavery had solved it. They had even brought the price of a good movie
down to $1.50, the price of a rock concert or an operate to $5.00 and one
could now see a Broadway musical for $15.00 tops.

     There would never be a surplus of slaves, bred or otherwise.  The
country had found a use for every single slave up for sale and every one in
the future that could be produced by the breeding farms going 24 hours a
day or the courts working around the clock enforcing the penury laws.  The
idea of having a sale of "surplus slaves" seemed quaint, even archaic, now
that the country had found its proper direction.

THE END

[I appreciate feedback on these tales.  Please contact me at
anonymous4371@juno.com and let me know what you thought.  Thanks.  Bill
Smith]