Colonel Beddington

COLONEL CHARLES BEDDINGTON

Part I

by Bill Smith

[Please let me if it is worth the time and effort to post this story as well as let me know what you think of this story by contacting me at anonymous4371@juno.com. Thanks, Bill Smith]

CHAPTER 6

"Who is the Colonel putting in charge of this new slave's training?" the slavefitter Owondo asked the steward as they awaited arrival of the Colonel's rig.

"I'm not sure he's decided yet, Owondo. In discussing the matter last night, he was thinking of commissioning the famous trainer, Jacque Chouveniel, but I pointed out he had a very long waiting list and the Colonel didn't want to wait that long to get started. I suggested Ngoto, the huge black that has had such success training the slaves for the manufacturing complex or even that ugly old overseer at the mines who seems to take raw slaves of any ilk and turns them into trouble-free working units without too much fuss. Both of those fellows wouldn't cost him a dime in extra charges. But he didn't seem too interested in those suggestions, Owondo."

"What about yourself?" Owondo asked. "You've certainly trained enough new slaves over the years. That batch of white waiters you have serving table flawlessly is just an example and rumor has it they are trained to perfection in their bedroom duties." Owondo wet his lips and rubbed his crotch appreciatively as he remembered the last time he had laid eyes on their extraordinarily attractive naked bodies, fully outfitted to enhance their best features by none other than himself. And didn't you yourself train the two 'ponies' pulling his rig as well as this good-looking stud?" he added, pointing to the black chauffeur who was once again fully aroused, an event emphasized in full display due to the tight fitting genital ring with which he had been fitted by Owondo himself some months ago when the slave had first been acquired.

"I've had success in the area, no doubt about it," the steward said modestly, admiring the strikingly beautiful black body of the fully aroused chauffeur. "That slave there was so much fun training, I almost regretted when he was ready to be placed in the Colonel's full service," he said, nodding to the black chauffeur. "But my satisfaction is knowing his training has made him a valuable addition to the household staff and he has, no doubt, added immeasurably to the Colonel's pleasure when called upon."

"As well as your own, you old rascal. You don't fool me," Owondo laughed. "Not that I blame you. With bodies like this at my beck and call, I'd enjoy them too!" he added as he reached out and gently massaged the black's banded balls with his one hand and played with the slave's erect ringed tits with the other hand. He remembered when he had first fitted the slave with these accouterments and how much bigger both his balls and his tits were now as a result of his work. I must say these fittings came out well on this boy," Owondo said proudly. "If he fucks half as good as he looks, this is one valuable slave."

"He fucks even better than he looks," the steward said matter-of-factly, "thanks to his superb training if I do say so myself. But it's obvious you want to think it's because of his fittings. Let's say it's a little of both," the steward laughed, "plus the fact the slave took to being fucked naturally in that he really seems to enjoy it. A good number of handsome blacks are that way, it seems. Natural whores, don't you think, Owondo? You've seen them come and go enough to have formed an opinion."

"Getting fitted properly and getting some decent training only brings out what's already there, steward," Owondo laughed. "I've seldom seem a new recruit to slavery fight the use of his body very long after they've been properly broken in and shown the pleasure they can get out of cooperating with their masters by some decent training."

"The Colonel was thinking of just sending the new slave down to the auction house at Otjiwarongo for his initial training after he'd been fully fitted and raped a few times to introduce him to his new reality. He thought a big advantage was the new slave could see how quickly others new to slavery acquiesced to the demands placed them and how little resistance actually emerges after a new property realizes every drop of water, every bite of food, every minute of rest, and even the right to eliminate your bodily waste is beyond their control anymore. It's a real shock to realize that even gaining any sexual release, having the right to talk, or having any thoughts or feelings of your own - all are completely under a master's control when you're a slave. The Colonel thinks that having others around you who are also new slaves helps the adjustment process considerably. He calls it 'social facilitation'."

"Your master's right," Owondo said thoughtfully, whatever he calls it. "I've seen the beneficial effects over and over in my line of business. Getting your tits ringed when you think you're the only person on this earth that this is being done to is one thing - getting those same tits ringed when all others around you are also having their tits ringed is something else. Same thing with getting collared, getting banded, and getting a nose ring. Even branding is a hell of a lot more acceptable if you can smell other's flesh burning before your own. A lot of slaves settling in is just basic psychology if you ask me. After all, a slave is still a human being. And they do what humans do to survive - they settle in to their slavery and accept the reality of it."

"You're right. You can always tell the minute that resentful look leaves their eyes. You know then they have just accepted what they have to in order to live as good a life as they can under the new conditions of being owned property - there to serve others in all ways possible and to please their masters or mistresses every chance they get, no matter what is asked."

"Yeah, this slave, from what you've told me, was high up the world, and always thought of himself as a big-shot and better than others. But, in the end, those types are no different than a simple herdsman in the Congo caught up by slavers. They're both out to survive, despite what might be asked of them. In fact," Owondo added, "my experience has been that the high and mighty submit to slavery faster than the others," he laughed heartily.

"That's more or less what my master said last night," the steward said excitedly. "That why I think he'd decide to send the new slave down to the Otjiwarongo slave center for training. It will be cheaper and probably take hold faster."

"That's where the master bought me," the black chauffeur said, obviously listening in to the conversation with interest. Bowing to his overseer, the steward, he said, "Sir, you're right about free-borns adjusting faster to slavery when they're around other free-borns getting processed."

"Of course I'm right, but what would you know about it, slave?" the steward snapped. "You were bred for market, weren't you?"

"Yes, sir," the chauffeur replied as he looked down at the ground, blushing in shame and somewhat fearful he had angered his overseer unwittingly.. "But we were caged in with some free-borns down at Otjiwarongo and I watched them accept being what slaves like me have been since birth on. Sorry if spoke out of turn, sir," he apologized..

"Slaves don't speak unless asked a direct question as you well know, so 'sorry' won't excuse your atrocious manners, slave," the steward said harshly. "Remind me to give you five lashes tonight for your rudeness. After you've raped the new slave when told to do so, of course."

"Yes, sir," the black slave replied, an anxious look covering his face as he again bowed his head deeply to show his respect. At least, he would still be allowed to fuck the new slave and gain some long overdue sexual release.

But their conversation ceased as the Colonel's rig quickly came into view and the steward and the chauffeur quickly assumed the obeisance position with their foreheads touching the ground while the slave outfitter stood to one side respectfully. The 'ponies' were wet with perspiration and gasping for breathe, their legs quivering in fatigue the minute the rig was halted. Next to the Colonel sat his house guest, apparently lost in thought as he studied the heaving torsos of the ponies as they struggled for air.

"Out you go, Clint," the Colonel said.

The minute Clint leaped down to the ground, the Colonel's steward and naked chauffeur grabbed him front and back and quickly manacled his arms behind his back and his ankles together as he struggled to get loose. As the two held him upright in his bound condition, the slave outfitter took a sharp knife and expeditiously cut every article of clothing from his body. Within 45 seconds, he had been immobilized and stripped naked as he screamed in protest, looking at the Colonel to immediately intervene in this outrageous revolt on the part of the Colonel's slaves.

"You are nicely equipped," the Colonel commented as he calmly reached down to the struggling Clint and clutched his balls, squeezing them sharply until Clint gasped in pain, "just like my chauffeur claimed. But you'll display much better when we get rid of all that body hair and get you fitted properly. Owondo my fitter here, will quickly get you presentable as the slave you now are, Clint," he stated nonchalantly as he again squeezed Clint's balls tightly and nodded for the slave outfitter to proceed. "You want him on the stand, I assume," the Colonel motioned toward the fitter's mobile 'fitting' frame he had brought with him.

The Colonel's steward and chauffeur quickly moved Clint's struggling and now screaming body to the nearby frame complete with its own set of manacles, chains, and restraint straps. Within seconds, Clint's naked body was fastened in a huge X in the frame and his arms and legs were stretched until his torso was taut against the backboard of the frame while his head was fastened in a contained harness which made his head totally immobile. A ball gag, part of his head harness, was instantly forced into his mouth while restraining straps were placed around his waist, chest, and both upper thighs and drawn so tight they bit into his body.

"There now," the Colonel said, "as he stroked Clint's quivering hairy torso. Much better. No need to keep screaming in back of your gag, Clint. No one can understand a word you're saying," he laughed. Turning to the slave fitter, he ordered: "Body shave the slave completely except the hair on his head which I want trimmed to a butch-cut 1" high with no sideburns and leave his eyebrows on for now. Curl those eyelashes but don't trim them. I want them as long as they are now, but curled. Then I want a tall brass collar welded around the slave's neck - tall enough to force his head up at all times and tight enough to make it difficult for him to move his head - such a collar will probably chaff him initially, but that's to be expected until his hide toughens with such a tight fit. Ring both his tits with 1" brass rings that match his collar and make sure they're welded shut; the same with his genital banding which should be tight enough to assure excellent protrusion at all times and keep him at least semi-erect most of the time. He's big enough to display quite spectacularly with all that tackle well banded, although it will throw him off-balance until he gets used to all that mass being shifted forward a little. He's already nicely circumcised so you won't need to trim him, and I don't want a penile ring in him at this stage of his development although it would be handy to leash him that way. Make sure his genital band has some leash clips built in - that way he can still be led around by his manhood if we so desire. Speaking of leashing I want him fitted with a 1" nose-ring, too - similar to that on my ponies over there, but make sure it doesn't hang down over his upper lip. Fit it far enough back in the septum so it doesn't rest on his lips which are quite attractive as they are. No ear-rings for now - I don't want him looking overdone! The steward will give you his SIN (slave identification number) to tattoo in dark brown ink on both upper arms, right and left, and then brand him with the house brand on his left butt and his right pec so everyone knows who he belongs to now.

"Dark brown ink for the tattoo, Colonel?" the slave fitter asked in confirmation.

"Yes, I want it to match the color of his brands once they're all healed," the Colonel said. "I like my property color-coordinated, especially after we brown their white hides some with a good tanning all over."

"Excellent, Colonel. May I pass that suggestion on to my other customers?" the fitter asked, obviously enthused.

"Yes, yes," the Colonel said. "Stick around and you'd see a lot of other innovations in the optimal appearance and proper implementation of slaves. You got any questions?"

"Is the nose ring to be in brass also, Colonel?"

"Of course. I told you I like to see all my slaves color-coordinated. That goes for the control devices they're fitted with, also."

"I'll be finished within a half-hour, Colonel. Would you like to stay and watch me work on the slave, although I must warm you, new slaves like this often make some strange noises around their gags as I'm working on them," he chucked.

"I'd love to, fitter, but I've got to write a eulogy for a dear friend right now that I have to deliver in London next week. Just hand the slave over to the steward when you are finished who will again manacle him and then lead him by a genital leash to the caging room. All new slaves are kept caged with no food or water for the first 72 hours as part of their settling in process, but we'll have my chauffeur here fuck him thoroughly three or four times while he's placed on a restraint table down there, then the steward can jam a big 12" x 5" training butt plug in his opened hole he can't expel with his manacles on, push him into a tiny restraining cell while he reflects on the newly altered circumstances of his life, gives his tits and septum a chance to start healing, and learns that from now on, his bodily needs can only be met by a master. After that, we'll give him his first feeding, give him some antibiotics if his puncture holes are infected, let the chauffeur given him a couple more series of thorough fuckings, and then stick an even big butt plug in him for the trip down to the Owondo slave center where he'll learn what slavery is all about. On the trip down in the transit truck to the slave center, he'll be leashed by his tits, which will be sore and mighty tender so he'll learn just who is in charge of his life now."

"Very well thought out, Colonel Beddington, if you care to hear the opinion of one who's been in the business too long to remember," the fitter responded admiringly.

"Well, this slave has a lot to learn," the Colonel replied warmly.

"A freeborn?" the fitter asked.

"Exactly," the Colonel answered.

"Has your property been named yet?" the fitter asked, "not that it matters in my dealing with the slave."

"I haven't decided yet," the Colonel mused, "but I generally name slaves for the purpose I have in mind for them. How does 'Pony' strike you?"

"Sounds fine," the fitter laughed. "You're intending to use this white like those blacks over there?" pointing to the two black 'ponies' still struggling to restore their breathing.

"I was thinking of a black and white pair. One of the black ponies isn't taking his dildo very well anymore - keeps bleeding on me - and it's affecting him taking a fuck properly when I use him for bed duty. I'm thinking of replacing him with this new white buck, if he takes to his training well, and moving the black pony that's not working out over to the mines. The mining overseer had his eye on him the other day anyway, claiming he wanted to bed him down. Well, look's like he's going to get a chance sooner than he thought," the Colonel chortled.

The black pony being discussed shuddered in his harness as he heard his future discussed so jocularly. When he thought of the hideously ugly mining overseer using him for sexual service, he felt the bile rising in his throat and thought he was going to faint.

But that was nothing compared to the tightly constrained white slave just being introduced to his new status, once called "Clint" but now tentatively named "Pony" by his new master. As he hopelessly screamed around his ball gag and struggled in vain against his secure bonds, he couldn't begin to fathom the enormity of his betrayal by his allegedly close friend and confidant, Colonel Beddington. Now a "slavefitter" was preparing to pierce his nose and tits, band his naked exposed genitals into a state of perpetual aroused display, tattoo him with a slave identification number as if he were an animal and brand him with his new owner's mark to permanently mark his newly acquired property. His mind reeled from the trauma of the events unfolding, his sense of reality was dissolving, and he knew intuitively he could never, never handle what was happening to him and still retain his self-identify.

Would he end up as malleable as the black slave he had fucked only last night - a lifetime ago when he was the honored guest of the Colonel who had been offered a slave for his bedtime pleasure? And now that same black slave was apparently going to fuck him in some sort of weird "breaking in" ceremony for the newly enslaved if he survived the installation of the ordained "fittings." Perhaps he would mercifully lose consciousness during the "fittings" and be spared the ignominy of being raped repeatedly by the hugely equipped black slave before being shipped to the "slave center" for intensive "training."

CHAPTER 7

Owondo always started his transfiguration of a freeborn into a slave by the administration of three complete enemas to thoroughly cleanse the insides of a slave's body, prevent him from making a mess when his body was traumatized by the brandings and piercings that were to follow, and, most importantly, to overwhelmingly humiliate the slave, letting him know that from now on his body was completely at the disposal of their owner. This was invariably followed by a body shave and hair trim as specified by their new master. The new slave stretched tautly on the fitting rack before him was sweating profusely in raw fear, his muscles, incapable of moving, quivering in tension. The new slave's blue eyes transmitted pure terror, a look that Owondo was accustomed to when working with freeborn slaves. It was much more exciting than 'flushing' and 'fitting' previously-owned or bred slaves, who had seen it done on other slaves many, may times and consequently knew what to expect; tended to accept the horrible pain and anguish of being routinely 'cleansed,' then pierced, marked, and burnt as part of their lot in life as a slave; and seemed to understand the faster their new master's designs for their body had been implemented, the faster the pain and horror would eventually end. Yes, Owondo reflected as he felt his organ swell, working on new slaves was always much more exhilarating than fitting out either bred slaves or slaves merely changing owners once again.

The new slave had screamed in protest and gasped in agony as the enema nozzle was forciby rammed up his asshole, turning beet red in embarrassment and shame in abject humiliation at this debasement of his privacy. But once he was completely flushed out by the series of ungentle enemas, the slave once called "Clint" had not been difficult to body shave, restrained as tightly as he was in the special rack. Actually, this slave had little body hair to take off other than some light fuzz on his lower abdomen and butt, as well as the thicker, courser hair above his prick and on his balls. Even the inevitable hair up his ass crack had been easy to remove once the slave's restraints were adjusted so his body was in the perfect bent-over position to reach all the crack hairs easily. Owondo couldn't help but admire the new slave's hide: baby smooth (almost poreless, he marveled), an even creamy white (even his genitals were cream-colored), and completely free of any blemishes. As the slave felt the hair being completely removed, especially around his most private parts, some tears spilled down his cheeks, as if he realized he was losing an important part of what he had once been and was now simply an object of a owner's whim. His beautiful long blond head hair, expensively coiffured for years, fell in droves as it quickly was trimmed to the specified one-inch crew cut with tapered sides. Even his eye-brows were trimmed slightly right before his long eye-brows were carefully curled with a strange device he vaguely remembered seeing his mother use in his early childhood. Never would he have dreamed that the tiniest details of a slave's body - even their eyebrows - were altered to an owner's demands.

Next, "Clint" was fitted for a new brass collar which had been laid out previously. As the thick, tall collar was placed around his neck, it was obvious only a clamp could pull the two ends tight enough together to allow a smooth weld. Clint's head was pulled up by the fitter's assistant, the black chauffeur, until he thought his head would separate from his shoulders, while Owondo slipped the thick band around his neck, clamped it shut with a large special instrument laying to one side, and quickly arc-welded it shut with a shower of sparks and temporary intense heat which burned the slave's skin slightly.

Clint screamed behind his gag as he felt the heat sear small parts of his inner neck as tears poured out of him.

"Stop wailing around, slave," Owondo said calmly, "we have to weld on the leash rings yet, but they won't burn you," which is exactly what he did over the next few minutes, one leash ring on each side as well as one in front and another in back - four in all. When finished, he attempted to move the collar around the slave's neck - there was enough room to get his finger under it- insuring a good tight fit once the slave's neck muscles expanded from all the exercise and training he would be receiving in the near future. As soon as his neck muscles grew just a little, that collar would be so tight it would constantly serve as a reminder to the slave of exactly what he was now - a collared animal. The collar was so high that the slave would never again be able to lower his head and look down - from now on, with the 3" collar welded tight around his neck, he could only look straight ahead and even turning his head from one side to another would be painfully chaffing once his neck muscles expanded. For all practical purposes, this animal was now fitted to where he had to keep his beautiful face up and forward at all times, would only be able to look straight ahead without pain, and, unwittingly, would tend to always stand straight and tall - excellent very erect posture being a trademark of slaves fitted with tight, tall collars forcing their heads up. Most importantly, collars such as this were designed to continually remind those fitted with them that they were owned properties who were displayed as their masters desired.

Clint had exactly that realization as he desperately tried to move his head around the constraints of the newly fitted collar and a fresh flood of tears sprang silently from his eyes.

"We're just getting started," Owondo said enthusiastically as he reached down and arranged the rack so that the slave's legs were thrust as wide apart as possible and the slave's genitals were totally exposed . He then grabbed the slave's totally accessible and now well- shaved genitals and pulling them out from the slave's body as far as he could, proceeded to gently massage them in his palm until he felt the familiar inevitable hardening of the organs. Motioning for his assistant, the black chauffeur, to hold the aroused genitals in that painfully stretched position, Owondo took a 1" band of brass, wrapped it around the entire package at the top of the balls and the root of the prick and, again with a special clamping tool, brought the new ends of the band together in a tight constraint. Without hesitation, he again reached for the electric-arc and, within seconds, and some fresh muffled squeals of anguish, witnessed a newly installed genital band amid a another shower of sparks and the smell of some burning skin where the band heated up at the point of juncture. The slave's genitals, slightly burnt and cinched as they were now, responded in that strange fashion Owondo had seen in slave after slave he had similarly fitted: the slave's organs grew to full erection as the body reacted to the new appliance's pressure and forced distention of the banded organs. Owondo quickly remembered to weld two small leash rings onto the band - one on either side - as his new owner had specified.

"You can let his prick and balls go now, chauffeur," Owondo said jovially to the black slave assigned to help him. "This must bring back some memories for you when I fitted you, chauffeur, although you certainly were more nonchalant about it. I don't recall you struggling and screaming and crying like this baby here."

"No, master Owondo," the black slave laughed. "It hurt some, I admit, but I'd seen it done on everyone I ever knew before my new master, Colonel Beddington. ordered the fittings for me. I expected nothing less, especially as I knew I was pretty enough that a master would want to decorate me some." The black looked down in false modesty. "I look a lot better fitted out properly," the black added. "At least, my master and the steward think so, and I notice all of my master's guests seem to be attracted to my body, probably because of those fittings in good part."

"You're dead right about that," Owondo responded. "Oh, I don't mean you don't have a damn attractive body to start with, but your fittings make you look a lot more like a pleasure slave there for the taking if you know what I mean." Owondo reached over to the black and pulled on a tit-ring to emphasize his point. "I always wished your master offered your body to me sometime as a little bonus, but he never has," Owondo added wistfully. "What's your name, anyway? I'm getting tired of calling you chauffeur."

"Thursday, master Owondo," the black answered without emotion.

"Not the day of the week, slaveboy. What's your name?"

"Thursday, master. My owner named me Thursday because he bought me at the slave market on a Thursday and said that was as good a name as any."

"Stupid name if you ask me, but it's not for me to say. Well, what was your name before your master named you 'Thursday'?"

"Black 27, master Owondo," the black slave answered, again without emotion.

"Before you were labeled Thursday, you were called 'Black 27'?" Owondo howled in laughter as he kneaded the black's large ball sac until the slave being interrogated was fully erect.

"Yes, master Owondo. I was the 27th progeny of the black stud at the breeding farm. We didn't have names at the breeding farm, master Owondo. They just labled us in the order we were bred by a given stud until we were marketed at auction. They said our new owners would give us a name of their own choosing after we found a purchaser so there wasn't any sense in naming us until we were sold."

"Well, that's makes sense at least. Naming you at the breeding farms would just be a waste of time," Owondo reflected as he continued kneading the black slave's huge swollen balls. "But, Thursday, I still have a question about you. Why do you call me 'master' instead of 'sir' like most slaves do. After all, I'm certainly your overseer but you're not my property."

"The Colonel requires all his slaves to call any freeman 'master', master Owondo, no matter how many overseers he has. My owner says any freeman is a master to a mere slave, whether he owns him or not, master Owondo."

"Well, that's true certainly, but most owners want their slaves to call them and only them 'master'."

"Oh, we always address our owner as 'master', master Owondo. But we only perform full obeisance to our owner, Colonel Beddington, as well as call him 'master' in the most respectful way we know how," Thursday explained cautiously, fearful that Owondo may take offense at not being called 'sir'. "If you prefer, master Owondo, I will call you 'master, sir."

"Doesn't matter," Owondo replied. "You seem respectful toward your betters, but I'd still like to take you to my bed sometime as the pleasure slave you are trained to be." With a sigh he finally stopped kneading his assigned assistant's balls and turned to get back to the task at hand.

"If my master ordered it, I would be happy to serve you, Owondo, Master Sir," the black slave Thursday replied with not only appropriate respect but obvious desire, a response much appreciated by the slavefitter who seldom had sex with slaves who did anything but simply comply with their master's commands when ordered to the fitter's bed.

"Now, Thursday, work the slave's tits until they're good and aroused. Then take them one at a time and pinch them as hard as you can until they are fully extended so I can get this pincher through them and then thread the brass rings through. These rings are going to be as big as your own, so the pincher has to cut through quite a bit of flesh to get a big enough hole."

The black did what he was told as the slave struggled beneath him as the severe tit squeezing and pinching reached the sensitive nerve endings and also sent unwanted signals of arousal down to his banded genitals which swelled to an even greater erection within the confines of the newly installed thick band containing them.

"Hey, look!" Owondo laughed, pointing to the slave's fully aroused genitals protruding outward obscenely due to the genital band. "Here's a slave with sensitive tits who likes to have them played with," he exclaimed, motioning for the black slave to increase his manipulation of the tits in his hands. "See if you can get him dripping with your finger massage, Thursday," he joked.

"Yes, master sir," the black said as he rubbed each tip vigorously between his thumb and forefinger until the tits were fully erect and, sure enough, a few white drops of pre-cum appeared at the end of the slave's prick.

"Whow! Once we have these tits ringed, this slaveboy's going to be hard all the time!" Owondo exclaimed. "His owner is going to love that!"

"Rings do make the tits sensitive and responsive," the black added knowingly, looking down at his own. "These tits on me used to be one-third as big as they are now that I'm ringed. They just swell up big and sensitive and it never seems to go away whether any of the master's guests or the master himself plays with them or not."

"I did a good job with you, Thursday. That's what a good fitting of tit rings is supposed to do to a slave. But, Thursday, if your master ever had me remove them, you'd be surprised how fast those big tits or yours would shrink back to the way they were. Sometimes, masters have me remove tit rings on slaves when they sell them off and, if their new owners don't have them reinstalled, they're right back to normal, more or less, within a few months. Of course, they're always a little bit bigger and you can always see the piercing holes if you look up close, but basically, it only works when you're fitted with it. Not like a genital band, which I find leaves a slave's balls stretched some when it's removed, so a slave that's worn a band around his balls is going to tend to have low-hangers once it's removed, whether he was before or not."

"I better keep my band on," the black pleasure slave-chauffeur laughed. "I don't want my balls banging against my legs every time I take a step. But Owondo, Master Sir, what about the slave collars? If they're removed, can you tell after a while?"

"Never heard of a slave having his collar removed. Other than his SIN number and his brands, how would you know he was a slave?" Owondo asked.

"Then you've never been asked to take a collar off?" Thursday asked.

"Well, yes, once in a while But why are you curious? You thinking of running or something?"

"No, Master Sir," the black chauffeur-pleasure slave laughed. "Where would I go?. Besides, collar or not, I've still got my brands and SIN number permanently on my body. I never heard of a slave turned into a freeman, have you? But if there was, they'd need to take his collar off. As for running away, I never heard of it - once you're a slave, you're a slave."

"Yes, once a slave, always a slave, as this boy on the rack is learning right now. So, once that collar is on him, the only way it would ever come off would be to put a new one on (like a new owner's special collar or because the old one was too tight for him to breath properly). I done a few replacement fittings like that, but it's relatively rare. Most owners just leave the collars on that their property comes with when they buy them, unless, of course, they have acquired a brand new property that wasn't on the open market, like this white slave here.

"Well, pull that right tit out as far as you can and as tight as your can and here goes," Owondo said as he placed the pincher on the distended tit and punched a hole in it with the blood quickly rising to the surface. Quickly, he dropped the pincher and, with both hands feed the brass right through the freshly open hold in the tit. Once through, he pinched the ends of the ring together and, grabbing the welding gun with his other hand, quickly had the ring permanently sealed shut. The body beneath him convulsed in pain from the piercing and the burns of the weld, but mercifully passed out as his body went limp, his screams dying in his throat.

"Not too uncommon to pass out on me," Owondo laughed as he motioned for the black slave assigned him to prepare the other tit for ringing. "Did you pass out when you had your rings installed?" Owondo asked, out of curiosity rather than sympathy. "I can't remember - I ring so many slaves' tits anymore."

The black laughed as he again tightly stretched and squeezed the left tit of the slave restained in the fitting rack. "Master Sir, I passed out even before you got the first tit pierced. When I saw that tit-piercer you've got heading for my own tits, I just blacked out and don't remember a think until you threw a bucket of water on me to wash the blood away and I looked down and saw both of my tits all angry and swelling up fast and hurting like hell! They hurt like hell for three full days and were sore as all get out for a good week. Even touching them hurt like crazy until about three or four weeks. After that, the master and his friends could play with them all they liked and it didn't hurt much once you got used to having your tits played with all the time."

"What about now?" Owondo asked. "Still hurt a little when someone plays with your tit-rings?"

"Yes, Master Sir. But I've gotten use to it and now it gets me all excited so I don't notice the pain much. I even play with them myself when I can because it gets me all hot and bothered in no time flat."

"That's the secret of tit-rings, Thursday. Once they're installed properly and all healed up, you're got a direct link to that slave's arousal. It's almost like pushing a button: play with a slave's tit and, before you know it, the slave is hard and dripping, ready to go. This white slave is a natural, I tell you. Within a month, anyone touching those tit-rings will have him hard and leaking pre-cum, hot to trot for whatever use his master wants at the time."

"I think I'll install the nose-ring next. His head is head rigid by that harness he's in, so I won't need your help on that, but you can be heating up the brand and putting that special brown ink in the tattoo machine while I'm doing that."

"Yes, master sir," the black slave answered obediently, as he quickly went about his tasks.

The special pincher needed for nose-rings was swiftly placed up the white slave's septum and the thick membrane between the two nostrils was severed with a small hole far back so the ring would hang above the slave's upper lip as his new owner had requested. With the puncture, the membrane bled profusely but briefly and with a special nose-ring clamp, the new ring was swiftly installed, clamped shut, and welded shut. The white slave, once again conscious, again passed out as the pain of the puncture, and the horror of what was being done to him, reached his brain. He never felt the final installation until the deed was done and he has been fitted with a ring reminiscent of a pig's snout-ring or a bull's ring or on slave's at the Colonel's mining operations, but now such a device was permanently fitted to him. With the awareness it was installed (he could feel it burning in his nose), he again slipped into unconsciousness, unable to fathom what was being done to him.

"He's passed out again," Owondo commented. "Throw some water on him. It's always better if they conscious when they're being branded. Nothing like a branding to let a slave knows he's now owned property. Some masters insist on doing it themselves as sort of a bonding ceremony between master and slave. It's probably better that way, but the Colonel has way too many slaves to bother himself with such a detail. Got that iron ready, Thursday?"

"Yes, Master Sir. It's white hot so it should sear well."

Taking the hot branding iron in his right hand, Owondo swiftly placed the white hot iron on the white slave's right pectoral, positioning it high up for a good display of his owner's mark of ownership. As the iron pressed into the slave's white skin, it sizzled and seared into the slave's raw flesh as Owondo counted slowly to five and the area was filled with the smell of burning human flesh. The slave branded withstood the first two seconds of anguish and then, for the third time that day, passed out again, the torment overwhelming him. He never felt an identical brand being applied to his left rump, again high up so the ownership mark was clearly visible to anyone viewing his naked body.

"A good clean burn," Owondo said proudly, placing the branding iron back on its stand, still smoldering with burning flesh. "Good definition once it heals and it will show up nicely on that creamy white skin. A good brand always reminds a slave he's just property like any other animal," Owondo commented philosophically. "Isn't that right, Thursday?"

"Yes, master sir. Hard to think you're anything but an animal when you feel those brands on your hide," the black slave admitted. "And, you're right, Owondo, Master Sir, "a brand always reminds you you're nothing but owned property. For me, Owondo, Master Sir, I never thought otherwise in that I was born into it. But slaves who were freeborn tell me that after you're branded, it's practically impossible to think you're anything but a slave, no matter how much you think about your past and all. Your fate was sealed permanently, they tell me, when you flesh was seared by that brand. At least, that's what they tell me, anyway. It's different, like I said, when you were bred into it - slaves like me don't know any different so it's a lot easier for us. We don't have anything to get use to other than what we've known since the way we were born."

"What you say is about what I've observed over the years dealing with thousands of slaves, both bred and freeborn," Owondo replied as he rearched for the tattoo machine and concentrated over the next 20 minutes carefully tattooing the SIN (slave identification number) furnished by the steward onto the upper right and left arms of the still-inert slave body beneath him.

When he was finished, he admired the dark brown tattoo that would obviously blend in well once the slave's body was properly tanned all over. A great ideal of the Colonel's that he would certainly recommended to future customers asking him to outfit white slaves like this.

"All done," the outfitter announced with some pride. "I guess the next step is to call the steward and get this slave down off this rack. As I recall, he's to be manacled again and then led by a genital leash to the caging room. Then," pointing to his assistant, the black chauffeur and trained pleasure slave Thursday, "you're to fuck him thoroughly three or four times while he's placed on a restraint table down there. When you're finished fucking him, the steward is going to jam a big 12" x 5" training butt plug in his opened hole he can't expel with his manacles on, push him into a tiny restraining cell while he reflects on the newly altered circumstances of his life, give his tits and septum a chance to start healing, and learn that from now on, his bodily needs can only be met by a master since he won't be fed or watered for the next 72 hours. After that, the steward will give him his first feeding, give him some antibiotics if his puncture holes are infected, let you, black boy, give him a couple more series of thorough fuckings, and then stick an even big butt plug in him for the trip down to the Otjiwarongo slave center where he'll learn what slavery is all about. Is that the instructions from the Colonel you remember?"

"Yes, master sir," the black slave responded with enthusiasm, his huge prick already swelling in anticipation of fucking the white slave who only last night had fucked him so thoroughly without ever dreaming the tables would be turned in such a short time.

CHAPTER 8

Clint slowly regained consciousness in a fog of unrelenting pain. His bowels felt sore and swollen from the high pressure enemas that had been roughly performed over and over with the water nozzle, shaped like a large penis, being repeated jammed up his anal chute for the cleansing operations. Both of his tits, as well as the tender membrane between his nostrils, felt like they were on fire, the punctures in the tender flesh of that area continually irritated and taunted by the newly installed heavy brass rings pulling down on them. The small burns from welding the tit and nose rings shut permanently smarted and stung with each movement. His balls felt distended and swollen - which indeed they were now that a thick brass band tightly encircling them protruded them to the base of his prick, also captured for display by the same device. Burn marks were numerous in that area as well as that band, like his tit rings and his collar, were now welded shut permanently so no relief from the new emblems of slave status, control and decoration would ever be possible. His skin smarted from being shaved so closely all over his body, but especially where he had once had all the marks of full manhood - his pubic hair, the hair in his most private region of his ass crack, and even under his arms, as well as any vestiges of chest, arm, or leg hair, which made him feel more totally naked and vulnerable than he ever imagined possible. But even all this paled in comparison with the large marks of ownership which had been brutally burnt on both his ass and chest as if he were no more than the lowest animal. This was in addition, of course, to the prominent tattoos added for personal identification and sorting purposes, but which marked him as property just as much as the ugly burns just now beginning to scab to form their permanent marks of being bought property. Even the heavy thick collar around his neck, so tight it was noticeable with every breathe he took, made him feel like the animal he now was with his sudden descent into slavery.

As awareness advanced, Clint realized he was not longer fastened to the 'installation' rack that made his body so accessible to the manifestations of the slave fitter hired by his new owner, Colonel Beddington, until only yesterday his close personal and professional mentor in the corporate world of multinational entrepreneurship. Owongo, the hired slave fitter and his assigned assistant, the incredibly handsome black chauffeur slave assigned to his bed just the previous evening as a 'gift' by the Colonel, had easily performed all the "fittings" on his body ordered by his new owner and he remembered them standing directly in front of him, admiring their work on his body as each new ring, band, or collar was installed.

Now his face was just inches from the floor of the workroom, held in place by his new nose ring, fastened now to a clip embedded in the workroom floor, his body hunched on our fours to keep the ring from pulling on the tender new piercing imprisoning the large brass nose ring. Dimly, Clint remembered his torments had probably only begun, recalling that the last thing he remembered before passing out was the black slave reviewing his master's commands to repeatedly fuck the new slave until he was 'fully opened' and a large butt plug could be inserted into the new possession to begin its work of shaping his asshole for the pleasure of others who might wish to enjoy his body once he was completely trained in his duties. Clint recalled with a jolt that he had responded to last evening's gift offering by fucking the black slave over and over until the poor slave could barely walk by the time Clint was completely drained and ordered the black from his bed. He had no doubt that, now that the role of master and slave had suddenly been reversed, the black would rape him long, hard, and without mercy. It would be sweet revenge of a sort - an opportunity seldom afforded any slave, no matter what they had been ordered to do to comply with their owner's wishes. Besides, Clint sensed at the time that the black had seemed to resent always being forced into the passive partner role - always forced to take it up the ass or down his throat - although, of course, he gave no open sigh of resistance or rebellion no matter what he had been asked to do. No slave would risk that! But, now that he was 'given' another slave for his amusement, Clint had no doubt the black would enjoy inflicting his will on the new body forced to give him pleasure and would take full advantage of the opportunity, no matter how much pain or suffering, humiliation or shame, repugnance or revulsion, would be experienced by this new white slave inductee completely at his disposal. With a jolt, he twisted his head as far as the fastened nose ring would allow to look, really look, at the black slave's swelling organs that would soon be entering his most private parts. Whereas last night, Clint had looked at a slave who had a beautiful, sculptured body, an incredibly handsome face, and a well-trained sexy air of complete availability, this night he saw a massive phenomenal prick that resembled a baseball bat in both length and circumference, an attribute that had, no doubt, led to this particular black being purchased by the Colonel as a pleasure slave for his own bed as well as his guests. Instinctively, he knew that within minutes, that huge apparition would be inside him forcefully pumping away, whether he could accommodate the huge intrusion or not. He was to be opened up forcefully and completely, and the black slave was the perfect instrument to achieve this.

With no further preliminaries, Clint's legs were repositioned until his ass was perfectly positioned for the ensuing rape: his hole exposed and open, his back offering a convenient resting place for the final stages of disgorging a huge load into the depths of his bowels, and his newly installed, but still torturously tender tit-rings swinging conveniently under his body if the black cared to play with them and his well formed pecs while he pumped into the virgin hole. Clint felt the black insert huge globs of lubricant up his hole with his index finger and then heard the assigned rapist apply gobs more to his massive shaft.

"Slaves just being broken in are a lot better to fuck if their asses are properly warmed beforehand," Owongo counseled the black slave Thursday, suggestively handing him a broad leather strap that would be horribly painful and would leave large red welts wherever it was applied, but wouldn't break the new slave's skin if judiciously applied.

"Good idea, Master Sir," the black slave responded gratefully, grabbing the whip. Smiling, he added, "I forgot, Master Owongo, how my ass was always reddened before use when I was first being trained for my duties and how much it helped me accept a good fucking."

"Yes, the pain of the beating lessens the pain of your ass channel being properly stretched during those first fuckings. And a good beating beforehand relaxes your ass muscles," Owongo explained professionally. "Besides, it sensitizes the whole butt so the slave responds to the body contact of a master fucking him much more pleasurably - sometimes the slave is so sensitized just the body contact on his butt skin leads to full dripping arousal on the slave's part. For all those reasons, that's why a lot of masters routinely beat their pleasure slave's asses before fucking them. 'Warming' the slave's ass becomes just part of the whole ritual of your slave maximizing your pleasure. Surely, you were taught all this as part of your training as a pleasure slave," Owongo challenged the black.

"Yes, Master Owongo. And most of the master's guests using me are well aware of the advantages - at least the sophisticated ones who usually have pleasure slaves of their own at home. And, of course, Master Beddington always has the steward 'warm' me before placing me on display at one of his dinner parties in that a slave with a reddened ass usually looks much more appealing." The black slave looked shyly at the ground and then smiled confidingly at the slave fitter who was counseling him.. "The Colonel gives me a few strokes of the whip himself before fucking me when I'm lucky enough to be chosen for his own bed use."

Nodding to Owongo gratefully, the black slave slashed the strap across Clint's butt forcefully. The new slave gasped at the immediate pain and then howled as that pain soaked into the butt muscles. But that initial scream was a luxury: the first blow was immediately followed by another and then another, unceasingly until the bound slave could no longer grab his breathe and his body trembled in agony and his breathing turned into ragged gasps as he struggled to maintain his restrained position - rightfully terrified of tearing the tender membrane between his nostrils where the nose ring had been so recently fitted. Just as Clint thought I could stand no more, he felt intense pressure on his now sensitized hole and knew it was the black's cockhead demanding entry.

"Push out like your taking a crap," the black slave counseled in a soft whisper in Chris' ear. "It will help you take me in with a lot less pain."

With nothing to lose and no way to move away from the assault, Chris tried to comply, whereupon, with one powerful plunge, the black broke through the resisting closure and the huge shaft was rammed all the way into Clint's tight channel in a single stoke. Chris' mouth opened as an unearthy cry of pure agony emitted, the white hot pain exploding in his head as he felt the black's huge organ stretch his insides and his powerful muscular body squirm against his reddened tender butt. His brain tottered between coping with the pain and passing out, but the sensations flooding him were too great to allow the extravagance of unconsciousness. The black slave remained motionless within him, a mercy allowing him time to adjust, telling Clint this man raping him probably remembered his own "breaking" in being trained to a slave's reality. Clint felt the intense pain lessen slightly as his anus stretched and, strangely, his mind wandered to the thousands of handsome muscular black men he had hired to fuck each and every night from Paradise Modeling. Someone, each and every one of them had learned to accept being fucked and none he could remember gave too many signs of finding it intolerably painful despite the fact he was as almost as big as the black slave fucking him now. Most seemed to accept it easily enough no matter how hard or long he fucked them and many moaned in pleasure once he was fully in them and pumping away. Indeed, now that he thought of it, most invariably got a big dripping hard-on as he vigorously pumped their asses and a few even shot off as he was fucking them, getting their big gobs of creamy white cum all over the bed in the process. Once he was 'broken,' would he end up so casually accepting being fucked, even liking it, like all those handsome black man-whores he had hired over the past few years? Could being fucked be all that bad (once you got used to it) if all those handsome men yielded up their asses so willingly for the $75 or so they probably got out of it, figuring the $150 fee charged by Paradise Modeling was probably split half and half with the 'model' they sent over for the night. When Clint had asked a few of them why they were 'models', several of the men had told him they had anywhere from three to eight customers on a typical good night. Figuring in a few slow weekday nights, they said, you ended up earning between $1000 to $1500 a week and, for a black with nothing going for them but a great body and good looks, they couldn't think if a single other thing to do that brought money in like that. Besides, they added, you got used to being fucked quickly enough, whether in the ass or in the mouth didn't matter at the price being offered, and sometimes you were asked to fuck the customer or let the customer stroke you off, so you got to get off often enough as an added bonus to the good money. They said their was a lot of competition to get jobs with a good agency and they could see why - the money was great and the 'work' easy enough in their opinion. They all claimed that if they quit the 'trade' there were five more, just as good looking and with just as great bodies, ready to take their place. And it wasn't much different with the white, Asian, and Latino models, they added. In fact, Latinos were in such demand right now, the agency was charging $200 instead of the usual $150, and Latin boys around the world were practically fighting each other to get a agency job selling their attractive tawny bodies.

Reflecting on all this as the huge prick within him pressured each and every membrane of his anal lining, Clint knew instinctively that if those tens of thousands of free agency models could adjust, as well as the millions of slaves led to their master's beds around the world each night, he too could adjust given time and training. That thought alone reduced the pain drastically and he felt his resistance to the rape decreasing as he knew the best strategy now - fastened by a nose ring to the floor and branded like an animal - was to learn to accept what was happening to him and to discover by all means possible how best to deal with the idea he was now going to be fucked regularly - no matter what he thought about it one way or the other. He felt the huge prick within him begin to stir and soon a slowly pumping motion started in his tightly constricting chute, hitting his prostate button with each stroke until, within minutes, the pleasure experienced exceeded any pain and his own shaft was now as hard and dripping as the shaft of the black slave within him. After five minutes of wavering between pain and pleasure, the latter won out and he synchronized his own body movements to that of the black slave pumping in and out of him and found himself 'milking' the black's shaft by alternately clamping down and them relaxing his ass muscles to heighten the pleasure. He was rewarded for his actions with the black moaning sensually and increasing the pace of the stroking, the black making sure the entire length of his shaft was buried as far as it would go with each stroke to fully open the fuck chute beneath him.

"This white slave's a natural whore," Owongo commented, enjoying the fuck show being performed in front of him. "He's responding so well to being fucked, his prick is so swollen it's about to explode," he laughed, "and he's already dripping all over the floor so there is a big puddle of cum under him. Yes, a natural whore. Won't take too much training to make an excellent pleasure slave out of this one!"

"Yes, Master Owongo," the black slave gasped out as he continued pumping vigorously in and out of the white slave's ass. "Perhaps it is due to the masterful fucking he is receiving,,master sir," the black slave suggested as he increased the tempo noticeably, "or the length and girth of the huge shaft within him, master sir."

"Perhaps I hear a boastful slave wanting a good beating who has forgotten there are thousands of slaves in the auction barns who have pricks just as big as that monster of yours and who are trained to fuck every bit as well as you, Thursday. Bragging always gets a slave in trouble, Thursday - you know that - so mind your manners, slave, and get on with opening this new slave up properly, who is, as I mentioned, responding well so far."

Properly chastised, Thursday blushed and increased the intensity of his fucking to where his body became a blur as he pumped the entire length of his shaft in and out of the loosened opening beneath him until he reared his head back, arched his back, drove his prick in even further, and gasped in relief as his balls emptied their full load into the depths of the slave's ass beneath him.

Clint felt the pressure of the load ballooning deep in his bowels and, instinctively, tightened his ass muscles around the invading shaft to drain the last drops out of the bulging prick buried deep within him. His own prick was dripping profusely in a steady stream as his prostate was now raw and swollen from all the stimulation. His body yearned for release, but felt stimulated like never before. He marveled at how much pleasure he was experiencing from being 'raped.' Perhaps he was, as Owongo had suggested a 'natural born whore.' Or perhaps, as Thursday had suggested, it was a masterfully trained pleasure slave working on him who had brought him to such a state of pleasurable arousal. Either way, he was beginning to understand why Paradise Modeling had no trouble recruiting handsome young studs with magnificent bodies to their stable of offerings, even if the pay didn't seem very much to a corporate executive like himself who easily earned millions every year without doing much of anything to please others.

"That's enough for a first fucking," Owongo commanded.

"Yes, master Owongo," Thursday said as he carefully withdrew from the irritated asschute of the slave beneath him. "But the Colonel wanted me to fuck him many times," he reminded Owongo, "to make sure the new slave is fully opened."

"Yes, yes, slave" Owongo said disgustedly as he promptly jammed a large butt plug up Clint's ass to make sure the ass stretching was continued one way or another. "You'll get your chance to fuck this slave again - don't worry. But just because you're getting to fuck for a change instead of being fucked doesn't give you the liberty to start lecturing me on what you want to do. You're a slave, Thursday, a pleasure slave to be exact, and you'll damn well do what you're told at any and all times. Just because you're getting to poke a butt instead of having yours poked doesn't give you any special rights to mouth off. Remember, just last night, this slave you just fucked was fucking you so hard you could hardly walk, simply because your owner had given you as a gift to him for the night. Last night was more typical of your life as a pleasure slave than tonight - and don't you forget it, slaveboy. I've a mind to recommend some appropriate punishment by the steward for your offensive slave talk."

"Sorry, Master Owongo, sir. Sorry," Thursday begged forgiveness, dropping to his knees in subserviance in front of his temporary master with his eyes shamed and his body flushed in shame. Thursday's huge shaft, still wet and dripping from his recent discharge, had become fully tumescent during the chastisement. "Please don't have the steward punish me, Master Owongo. I'll never offend you again with my slave mouth," he begged.

"One more time and I'll have the steward give you some discipline you won't forget, slave," Owongo replied as he reached over and begin to play with the black slave's tits with one hand and, with his other, begin finger fucking the black slave's asshole with his index finger. "Let's see how long it will take to get you all ready for another fucking of the new slave," he announced.

This time, Thursday thought it better to not respond and keep his mouth shut as he thrust his chest out so the slave fitter could more easily handle his tits and thrust his ass back on the invading finger as a signal of his total compliance to anything Master Owongo wanted of him. Five minutes later, Owongo had withdrawn the large butt plug from the white slave and ordered Thursday, now fully aroused, to mount him once again for a thorough fucking.

That night, Thursday fucked the new slave eight times under Owongo's supervision. By morning, the white slave was bleeding out of his asshole, was so sore he could barely move, and felt like his insides had been turned into pudding. He was filled with slimy white cum, blood, and ass juices. During the ordeal he had cum himself numerous times until his balls felt drained and lifeless from the endless prostate stimulation. As an even larger butt plug was jammed up his raw ass at the end of the 'training' session, any previous life he may have known seemed irrelevant and insignificant. He was now a slave pure and simple and always would be.

Being fucked to oblivion seemed to do that to a man - a fact the Colonel had known for years in handling thousands of slaves who had once been free.

CHAPTER 9

Colonel Beddington smiled as his steward reviewed the initial processing of the new slave, the former Clint Morgan. Until a few days ago, Clint Morgan was known worldwide as a multimillionaire manufacturer of a well known product - Morgan Airconditioners - and had been featured on the cover of TIME as one of the world's leading entrpreneurial geniuses. Now his death from an private airplane accident was being mourned throughout the industrialized world. Only Colonel Beddington knew the truth of the matter as he listened to the report from his steward.

"The white slave has been completely shaved, permanently fitted with a nose ring as well as prominent tit rings, has been tightly collared, and had his genitals 'lifted' for prominent display with a thick band - all in brass as you indicated you preferred, Master," the steward gave his report. "Both his butt and right shoulder have been marked with your brand, Master, and his slave identity number has been appropriately tattooed into his hide with dark brown ink. Then, of course, we have begun the stretching exercises of the slave's hole. Your black chauffeur has fucked him a total of 12 times already with his huge organ and, in between, larger and larger butt plugs have been forced into the slave's hole so he begins to acclimate to that aspect of his new life."

"And how has the novice slave reacted to these new realities of his slavehood?" the Colonel asked pleasantly.

"Initially, he kept passing out, but during the last set of fuckings, Owondo, your contracted slave fitter, thought he was showing some characteristics of a natural whore."

"Oh, he did, did he?" the Colonel chuckled.

"Yes, master. And I fully agree with that assessment after watching your black chauffeur go through another series of fuckings just a few hours ago. I think, Master, you will be pleased with his progress, considering the slave has only been with us a day or so."

"I've been wanting to bed Clint Morgan down since the first time I laid eyes on his sexy little body," the Colonel mused. "It will be even better now that he's my property."

"Yes, Master," was all the steward could come up with as a reply.

"I wonder what he thought taking it up the ass from a big black stud after poking black ass himself every night what with his succession of paid male whores over the years?" the Colonel mulled. "It's always good to see things from a different perspective."

"He has been soundly fucked, repeatedly," the steward emphasized. "Your chauffeur thoroughly enjoyed fucking the very body that had fucked him so emphatically the night before as a pleasure slave when you sent your black stud to the guest's room as a gift."

"Well, what goes around comes around," the Colonel laughed. "I'm sure Thursday got his kicks fucking the daylights out of a former 'master' who had fucked him so hard he could barely walk according to you, steward," the Colonel added, chuckling to himself.

The Colonel had lost no time in concluding all the details of his recent purchase of Morgan Airconditioners. The manufacturing facility in the United States had been closed immediately: all workers (with the exception of parts and warranty) had been terminated without notice; the plant had been boarded up; bankruptcy papers had been filed to avoid any commitments to employee health insurance coverage or retirement fund payments; all existing manufacturing equipment as well as raw materials had been shipped overnight to the Beddington Enterprises facilities in Numibia; the contract with Paradise Modeling for their nightly furnishing of a well hung black 'model' to the Morgan mansion had been cancelled; and the Morgan estate, along with all furnishings, boats, cars, and airplanes, had been sold off to an estate clearance service. Notice had been given to all suppliers, distributors, and sales outlets that Morgan Airconditioners would continue to be manufactured without interruption, but that the quality would be improved, prices would be lowered, and new and improved models would be forthcoming shortly. To make everyone dealing with Morgan Airconditioners cooperative, the Colonel promptly lowered the price of all models by $50, thereby undercutting any and all competition model by model.

The American town which formerly produced Morgan Airconditioners was devastated. Instantly, the town faced 70% unemployment, a complete loss of tax base, and a ruined economy. As the Colonel had predicted, the White House immediately responded with a well publicized accolade (the "Baldwin Award") for improved efficiency and business leadership to the new owner, Beddington Enterprises, which had always enjoyed cozy relationships with the current Administration and was, coincidentally, a major contributor to the Republican Party coffers. The Wall Street Journal ran a front page story predicting Morgan Airconditioners would soon practically monopolize the market due to their high quality, low prices, and huge variety of highly competitive models. Both the U.S. President as well as the Wall Street Journal praised Colonel Beddington for his dynamic leadership in multinational merchandising. The argument was made by both parties that, although the United States lost many manufacturing jobs, the economy as a whole would prosper due to the fact that more and more people could now afford airconditioners at the new low prices. The fact the newly unemployed and destitute American worker could barely afford to buy food, let alone air conditioners, was omitted from the economic analysis, but the point that organized labor had taken a severe blow in this latest development was heralded as a good omen of events to come in the 'new economy.'

Meanwhile, the former owner of Morgan Airconditioners, thought dead by all the world, was moaning in a slave pen as he struggled to adjust to the huge butt plug forced up his raw, inflamed asshole. A large mirror had been fitted outside his cage and as he gazed at the reflected image through his reddened eyes, he could recognize not one aspect of his former self. What he saw was a head forced into an upright position by a thick brass slave collar with close cropped hair and featuring a nose fitted with a large brass ring that had been welded between the nostrils, not unlike a pig's or a bull's snout ring, giving the image reflected the look of a farm animal. A totally naked hairless body below the neck showed large brass rings piercing each swollen nipple on the beast's chest and large sexual organs held in prominent permanent display by a thick brass band around the genitals themselves. Weeping fresh brand burns were on the body's butt and upper chest as were prominent tattooed identifications, both clearly and unmistakingly marking this body as someone's animal property. A large ring protruded from an inflamed butt hole, obviously attached to some huge intrusion forced up the animal's anal chute - an intrusion so large the body seemed to arch slightly in order to accommodate the mammoth insertion. The animal's face showed nothing but tension and distress - the eyes bulged slightly, the mouth was held slightly open, and the eyes darted frantically as if they could not comprehend what they were seeing in the mirror outside the cage.

The slave within the cage studied the image, but could not comprehend what he was seeing. Was it a human made to look, somehow, like a animal? Was it an animal somehow featuring a few human characteristics? Was it a slave of some type he remembered existed in the world now, and had even witnessed himself at the Beddington Enterprises recently? Was it some sort of white skinned 'pleasure slave' that Colonel Beddington fancied serving his meals and he himself had witnessed recently while a guest of the Colonel? Was it a slave being held in readiness to sexually serve his master in bed, the type of slave he had enjoyed fucking only a few nights ago at Colonel Beddington's estate? Or was it ..... was it ....HIM - altered and modified to look for all the world like a caged animal - a property fitted out to the specifications of a demanding master?

As the realization slowly dawned that the image was indeed him - Clint howled like the animal he now was - a howl of utter despair and hopelessness as tears gushed from his reddened eyes down his cheeks. He was, indeed, an animal now - an owned animal - fitted out exactly as he had seen most of Colonel Beddington's other properties. Whatever he might once had been, he knew deep in his soul that he was a slave now, a mere property of others, and would always be just that - an object to fulfill the whims and desires of others. When he had studied the slaves in the Colonel's mines and farms and manufacturing facilities, he pondered how they had adjusted to what they had become. Now, somehow, he knew. They accepted their slavery because there were no other options. And that was exactly how he felt now, caged with a huge shaft stretching his ass, his balls and prick thrust out in obscene display, his tits sore and swollen from the rings piercing them, his neck tightly collared to force his head upright, and a ring piercing his nostrils like the lowliest of farm animals. He had no other options! A final howl of despair left him and a slave's acceptance of his plight began to take hold of whatever was left of his former self. He felt himself slipping into a new realm of existence - an existence where his body was no longer his, but under the direction of others; an existence where he had no will of his own, but simply existed to fulfill the will of his owner.

"Steward, I've invited some of my closest business associates over for dinner tonight at 8. Count on about seven guests, not counting the personal body slaves some of them will have in tow. I want my troupe of trained white-skinned dinner slaves attending them, fully cleansed, douched, and lubed for full usage."

"Yes, master. Any special requests for the menu, master?" the steward said, obviously accustomed to these last minute commands.

"No, just the standard gourmet meal that reflects the good taste of this house," the Colonel replied.

"Will your guests be staying the night, master?" the steward inquired.

"Hard to tell. Depends how my dinner slaves and their own personal slaves are put to proper use," he mused. "Set up appropriate guest quarters if they decide they want to stay over. And, steward, each guest suite should be equipped with at least one of my trained dinner slaves if they aren't already occupied entertaining one of my guests. And make sure my black chauffeur is in attendance, polished and buffed for the occasion - I assume by tonight he will have recovered fully from fucking my new slave so thoroughly. Some of the guests will no doubt want to fuck a black boy for a little variety after all that white flesh offered up by the waiters."

"Yes, master," the steward replied humbly, already reviewing the many things he needed to supervise to make sure the meal was properly prepared and appropriately served by the troupe of white slaves specially trained as waiters/pleasure providers, and guest accommodations were in complete readiness for both the master's guests as well as the body slaves they would bring with them. He wondered if the black slave Thursday realized he was going to be pressed back into a slave's usual submissive role so quickly after his short stint serving as stud to 'break in' the master's new slave. No matter! The black slave surely knew by now he had to adapt to whatever his master wanted no matter what his own personal preferences might be.

"Oh, I almost forgot," the Colonel added. "I want the new white slave witnessing my dinner party. Fasten his neck collar to one of the rungs in the dining room wall so he is forced to face the proceedings and with his body on full display. It will be most instructive to him in view of his future duties, especially since each of the guests will be bringing a favorite body slave. The slave can see for himself what his future duties will entail once he is properly trained."

"Yes, master," the steward responded, a hint of a smile on his lips. "Seeing the other slaves in action should be most instructive I would think. An excellent idea, master. I shall have the slave cleaned and polished and then leashed by his slave collar right before the guests arrive so he misses nothing of how properly trained slaves fulfill their duties, master."

The former Clint Morgan sat in his small cage staring at the image in the mirror placed beside his cage. Try as he might, he saw nothing but a fitted slave in the mirror - a slave no different than any other he had witnessed at Colonel Beddington's holdings over the past few weeks. He wondered what his fate would be? A slave in the Colonel's manufacturing facilities, perched naked on a work stool with a dildo forced well up his ass to "keep him alert," a catheter fitted up his piss chute to eliminate the need for bathroom breaks as he was worked 15 hours a day seven days a week, the dildo electrified to burn his insides if he ever slackened the work pace demanded by the ever-present overseers? A slave at the Colonel's bauxite mines, filthy dirty with his own excrement covering the back of his legs as no cessation from work was ever allowed (even for taking a dump), heavily restrained in his chains linking him to the other naked slaves of his work team, a vicious whip raining over his back and rump if he ever slowed down even a little in his fatigue, an animal worked to an early death where his organs would be 'harvested' for added value? A farm slave hitched stark naked to a plow or a heavily laded wagon, no different than an ox or horse used in the last century on other farms, his shoulders, back, and ass criss-crossed with a lattice of weeping whip wounds as the overseers made sure you gave the last ounce of your strength for your owner's benefit? Or perhaps as a 'pony slave' where his fully exposed and handsomely displayed body would be hitched to a surrey where he would be expected to prance and dressage like the beautifully trained animal he would be, a compliment to his master's good taste in slave flesh? Or even a 'pleasure slave' where his polished and adorned muscular fully trained body was made available to anyone his master pleased, offered to both the old and the young, males and females, the decent looking along with the ugly, the considerate along with the sadist - the only qualification to 'use him' was at the total discretion of his owner - and where he would be expected to offer any and all things his body could provide, much as the black chauffeur did each and every day in addition to his chauffeuring duties?

Whatever fate awaited him, the new slave knew he could do nothing but accept his destiny and do it to the best of his ability or suffer consequences he was certain he could not tolerate no matter how hard he might try. No. The only avenue open to him was to accept his new life and make the most of it. He had no other choices. Little did he know how much would be expected of him in the very near future. The colonel's dinner party, to which he would shortly be taken, would give him a small glimpse of his future life.

CHAPTER 10

"Wake up, you lazy bastards," Colonel Beddington's steward yelled as his whip cracked through the air. "Playtime for you boys. A little slave chow down your gut, a chance to piss, and you're on duty tonight."

As the slave biscuits were shoved in front of the troupe of white skinned slaves trained by the steward to serve as waiters for the dining halls and pleasure providers at all other times, the slaves quickly grabbed the biscuits and began chewing them down. The slaves were ravenously hungry as usual, being deliberately kept chronically slightly starved to keep their bodies in peak condition as well as assure strong motivation for their assigned duties. Following the quick feeding, a slave attendant passed in front of each troupe member with a bucket and dipper. After the feeding, the white skinned slaves were again allowed to bath, then a final coat of scented body oil was applied to their shaved bodies along with scented lubricant up their rear passages, leaving little doubt of what was expected of them in the coming 'entertainment.'

"You boys are going to have some company tonight," the overseer said brightly. "Each of the master's guests has brought along his favorite slave boy, so you'll probably have a little competition before the nights over," he laughed. "You put everything you've got into it, or you'll pay dearly at the end of a whip, believe you me. I don't want the master to be ashamed of his own pleasure stock in front of these other slaves. Of course, they're probably pretty well trained themselves or their own master's wouldn't have bothered to bring them over. Should be an interesting evening," he speculated as he carefully inspected each slave's body.

"Now line up proper-like. You'll first be serving dinner. Each guest is reclining in a couch beside his own table, as is our master, with the slave boy he brought to attend him standing right by him. When you're through serving, each of you is to go to a different guest, although I suppose the master will give each guest a chance to choose which one of you he wants to service him."

With that, the well-trained and extremely handsome slaves entered Col. Beddington's main dining hall in exact step with each other and began serving the numerous courses. Chained to the wall tightly by his neck collar so his entire body was forced into full display was a new slave - a white slave like themselves who looked remarkably like one of the master's guests they had served breakfast to only a day or so ago, although it was hard to tell since the guest was fully clothed and had a full head of hair. But this was clearly a slave, fitted out with a nose ring, tit rings and banded genitals like most of the Colonel's property. There was no way this new slave could have been the master's guest just a short time ago and the idea was promptly dismissed in that both the master's guest as well as this new slave were extremely good looking and that was, no doubt, the source of their confusion. Besides, this new slave was just staring at the scene in front of him as if in total disbelief. A guest of the Colonel would take all of this for granted as, indeed, all the Colonel's guests that night were as they stroked and fondled the personal slaves they had brought with them for the evening.

The black chauffeur, freshly shaved and totally nude as seemed to be his destiny in life, was standing close to Col. Beddington's couch in full readiness, his huge sexual organ already showing hard. As soon as the first course had been served, Col. Beddington reached out and played with the black slave's fully erect organ until the slave heavily erupted into a small serving bowl on the Colonel's table.

"A nice warm sauce for the appetizer," Col. Beddington said as he lifted the rolled shrimp dripping with the black slave's cum, to his mouth. "And plenty left in the bowl for the rest of the shrimp," he said with satisfaction as he rolled the next shrimp in the thick creamy offering from the black slave. "Nothing like fresh hot cum to bring out the flavor of fish," Col. Beddington announced with some satisfaction to his guests. "There's plenty more where that came from," Col. Beddington smiled as he again massaged the organ of the strikingly handsome black slave. "Anyone else want a fresh load?"

"That black stud of yours isn't the only ones who can enhance a dish," an Australian guest sitting across the room commented as he stroked his own slave, a devastatingly handsome and very muscular Latino with an astonishingly huge organ, into a gigantic eruption onto the Australian's plate. The Latino's output actually steamed as the strands roped across the Australian's selection of broiled lamb. As the Latino slave's series of eruptions diminished, he gasped and steadied himself for balance. The handsome slave had never known such decadence until sold to a U.S. businessman, the first of three owners so far, in Sydney a few years ago. Since then, each new master had taken him further and further into a life he would have found unimaginable if he hadn't been around slaves all of his life. As he had quickly discovered, modern capitalists saw few restrictions in the use of slaves, including using both males and females to fulfill their most bizarre sexual fantasies. "Speaking animals," was the popular view of slaves in the global economy of today.

"Look, it's still steaming!" the Australian master noted with satisfaction as he swirled the first small piece of lamb into the steaming "sauce" and popped the delicacy into his mouth.

"Delicious," he exclaimed, "and the sauce keeps me young. As the physicians say, 'A cup a day keeps the doctor away.' Of course, I drink it right from the source for breakfast and I always pick a virile young boy for that honor - no older than 18 or 19 in my opinion to get the full benefit! Two good slave boys can deliver a full cup every day between them if you make that their only outlet. Makes their balls swell up over time, but that only increases the output. Sort of like a good milk cow," the Australian laughed as he fondled the Latino's exceedingly large ball sac to prove his point.

"Those waiters could favor the food all by themselves, given the chance," another guest laughed as he pointed to the waiters' large penises waving in the air as they hurried back and forth from the kitchen to the dining room tables since they were ordered to serve the meal in the nude, as usual, as was the custom when using slaves as waiters, not only to illustrate the beauty of their bodies, but also to indicate the eventual availability of the slave's bodies for the sexual pleasure of the guests..

"Help yourself if you want," Col. Beddington said generously, "but you'll have plenty of chances later on to enjoy those boys. These white waiters are well trained to pleasure you and, I hope, prove the equal to your own pleasure boys in that regard. But, while they're serving, just touch, pinch, fondle and feel - we'll get into use of their handsome bodies later. Meanwhile, I'll like to see your own pleasure slaves in action. The Latino stud's a handsome lad and very well equipped. Where did you buy him, Geoffrey?" Col. Beddington asked. 'At one of the local auctions in Australia?"

"I didn't," the Australian answered with a smirk.

"Ah, a gift," Col. Beddington smiled, "and a very nice one at that."

"No, not a gift," Geoffrey replied, "nor was he even from any dealer or a secret government sale."

"An inheritance then," Col. Beddington retorted as the mystery continued.

"No, although I've inherited some beauties lately from my late brother. What a taste in slaves that one had," Geoffrey said with enthusiasm, "and fortunately I've been able to put them to proper use. My brother would be most pleased. Even you, Col. Beddington, who buys up the best the dealers have to offer, would be envious of some in that lot - females as well as the exquisite males he seemed to prefer for his own personal use."

"Geoffrey, you'd try anyone's patience with your endless dialogues. Where did you get the well-hung Latino? And this time I want a direct answer, you wily old Outbacker," Col. Beddington laughed.

"He's from my farm," Geoffrey answered.

"I didn't know you had a farm," Col. Beddington exclaimed. "I thought you were in the import/export business."

"I am," the Australian businessman replied, "except for my farm. But I only farm one crop," he added.

"What crop?" Col. Beddington asked, as he fondled one the large balls of his black chauffeur with one hand while simultaneously pressing his finger up the anal opening of the slave and then began vigorously pumping his finger in and out..

"Slaves," Geoffrey answered.

"The Latino's obviously a slave," Col. Beddington said with some irritation, "but what do you farm?"

"Slaves," Geoffrey repeated. "I farm slaves. That's my only crop."

"Geoffrey, we all keep our female stock in foal," Col. Beddington said. "Only makes sense what with the demand for slaves these days, and most of us select the studs to improve the stock while meeting that demand. These boys waiting on us tonight serve stud for the 200 or so females I keep in stock over at the manufacturing complex in that I'm trying to lighten the breed a little. But I'd not call that a farm, although the crop are new slaves, of course," Col. Beddington chuckled. "It's always fun to see the studs in action," Col. Beddington elaborated. "Maybe before the night's over, we could arrange studding of another batch of females, if you'd be interested? We give the brood slaves a month of so after birthing before breeding them again, but I think there's a batch about ready again."

"Of course all prudent slave owners breed when they can," the Australian said. "But I'm talking about a real farm operation that produces close to 2000 head a year. Although the crop takes a long while to reach market, and the start up costs are high what with the initial costs of the 2000 brood slaves, and it cost a fortune to feed 35,000 head until they reach maturity, the profits on 2000 marketed each year are substantial despite the costs, especially since my market stock brings well above average prices due to their highly select breeding and being trained from birth on to be and do just about anything any new master can dream up. The farm has garnered quite a most enviable reputation over the years in producing totally compliant, good looking stock similar to the Latino here."

[It should be noted that although the majority of the world's contemporary slaves were: kidnaped victims sold for the profits they would bring upon sale to an underground slave dealer; persons deemed undesirable or embarrassing to their governments; prisoners of secret wars taking place throughout the universe by covert government agents; state prisoners sentenced to death but then sold secretly to slave procurers; or orphans who were sold to save the cost of raising them. But a large number of modern slaves were simply born into it. Any person birthed by an existing slave was considered a slave him or herself. When slaves were very cheap due to huge numbers of prisoners without families sentenced to death (but in reality sold into slavery), it was hardly worth the expense to feed and house bred slaves from birth to a marketable age. But as the demand for slaves steadily increased, the raising of slaves as a cash crop became quite profitable and consequently breeding farms sprang up to take advantage of this, being located throughout remote (and secret) locations around the world. Of course, any prudent slaveholder tried to keep their female stock pregnant as much as possible, even those owning only a slave or two in order to maximize their profits. But it was the large scale breeding operations that made a real difference in the market and kept the world's appetite for underground slaves well supplied.]

Geoffrey smiled delightedly and said, "Col. Beddington, I just signed an exclusive sales contract with one of Sydney's largest dealers. They're so satisfied with the high quality standards I've set up in who serves stud and brood, they wanted the entire output each year. They offered a price I couldn't refuse. I've closed my own auction house and all marketing operations. I can't compete with Sydney's dealers on that score anyway."

Geoffrey leaned back on his couch, spread his legs wide so his erect prick sprung upward, and signaled for the Latino slave to mount him face forward.

The magnificent Latino slave quickly placed one leg over his master, spread his ass wide, and, grabbing his master's rampantly erect prick, positioned it at his open hole and slid downward until he was totally impaled. As his ass chute was stretched by his master's massive equipment, the strain showed on the slave's face. His eyes were glazed, the veins stood out on his forehead, and his mouth gasped for air as he slowly adjusted, as he had numerous times before, to the pain of the forced invasion. Past experience had taught him the pain was only temporary and he knew his body would once again accept being fucked. In fact, before his master was through with him, he knew his body, like most of the other male slaves he knew, would interpret the stimulation as so erotically pleasurable that he would actually welcome being used anally despite the deep feelings of humiliation, exploitation, and shame he had felt when he had first been raped as a mere possession. As his master played with his prominent tits, the slave began to rhythmically raise and lower his ass, squeezing his ass muscles tightly each time his master's shaft was fully encased in his anal chute for a "pumping" action he'd been taught in the careful training each of Geoffrey's slaves received during their formulative years before first sale.

"Um," Geoffrey moaned as he leaned back on the couch as the Latino's ass worked his prick. Within minutes, Geoffrey audibly gasped, arched his back as the comely Latino slave pressed his ass down as far as he could and clenched his ass muscles as he held himself totally still as his master shot a heavy load deep within him. After catching his breath, Geoffrey jerked on the Latino's large erect nipples to let him know he should dismount and mouth wash his master's prick - the standard routine for any slave who has serviced his master to orgasm.

The sweating slave boy lifted himself gently off the still erect penis until he heard the soft plop as the prick left his anal sphincter, climbed off his master's body, and quickly swallowed his master's prick to its roots before proceeding to thoroughly scrub the organ with his tongue and then swallowing the remnants of his master's cum along with his saliva before disengaging.

"Thank you, master," the sexy Latino said humbly as he again resumed a "display" position beside his master: legs spread wide, erect posture, and hands gripping the back of his head. A small stream of white cum was seeping out of his asshole and down the insides of his thighs.

Col. Beddington laughed as his Australian friend Geoffrey caught his breath and scooted up on the couch to his usual semi-reclining position. "As you were telling us before your dalliance with your Latino slave, bringing a crop of 2000 slaves a year to market does qualify the operation as a farm, I suppose."

"Slaves are a crop like any other livestock, Col. Beddington," Geoffrey stated emphatically, "although it's a lot more profitable in today's market, especially in you can interest some large international dealers in your product. You can set up in the breeding farm most anywhere there is a lack of prying eyes and nosy investigators. Myself, I run mine way out in the Outback where the land is dirt cheap and no one is snooping around to report the goings on and where there are few distractions from the task at hand. And you can certainly improve the breed in the process if you've half a wit to you. Most responsible breeders have paid a lot of attention to that, Col. Beddington, as you well know."

"I'm sure you select your broods with that in mine, but you must have to keep quite a few studs on hand to keep the broods productive," Col. Beddington mused.

"Only ten," Geoffrey answered, "but they're kept busy to earn their keep."

"Ten?" Col. Beddington exclaimed. "For 2000 brood slaves? They'd have to do nothing else but service the women day and night to keep all 2000 pregnant."

"They don't do anything else, "Geoffrey said without emotion. "Why should they? We bought them as studs and that's what we expect them to do. And yes, they are kept at their duties day and night - that's what studs are for, isn't it? Actually, Col. Beddington, the studs do nothing but exercise rigorously twice a day to keep their magnificent physiques and good health, and service the broods the rest of the time. Every morning they fuck a new brood slave whose in the fourth day following her ovulation so we know she's most receptive to his seed. Two hours later he fucks another brood in the same condition and two hours later still another. In late afternoon, he repeats the procedure with three more receptive broods. Each of the six are tested the next morning to see if they were impregnated and, if not, they're put under him once again. Most of the broods are impregnated after three of four sessions at the most - a lot of them catch the first time under the stud. The stud empties himself six times a day, spaced apart so he has plenty of time to fully recover each time, of course. But every seventh day, we just exercise him extensively for two days where he isn't allowed to discharge at all. We find this periodic "recharge" period fully restores his sexual drive, keeps him in good spirits, and gives his equipment a chance to recover from any abrasion damage from all the usage that might have incurred..

"It's during this 'recharge' period that the overseers and staff are allowed to play around with the boys if they want - they can poke them all they like as long as they don't allow the studs to discharge - and of course, we encourage staff to use the studs for oral servicing. Swallowing all the staff's cum simply helps them recharge all the faster and makes a tasty snack for them.

"At any rate, they always seem eager to get back to their studding duties after the break. Maybe they just like fucking better than being fucked," Geoffrey laughed. "With our careful monitoring of the brood's ovulation, it only takes about 6000 mating sessions to get 2000 solid pregnancies a year. That means each stud only has to mate about 600 times a year. We're going to sell off three of our studs that have been at this for a few years - they're 23 years old now - and reduce the stable to seven - that's all we'd need even if the fertility rate of the broods took a nosedive. You could buy any of the three from me if you are interested, Col. Beddington. There's tons of great slave seed in those stud's for years to come. My farm had just begun to tap their resources."

"Well, I've got eight good looking white slave studs on hand just waiting table," Col. Beddington said as he pointed his troupe of magnificently built waiters out. "Setting up a slave farm would only involve stocking the broods."

"These boys of yours could easily handle 600 forced matings a year and still wait any damn table you pleased and have plenty of time left over to pleasure your dinner guests," Geoffrey said. "Wouldn't hurt them a bit and they'll last for years at it. You're not getting your money's worth out of them just studding them occasionally at your parties with the brood slaves you have on hand. Get serious and start utilizing their true potential - won't cost you a penny extra!"

Another of Col. Beddington's guests, a Malaysian merchant in his mid-twenties who had already made hundreds of millions in highly profitable grain contracts with India, reached out and grabbed one of the waiters' pricks as he was passing. The fantastically handsome blue-eyed Romanian slave froze in position as the young entrepreneur stroked his huge organ to full erection, blushing furiously in the process..

"I think Geoffrey's got a point," the Malaysian businessman said. "This one looks like he's up to at least 600 full matings a year without damaging his entertainment potential."

Abruptly, he released the slave's organ and slapped him smartly on his rump. "Back to waiting tables, boy. All that usage will come later," and he laughed as he reached for his own personal slave, a spectacular blonde with close cropped wavy hair that produced ringlets, smooth hairless skin beautifully tanned evenly over his naked body, a handsome face characterized by high cheekbones, green eyes highlighted by thick black eyebrows and long thick eyelashes, a straight Grecian nose, and a prominent protruding jaw line that masculinized his otherwise feminine face. The slave's physique was perfect: highly muscular without being puffy, huge pectorals, a wash-boarded stomach, a perfectly rounded ass that resembled two bubbles resting on solid muscle, and a long, exceptionally thick prick cut to show a perfect pink head and spongy enough to appear totally smooth and veinless.

"On your knees, boy, and give me some mouth service," the young executive said sharply as he reached up and stroked the blonde slave's cheek.

"Yes, master," the slave said with a hint of gratitude in his voice as he quickly sunk to both knees and swallowed his master's shaft to its root. Instantly, his cheeks hollowed as he suctioned his master and it was easy to see his tongue was furiously churning around his master's organ to offer a thorough massage. His young owner responded by placing both hands on his slave's tits and began squeezing them between his fingers until they were rock hard and swollen in his hands. The slave issued a muted groan as his tits were pinched and massaged but continued with his duties unabated..

Within minutes, he had accomplished this task and the slave's throat clearly outlined his master's prick and the slave's throat muscles diverting the gag reflex into a massaging sensation for his master while his inflamed tits responded to his master's rough massage by swelling to double their normal size. The Malaysian's face flushed beet red as the outline in his slave's throat grew even larger and the slave's throat muscles struggled to swallow all of his master's cum now racing down the boy's throat into his stomach.

"The boy's got an excellent mouth," the young businessman gasped as he continued to discharge down the boy's throat. " I understand the dealer I bought him from had acquired him from a slave merchant following some armies in the Balkans during their recent civil wars. Since he was only 15 or so when I bought him, you can see where extensive training has been necessary, but, " he sighed, "it seems to have paid off. He takes a fuck even better, although I'm sure the dealer would claim otherwise since he was being marketed for his oral servicing skills," he chuckled with considerable satisfaction. "At any rate, you'll all get a chance to see what I'm talking about before the evenings out, I hope."

"Make sure you do," another guest commented. "I particularly like bedding down the Slavic races, especially one as pretty and well built as that boy. I'll be glad to trade his use for your use of my own boy here," the speaker said as he reached up and tweaked the tits of the slave boy who was riding him, his butthole fully impaled on his master's cock as he rapidly rose up and down on his master, his leg muscles sharply outlined under the strain, and with sweat exuding from his body from the continual exertion. The slave moaned from the tit-play and increased his pumping motions on his master's shaft. His muscular physique glowed from all the sweat in the soft lights of the dining hall. Although his huge prick was fully rampant swinging back and forth as he rose up and down on his master, one's attention was drawn to his face - features that looked like they were chiseled in place highlighted by sparkling black eyes sunk deep into their sockets and thick well trimmed jet black hair on his head and neatly outlining his prominent jaw line.

"I'll certainly trade you boys anytime you want," the Malaysian executive said as he withdrew from the blonde slave's mouth and watched with satisfaction as the slave cleaned the last drop's of his eruption off his now flaccid penis without prompting. "Those black eyes certainly go well with that black hair," the Malaysian commented, "and his musculature is impressive. He looks like he's enjoying his ride on your pole. Had him long?"

"Only a few weeks," the slave's owner replied. "Found him at a small dealership in Berlin last month while I was vacationing there.. Part of an estate sale - his last master died and none of the heirs wanted him although I can't believe they actually saw him before that decision was made. When the dealer told me he'd originally been sold by the warden of a juvenile detention facility as a homeless orphan in some backwater province in Poland and eventually sold to a rich German businessman looking to add to his own stable of beautiful boys, I thought he would be well-trained and experienced in the uses a slave with his beauty would be put to. I was right, but his Berlin master up and died on him!

"I got a great buy on him because the lawyer handling the estate in Berlin was anxious to get rid of him and the other slaveboys in that stable - he wasn't used to trading in black market merchandise and didn't know their real worth. Actually, the whole idea of selling slaves was new to him and made him extremely nervous although he was well aware that his client always seemed to have plenty of them on hand. But he didn't have a clue as to where they came from. He sold the bunch of them to this small dealer at bargain basement prices as long as the dealer promised to keep quiet as to where he had got them and that's where I got him at a most reasonable price.

"Only thing I've noticed about him that might be unusual - there's a touch of resentment in performing his duties but he always does just what you want - but I suspect he'd rather be bedding down a wench than getting a big one shoved up his ass or down his throat day and night," his owner laughed as the slave once again vigorously shoved his ass down to the base of his owner's shaft with a low grunt.

"Doesn't make any difference what he'd rather be doing as long as he performs his duties to your satisfaction, " the Malaysian businessman commented. "Slaves are smart enough to know what they want doesn't matter now that they're slaves - it's what their masters wants that matters. Besides," he mused, "someday he may be owned by a mistress who'll appreciate his natural yearnings. A lot of rich sophisticated matrons these days are discretely stocking their own little harems with handsome male slaves. I visited a middle aged widow of considerable means last week in Taipei and in the privacy of her large estate, she proudly paraded before me four naked stud slaves, all collared, leashed and well oiled, and trained to display themselves as if they were up for auction the minute she stopped parading them around. They were all Asiatic slaves in that was, she told me, her clear preference in male slave stock. She invited me to examine the slaves while she chatted away how good they were in servicing her. One of the slaves looked sort of embarrassed and blushed deeply, especially when I examined his sex organs, and another one seemed devastated by his plight and started crying when I looked him over. The other two looked downright proud their mistress had wanted to display them."

"Well, at least two of them seemed to be adjusting without difficulty to their new life."

"Yes, I don't know if they felt themselves extremely lucky to have been purchased by a woman as pleasure slaves because that fulfilled one of their fantasies anyway, or if they were just well-trained slaves who were proud to be chosen as sexual playthings by male or female, or if they liked their bodies to be admired and appreciated and gender didn't matter, or if they were just basically whores.

"My point is, I've found most boys adjust to whatever their owners, male or female, want without too much trouble, so I suspect there's a lot of whore in every slave - at least the good looking ones . And I suppose slaves who are very well endowed feel it's their natural destiny. That lady's slaves certainly were endowed, all right," and he placed his hands apart about 12 inches to demonstrate what he was talking about. "She'd obviously picked them for a purpose," he added with a lewd wink.

The black-haired slave's owner shuddered as he ejaculated deep into his slave's ass.

"Then why are some of them resentful of being used?" he asked. "This boy here, for example, took months to be trained to his usage, I understand, and still you sometimes get a little look or frown of disapproval when you start to use him and he's briefly forgotten what he is. But a little cuff serves as a quick reminder and he's fully cooperative. Personally, I sort of enjoy it when I know a boy resents what I'm doing to him and there's not a thing in this world he can do about it. Of course, you don't get that with all boys put to service - some of them are just naturally inclined that way it seems."

"Relatively few, probably," the young Malaysian businessman responded. "Except for those born into it, of course. Most of the young stock, when first pressed into slavery, are fairly inexperienced sexually and what little experience they have had was often just with girls. At first, they associate man-to-man sex with their slavery and resent it along with ownership of their body. But after a while they learn to like the pleasures inherent in the use of their body and the resentment is about being a slave, not the sex they are engaged in. I'm sure you've noticed a big change in the attitudes of your slaveboys since they were first raped and how they view the demands on their bodies now."

"Indeed I do," the other guest concurred. "Most of the slaves learn to like it, despite themselves," he laughed as he reached over and began stroking the black-haired slave's erect shaft with one hand while massaging his ballsac with the other. "Why is it only slaves and their masters acknowledge the bisexuality inherent in every human? Can't the general population understand such a simple truth like that or do they all need to be made slaves before they can reveal their true nature?"

The slave shuddered as his organs were again being manipulated. He knew his big challenge now was to not erupt until his master wanted him to and he channeled his thoughts on restraining any orgasm building within him.

CHAPTER 11

Course after course was served by Col. Beddington's special troupe of white slaves as the guests continued to fondle the waiters, fuck their own slaveboys, or simply play with the slave's available bodies. The conversation was punctuated with the owner's outcries as they ejaculated, the slave's muted moans, gasps, and gurgles as they were used one way or another, and the sound of flesh on flesh as the slaves were sporadically fucked. The delicacies served were savored by the guests (certainly not the slaves), but no one overindulged in that they wanted to save themselves for use of Col. Beddington's white waiters as well as some of the other guest's slaveboys before the night was over.

The new slave chained to the wall found the dinner party unbelievable - it was a scene beyond anything he had ever even imagined in his wildest fantasy. The use of men's bodies displayed everywhere in front of him was beyond the wildest porn movie he had ever imagined, let alone seen. He had no idea slaves were so wantonly and openly used by their owners - no demand of a slave's body seemed unreasonable. But what really amazed him was the slave's seeming cooperation in the exploitation of his own body. Most slaves didn't seem to object to what was being done to them - in fact, most seemed to be enjoying it to varying degrees! The former Clint Morgan found it incomprehensible until he remembered, with a shudder, how eager the black studs he had hired each and every night from Paradise Modeling seemed when he fucked them practically senseless. And he remembered the black chauffeur eagerly begging him to fuck him again, or at least have the black suck him off again, when he was assigned to Clint's room by his owner, the Colonel, to serve as the evening's entertainment. He noticed that his own body was responding - he had sported a huge erection since the dinner had first begun and he was currently dripping precum in his arousal. No doubt, as the steward had implied, with proper training, he too would be eagerly offering the use of his body to whomever his owner wanted. Right now, he felt he would do anything to get some relief for his engorged sexual organs - now prominently displayed by the genital band to everyone in the room - slave and master alike.

As the last course was cleared away, Col. Beddington clapped his hands as the signal for his troupe of white waiters to go to an assigned couch and assume the "position:" hands in back of their heads, feet wide spread, pelvis thrust forward, and all muscles tensed. Due to all the fondling they had received during their serving of the meal and in anticipation of their upcoming usage, all of the waiters were rock hard as they assumed the commanded position.

"If you don't like the one I've assigned you, you can trade around," Col. Beddington laughed, "although they all are matched for height, physique, skin color, and endowment. Still, you might like a different hair color or different facial features and their balls do hang a little differently."

Two of the guests wanted brunettes and two didn't care while another wanted a blonde whilst still another wanted a black-haired slave. Three of the eight slaves were shuffled back and forth until all the guests were happy with the assignment. During the shuffle, the black- haired pleasure slave of one guest was sent to the Malaysian businessman while his slave, the muscled blonde, was sent back in the barter. Geoffrey's Latino stud was loaned to a Greek shipbuilder in exchange for his slaveboy, a handsome Circassian from around the Black Sea just entering manhood with a beautifully sculpted butt. Colonel Beddington's black chauffeur was sent to the couch of another guest from Madrid in exchange for the Spaniard's slaveboy, a well-trained Egyptian with golden skin, huge black eyes, high cheek bones, a beautifully sculpted body, and phenomenally large equipment.

"Everybody happy?" Col. Beddington asked as he reached over and fondled the Egyptian's equipment. Looking around and seeing all his guests were already fondling both of the slaves assigned to each couch, he announced, "Then let our play begin."

The black chauffeur joined one of the white waiters in entertaining the Spanish guest of the Colonel who had traded off his Egyptian slave. Already the Spaniard was stroking the black's huge erect penis with one hand and massaging the white waiter's ballsac with the other as both of the Colonel's slaves stood in the prescribed display position with their legs spread wide apart and their pelvises thrust out for the guest's convenience in handling them. As both of the slaves begin to respond, the Spaniard ordered the black slave under him with his stomach on the couch and his butt thrust out for fucking while the white waiter was told to kneel and position himself to suck his new master off until he was ready to fuck the black slave. As the black let his legs drop off the couch so his butt was in the best position to be fucked, the Spaniard rammed his prick into the white waiter's open mouth who swallowed it in a single gulp. As the white waiter had been trained, he begin to massage the Spaniard's prick with his tongue and suctioned it until his cheeks hollowed whereupon he pursed his lips and slowly went up and down the shaft now deep in his throat.

"Um," the Spaniard said to the white slave before him, "you're well trained, I see," as he thrust deeper down the waiter's throat.

Within minutes the white slave felt his Spanish user swell to full erection and his involuntary thrusting, along with a throbbing penis, indicated he was about to shoot.

"Enough, slave," the Spaniard yelled as he withdraw abruptly from the white slave's clenching throat. "You're going to ruin my fucking of the black."

Without further comment, he drove his shaft deep into the black's ass and began pumping the ass as the black chauffeur moaned in total compliance, remembering to tighten his rectal muscles around the invading shaft as he did so.

"You respond well to the fucking," the Spaniard said as he steadily increased pumping into the black's chute.

"Thank you, master," the black moaned as the Spaniard's shaft penetrated even deeper into him.

"It's obvious the Colonel has trained you well," the Spaniard said between his heavy breathing.

"Yes, master.... but I was well trained......before ........ the Colonel brought me..... from the breeding farm," the black grunted between gasps. "All we farm slaves.... were taught....how to pleasure.... in preparation.... for our eventual sale," he interjected between gasps as the Spaniard pumped into him over and over.

"As well you should have been," the Spaniard said, breathing heavily in his efforts. "That's what slaveboys are for if they are even halfway decent looking. That's why I bought the Egyptian boy to service my bed."

"Yes, master," the black moaned as the Spaniard plunged all the way in and held it, shuddering as he ejaculated fully into the black's stretched hole. After six successive emissions, the Spaniard slowly withdrew.

"Thank you, master," the black gasped as he began to position himself to clean the Spaniard's shaft.

"Never mind," the Spaniard snapped with a slap across the black's butt. "The slaveboy already on his knees can clean me," motioning with his hand for the Colonel's white waiter to again swallow his prick and clean him, now sticky with his cum mixed with the black slave's scented ass lubricant. "You sit up now so I can play with your tits," he ordered the black with another sharp slap across his butt.

"Yes, master," the black said as the white waiter again swallowed the Spaniard's prick and scrubbed his shaft with my tongue and fresh saliva. When the white slave knew the Spaniard was pristine, he swallowed the remnants of the master fucking the black with one gulp and then blew on him gently to help him dry.

"You been fucked today?" the Spaniard asked while stroking the white slave's cheek.

"No, master," the waiter answered.

"Good, you're long overdue. But I'm not up to it right at this moment, so we'll let the black slave fuck you for my amusement," the Spaniard said languidly.

"Kneel over the couch here, and you," he said pointing to the black slave,"get into that boy's ass fast and pump him hard," pinching the black's erect tits hard as he spoke.

The black shuddered from the tit pinching but knew better than to withdraw. "Yes, master," he said as he positioned himself behind the white waiter, his swollen prick aimed squarely at the white slave's now open hole.

"Ugh, ugh," the white slave moaned loudly as the black thrust in all the way without hesitation or allowing the waiter any time to adjust to the invasion. Immediately, the black began to thrust rapidly in and out of the white boy's hole, taking his shaft almost out of the slave's chute each time before thrusting back in so far the white slave could feel where the black's public hair had been shaved clean.

"Twist it some when you're all the way in, black boy," the Spaniard ordered. "I want to hear him groan."

"Yes, master," the black answered and upon the next deep thrust he swivelled around with his massive tool all the way up the white slave's chute until the waiter did indeed issue muted screams as he was opened up and stretched greater than he could ever remember.

"There. That's better," the Spaniard commented. "The white slave's feeling the fucking now. Most of Col. Beddington's slaves are so used, it takes a lot of get a decent reaction out of them. But this boy will thank me as soon as he gets his breath. I'm sure he hasn't been fucked this thoroughly in quite a spell."

The white waiter got the hint despite his pain of the moment and promptly said, "Thank you, master," between his clenched lips.

"See there," the Spaniard exclaimed. "Nothing like a good fuck to see some of these slaves get appreciative. Pump harder, black boy, and continue to screw the slave in circular motions every time you're all the way in....There, that's right,,, no, get it all in there.....now, twist around more so he really feels it......now twist the other way....no, no.....keep it in all the way...now plunge in and out rapidly but twist each time you're all the way in.....and don't you shoot on me......you can't shoot without permission.....and I want to see you screwing this slave for a long while, you hear me, black boy?"

"Yes, master. I'll screw this white slave as long as you want, master, if I can keep from juicing," the black slave said as his face clearly reflected the strain he felt from avoiding a debilitating discharge. Sweat was beginning to ooze out of every pore on his body as the need to discharge grew stronger and stronger, but his rapid pumping never slackened.

"Master, master," the black pleaded, "I'm not sure I can hold it much longer."

"Don't you shoot until I tell you to, slaveboy," the Spaniard said with an amused look on his face. "I want this white boy fucked properly. Get that shaft all the way in each stroke, you hear?"

"Yes, master," the black slave gasped as the sex sweat literally flew off his body.

The white waiter moaned deeply as the black continued to plummet him, stimulating the part deep within him that mysteriously caused erections even when being tortured like this. The white slave's arousal was evident from a huge wet strain forming under him on the couch.

"Master," the black slave screamed as every vein in his face stood out in his arousal. "I'm going .......to ...... shoot," and with that, broke into a gasp and discharged cups of heavy cream between the couch and the assaulted body of the white waiter, driven into the couch with each of the black's thrusts.

"Oh, very well," the Spaniard said disappointedly, "although I'm surprised one of Col. Beddington's slaves is so poorly trained. You, blackboy, can go ahead and shoot if you want, although it will ruin the show for me."

"Ah, ah, ah. ahhh," screamed the black as I felt his prick swell to even greater circumference within the white slave before spasming load after load deep into the waiter's bowels.

"Thank you, master," the black choked out even as he continued to pump into the white slave beneath him. "I didn't think...... I could hold it..... much longer, master," he gasped as his orgasm shuddered to an end.

"It seems you home bred slaves are well trained despite your failing," the Spaniard responded. "At least, you could hold it longer than this white slave here," he said with some disdain as he ran his hands through my sweat streaked hair. "I suspect Col. Beddington is too easy on his slaves, but nothing that a sound beating with the slave whips couldn't cure, I'll wager. I would guess he's more concerned with how they look when displayed to his guests than how well you perform in bed," he muttered more to himself than anyone. He jerked on the black chauffeur's hair saying, "You're a mighty lucky boy to be owned by such a lenient master, but I doubt if your next owner will be quite as lax," and he again jerked the black's hair so hard the slave thought it would come out in the master's hand.

"Now both you boys flush yourselves out and wash up thoroughly. You're leaking cum all down your legs and beginning to stink with all that sex sweat. When you've freshened up, you get your pretty little asses right back here."

"Yes, master," both slaves said at once as they hastened to get back into the slave's bath areas to do the Spaniard's bidding.

The steward had moved the new white slave, the former Clint Morgan, from the dining room to the slave's bathing area, again chaining him by the neck to the bath's wall where he would be forced to witness all that was going on there just as was the case when he was chained to the dining room wall.

Three other slaves were in the baths flushing themselves out when Clint saw two new slaves arrive to the humid bathing quarters - the Colonel's black chauffeur (who had so recently fucked him repeatedly as part of his 'breaking in') and one of the white waiters (who had served him breakfast stark naked only yesterday). One of the three slaves already there had cum all over his face and Clint noted his hair was matted with the stuff. Another looked a little worn, but was still playful judging from his aroused prick. The third had some nasty tooth marks on his left shoulder and a slightly breeding ass, a souvenir of his last fucking, he informed all in the room.

"You house slaves are getting as much attention as we visiting pleasure slaves," one of them exclaimed as he recognized the two new arrivals as Col. Beddington's slaves. "It'll be a long evening," he snickered, "but we pleasure boys are used to it."

"So are we," the white waiter countered. "At least every third evening, we're called upon to entertain the master's guests. The difference is we do honest work in between."

"Work's work, boy, and slaves don't decide what work they're going to do. Just because you have to wait tables in between pleasuring your master and his guests doesn't make you any better than any of us. No slave chooses their work, whether it's plowing or waiting table or pulling a pony cart or herding sheep or warming your master's bed. You of all people, being called upon to pleasure any and everyone at least every third night or so, should realize that. I imagine you get fucked just about as heavy as we do," the visiting pleasure slave said as he completed his body cleansing.

"It was stupid of me to say that," the white waiter owned by the Colonel apologized. "You're right, work's work and slaves just do what they're told. There's really not much difference between having a master ride your butt and waiting your master's table all day butt naked. One gives you a sore butt; the other gives you sore muscles from standing all day long in position to best display your body, so what's the difference? You're being fucked either way," the white waiter laughed.

"Honest work! What's that?" another of the visiting slaves said as he again bent over to give himself another douche with a syringe made out of a soft plastic. "Some of the positions I have to get into to please my masters is pretty heavy work if you ask me, and clenching those ass and throat muscles when we're being fucked turns into real work if you're doing it right," he snorted as once again his bowels were filled with the warm water.

Before long, all five slaves were cleansed properly and returned to their appointed stations in the dining hall, but not before edifying the former Clint Morgan on what was expected of modern day slaves. The new slave, tightly chained to the wall, sobbed incessantly as he reflected on his new life, grievous because he knew he would end up no different, once his training was completed, than the slaves he had just witnessed douching themselves, fully accepting of the usage of their bodies. Already, the new white slave could feel any resistance or rebellion to his current condition fading away as he saw slaves no doubt initially much stronger than himself quickly acclimating to whatever was demanded of them. With a slave's insight, he realized why the steward had chained him in the slave's bath - it was so he could see how calmly and rationally the slaves accepted their fate. Again, the steward returned and returned him to his chained stance in the dining hall. Obviously, the evening wasn't over.

As the five slaves in the baths as well as the new white slave of the Colonel's returned to the dining hall, Col. Beddington and the guests had once again exchanged their personal slaves and the Colonel's waiters had been assigned to new guests so that the guests could enjoy all the evening had to offer. And enjoying it they were! Three of the white waiters had mounted their assigned guests (who were casually lying prone on their backs) and were frantically pumping their asses up and down over the guest's rampant shafts, while three more were being plowed in a more conventional doggy-style position, their bent arms and legs tense from the added load of the person "riding" them. Meanwhile the personal slaves brought by the guests were busy sucking a new guest, or flat on their back with their legs over their shoulders as a new guest tried out their ass, or sometimes sucking or fucking each other for a guest's amusement.

The five slaves returning fresh from the baths were immediately commanded by the steward into a series of different acts similar to the other slaves and their grunts, moans, and muted groans soon mixed with the panting, sharp cries, and screams of delight as the smell of sweat, ass lube, and hot cum filled the room. The new white slave, Clint Morgan, responded with a feeling of hopeless despair, but his healthy young body betrayed him. Looking down, he saw he was again fully erect, his prick dripping with need.

Thursday, the black chauffeur, had ended up back with his own master, Col. Beddington, now plowing him with his large organ as the slave lay passively on his back, his long muscular legs positioned behind his shoulders and splayed wide apart. The black slave had lost count of how many times he'd been fucked since the evening began, but he knew it was at least the ninth time his ass had been subjected to a thorough fucking, whether by one of the masters or by another slave commanded to do so. His ass ached by this time and the chute, despite the heavy lubing it had received, burned as the Colonel's shaft continued to plummet him until he thought he would split in half. At least all the cum inside him served as additional lube and made the fucking somewhat more bearable despite the black slave's fatigue.

As Col. Beddington stared into his eyes, his hands busy massaging the slave's already sore tits, the black realized his jaws ached as much as his ass. Twelve times he'd swallowed cock tonight and each time he had been rewarded with a full load of hot sperm sliding down his throat and into his stomach. His ringed tits had been twisted, pinched, massaged, and kneaded by every person he'd sucked as well as every person who'd fucked him and by this time were so sensitized they felt as if they'd been freshly branded with hot coals and, he knew from past evenings, would be swollen to double their normal size for three days or longer as a result of all the attention they'd received.

"Ah, Ah, AAAAH," Col. Beddington screamed as he plunged into his black slave as far as he could go, arched his back, and squeezed the slave's tits until the black too screamed, but in agony, not ecstasy like his master. The Colonel felt his prick pulsate in the black slave's anal tract as his series of emissions began, filling the black's ass to the point where cum was oozing out around all sides of his impaled prick. When emptied, the Colonel jerked his prick out with a loud plop and ordered the slave to promptly cleanse his tool with his mouth which the slave did without hesitation.

"Um, " Col. Beddington moaned as he grabbed the pleasure slave's head from behind and pressed the slave's mouth further around his rapidly deflating shaft as the black licked and slurped any remnants of the fucking from his master's tool and then swallowed.

As Col. Beddington looked around the room, all of his guests were either asleep or totally satiated, just staring into space as they sipped a little wine - almost like they were in a coma. None seemed to even have the strength to fondle the slaveboys still totally available by their couches with the exception of the new white slave, the former Clint Morgan, who remained chained by his neck to the wall so he missed nothing of the proceedings in his forced observation of pleasure slaves in action. But those pleasure slaves he so carefully observed were now covered in sweat, their hair matted to the sides of their face, utterly exhausted, and with stale cum dribbling down their chins and across their chests, more cum running down their legs from a reddened quivering asshole, their tits bright red, swollen, and sometimes bleeding, and their now flaccid pricks chafed, bruised, and even slightly bleeding from all the stroking, squeezes, and hand pumping they had endured over the evening.

"A great dinner party," Col. Beddington said to himself with some satisfaction. Clapping his hands sharply he ordered, "All of my property to the baths immediately - you have a day of hard work cleaning and waiting tables coming up in a few hours and we want your bodies fresh and ready for your assigned duties. And you other slaves of my guests join them in the baths and then return to your masters sparkling clean inside and out so you can assist them when they awake."

With that, he settled down in the pillows on his couch and went sound asleep along with all his guests.

As ordered, all of the Colonel's own slaves douched themselves properly, bathed until sparkling clean, and once again shaved their beautiful muscular bodies. The visiting pleasure slaves did likewise as they had done hundreds of times before when accompanying their master to a strange house. Only when that was finished were the troupe of white waiters, along with the observing new slave, Clint Morgan, again chained by their neck collars to the walls of their cages and allowed to sleep on the small pallet laid out on the floor of their cage. Within hours, the white waiters of Colonel Beddington would again find themselves cleaning all the rooms and then serving breakfast for the convenience of their master and his guests. But it would probably be three days or so before they would be called to entertain again and by then, as much past experience had taught them, they would be completely healed and ready for action. Of course, one of Col. Beddington's guests could have taken a fancy to one of them. If so, the white slaves might find ourselves being offered as a temporary loan, an outright gift, or, if Col. Beddington was a little less generous with his property, being put out for rent or permanently sold.

The Spaniard had whispered just such a desire into the black chauffeur's ear as he finished fucking the black slave last night. Perhaps he'd soon find myself caged with the Spanish master's exotic Egyptian slave in some villa's kennel in Madrid awaiting a call to his new Master's bed ..............but who knows? As a well trained pleasure slave, bred to be nothing but a slave, he had learned long ago his destiny was in the hands of whoever owned him at the time. Since he had first been sold at auction, his experience taught him that a slave who was bright, willing and able always seemed to survive - especially if they were good looking!

The slaves owned by Col. Beddington's dinner guests returned to their satiated masters (all well-known and highly respected international business leaders) sparkling clean. But they wouldn't stay that way long in all probability. Morning would bring demands to offer a fresh load of sperm as a "youth elixir", new calls to be the recipient of a master's clumsy fucking, or once again on their knees swallowing either their master's or another slave's prick. And all the while having their tits kneaded, their limbs stroked, and their balls squeezed until they would feel like they would burst. Such was the life of a pleasure slave in today's world.

CHAPTER 12

"I assume you found your visit to the Colonel's dinner party educational," the steward greeted the newly enslaved white in the slave pens around noon of the next day. The former Clint Morgan was alone in the slave quarters, laying on his side within his tightly confining cage in that almost any other position caused the butt plug driven deep within him to move about painfully as it stretched his anal chute. "There is nothing quite as instructive as seeing first-hand what slaves are expected to do, especially if one is being considered as a potential pleasure slave like the black chauffeur Thursday who managed to open your ass up so effectively yesterday. Thursday has turned out quite well, if I do say so myself, as you yourself just witnessed. Despite fucking you repeatedly yesterday to get your hole properly opened, he never faltered last night in fulfilling his duties. By my count he took eight fuckings faultlessly, was milked five times, yielding a good output each time, and served stud four times where the masters wanted to be fucked themselves. I trained him myself so I wasn't surprised at his performance, but he put some of the slaves brought by the master's guests to shame, let me tell you. I'm sure some of those so-called 'pleasure slaves' brought by the master's guests are in for some corrective retraining today if their puny performance last night was typical of them."

"I've let you rest up here in your cage, slave, in preparation for your trip to the slave training facilities today that the master has ordered.. All the other slaves of the Colonel you saw last night were put to work cleaning up the dining room and then serving breakfast at the crack of dawn. Pleasure slaves have to learn to survive with little sleep sometimes depending on the schedule of their master. Of course, all the visiting slaves went home as soon as their masters woke up - but not before most of them were milked for a morning tonic for their master. Being milked regularly to give their masters a little dietary supplement is gaining popularity, it seems. Especially after an article came out in the London Times claiming seminal discharge from humans was largely absorbable protein, a very healthy amino acid compound that tended to fight aging of body cells. Of course," the steward chuckled, "the London Times didn't have a clue that slaves all over the world would promptly be milked regularly to produce those amino acid compounds. They probably don't even have a clue there are slaves in this world! Even the Colonel is taking a morning tonic now - produced by his troupe of waiters whose balls are getting bigger each day, it seems, as a result of the milkings." Smiling, the steward used his hands to illustrate how big the white slaves' balls were getting.

"Where am I going?" the former Clint asked.

"Slave, you've just made two grave errors for a slave. First, you talked without permission which will invariably led to a correctional beating for a slave. Second, you failed to call me Master or Sir in that I certainly have authority over you. That too leads to a correctional beating as well as restriction of food and water. But you'll learn proper slave etiquette soon enough where you're being sent so I'll overlook your presumptuousness this time only. But I will respond to your unseemly curiosity. As I said before, if you had been carefully listening as a slave must always do, you're shortly being shipped to a slave training facilities some distance from here to be thoroughly trained in how to be a proper slave since to date you've shown no natural inclinations in that direction. The training there is noted for producing good, compliant, and well-mannered slaves who never regress in their training and who perform their designated duties without fault - no matter what background the slave may have come from originally."

"Oh," was all the new slave could say, but a dark look from the steward who was raising the small slave whip he always carried, made him quickly add, "Master."

"That's better, slave," the steward said, relaxing his grip on the whip. "Of course, trainees who have been slaves before or those born into slavery take to their training more efficaciously that those, like yourself, new to slavery. But everyone, no matter what their background, takes to the training eventually. A hint, new slave! Study those who have been slaves for some time - copy their behavior every chance you get and you can save yourself a lot of needless pain. Fight the training, and I guarantee you will experience more pain than you ever thought possible - the kind of pain that alters a man forever," the steward said with some enthusiasm and total conviction as he glared directly into Clint Morgan's eyes without flinching. "Pain you'll never forget," the steward added for emphasis.

Motioning to the two slaves in charge of the slave pens, he barked out a series of orders: "Remove his butt plug and administer three enemas to the slave; then insert a well- lubricated 4x9 training dildo that will enhance the stretching process; let him empty his bladder; wash him thoroughly, body shave him again, and then insert the 6x3 penis gag so he is silenced and begins his oral training. By that time, the transporters will be here for shipment. Make sure you get a receipt for the slave after he is secured in the transport van." Turning to the caged slave once again, he added, "I'm enjoying this, slave. It's always good to see a former master who never noticed a mere slave unless he wanted to fuck them come to grips with being a slave themselves. Especially," he winked at the caged slave, "when they're as good looking and as well hung as you. My guess is the Colonel will use you as much in his bed as a pleasure slave as he enjoys you as a pony. Perhaps he will even let his steward bed the newly trained slave down sometime."

With that pronouncement, the steward left and the two handlers promptly drug Clint out of his cage, fastened his nose ring to a snap in the floor and, now that his butt was forced in the air, after extracting the butt plug within him began administering the prescribed enemas. When the water flowed clear from him after the third flushing, his nose ring was unclipped and he was thrown into a shower where one of the slaves soaped and scrubbed him while the other quickly shaved all parts of his body. They then bent him over and forced a freshly lubricated butt plug up Clint's asshole, this one considerably larger than the previous one and one which left Clint screaming and then gasping in pain as the two attendants unrelentingly literally screwed the monster up Clint's hole until the entire monstrosity was well within his chute, stretching him to the point where he felt he was being torn in half and was surely hemorrhaging. The attending slaves had obviously done these tasks thousands of times in that they completed the cleansing procedures in remarkably short time. Finally, one of the attendants took Clint's nose ring in his hand and jerked upward so that Clint's face was forced upward at the same time a scream of pain from the tender raw incision caused by the nose ring shot through him. That scream opened his mouth effectively, as intended, and the other attendant quickly jammed the large penis gag clear down Clint's throat and just as quickly fastened the gag rigidly with straps around the new slave's head so that there was no way Clint could remove it if his hands were bound behind him. Clint reacted by gagging, then gasping for air, then retching - he panicked in that he thought he was suffocating from the throat blockage.

"Steady, slave," the attendants counseled. "Breathe through your nose. Calm down. You'll get used to it!" they smiled as they stroked his spasming throat muscles in reassurance. Clint went through a series of dry heaves as the gag reflex reacted to the forced intrusion.

"Don't worry about vomiting," one of the handlers said. "There's nothing in you to vomit up - we've been restricting your food and water intake so we could fit you with the penis gap without any trouble. Pretty soon, you'll stop gagging and your throat muscles will relax. Then your throat will stretch out a little and you might even be able to breathe around the throat dildo a little. In a few days, you'll be able to handle an even bigger one with no trouble at all,." the handler laughed as Clint continued to gasp, retch, and struggle to accommodate the huge intrusion. With that, he manacled Clint's hands to the sides of his neck collar, and, when that seemed secure, the other attendant released Clint's nose ring so that he was able to lower his head as much as the thick slave collar would allow.

Unable to make anything but a very muted scream of panicked protest, the handlers fastened a leash to his neck collar and led the new slave to an adjoining loading platform where the transport van had arrived. The driver directed placement of the slave in the back of the specially equipped transport: Clint's collar was fastened to a ring in the side of the windowless van, forcing him to a standing position with his wrists still fastened to the collar, forcing his arms up. As Clint was positioned, he felt the huge dildo in this ass churn about, massaging his prostrate and causing a huge erection. He still gasped for air around the penis gag, as the forced breathing through only his nose seemed strange and insufficient and his throat was stretched to where he felt it would rip open and the dry heaves continued as the gag reflex was triggered over and over by the intrusion down his throat. Panicked as he was, he still noticed another slave similarly positioned opposite him fitted out with exactly the same restraints: a huge muscular slave that had skin so totally blue black he had to be from the interior of Africa. Further into the interior of the transport truck were two more slaves: a large blond with phenomenally large sexual organs and a small framed olive-skinned Middle Easterner who had jet black hair and even darker eyes highlighting a handsome muscular body. There were places for two more slaves, Clint noticed, closest to the back doors of the slave van. Apparently, the van was part of a pick-up service to move slaves from one location to another and other masters were shipping their slaves to the same destination as Clint was headed. Clint watched helplessly as the handlers got the receipt for him that he remembered the steward had demanded which listed the date, his slave identification number, the color of his hide, his destination (Keetman-shoop Slave Training and Sales) and his owner, Colonel Charles Beddington.

"Does Keetman-shoop have all information on this slave as well as what they are to do with him?" the driver asked the handlers as he handed them the receipt.

"Yes, master. Our steward has handled all that, I'm sure," one of the handler answered.

"I suppose. He always has in the past. I was just asking. For example, I delivered a slave to the Otjiwrongo Training Facility a couple of months ago and they didn't have a clue as to what to do with her. The slave trainers there told me she was new to slavery and her new owner wanted her broken as well as bred with one of the house studs. But it took a day or two to get it all straightened out without the proper information on file - the owner had faxed the information but the fax machine was out of paper at the time he sent it!. She ended up being penned for two days without any food or water until someone happened to notice she wasn't conscious anymore and when they were dragging her out of a cage they realized no one there had any instructions on her. Oh, she's all right now - fully broken and with a slave pup growing within her - but it was a big waste of time and effort initially and the Otjiwrongo slave house almost lost an expensive slave in the process. They want to make damn sure it doesn't happen again."

With that, the door was slammed shut by the driver and the bound slaves could see nothing of their fellow passengers in the dark. When the delivery van started down the road, the swaying movement of the vehicle caused the huge dildos within them to churn around all the more and the silence was broken by frequent grunts and moans as each slave felt his ass stretched to the limit interspersed with gasps, wheezes, and dry heaves as the slaves who were not yet fully trained for full oral service (actually all of them restrained in the delivery van except the huge black) tried to breathe around the trick penis gags jammed well down their throats which repeatedly triggered the gag reflex. Once the door was closed, it wasn't long until the heat was insufferable and sweat poured off each of the slaves imprisoned within in buckets. This was soon followed by the strong smell of piss as the slaves could only hold their needs for so long and then, unable to move in any way, had no choice but to piss in place, usually directly onto the slave opposite them and, as their stream weakened, all over the front of their own legs. It was painful to piss, however, in that their pricks were constantly hard, kept in full arousal by the continual massage of their prostates by the deeply impaled dildos. All four slaves were constantly dripping pre-cum from their erect organs which dripped on the floor, making it slippery, especially when mixed with the piss. The mess on the metal floor made it all the harder to keep their balance as the van jolted along, only adding to the movement of the dildos within them.

After a couple of hours, the van stopped and the back door was opened by the driver.

"God Almighty, you stinking bastards!" the driver exclaimed as the smell of sweat, piss, and semen overwhelmed him. "I'd hose you down if I had any water, but I'll have to wait until we get to Keetman-shoop for that. But you'll not get unchained until you're hosed off - you filthy animals - no one would touch a slave stinking like you do!"

But he didn't have time for further comments. As soon as the door had been opened, a slave handler prodded two more slaves forward: two girls, looking to be about 18 or so, with well-swollen bellies announcing their advanced pregnancies. The girls, both pretty blonds appearing to be of European origins, waddled forward in their leg manacles. They too had been fitted with the penis gags and thick neck collars, but were devoid of the usual butt plugs, nipple rings, and, with young attractive women slaves, the almost universal clitoral ring. The stretched skin of their abdomens revealed numerous stretch marks, indicating at least one or two pregnancies prior to their current one. Both shuddered when they saw the huge black male fastened opposite me in the delivery van and their eyes, wide with fright, instantly were riveted to his huge erect penis. It was obvious they were brood slaves who, at least for this last pregnancy, had been forcifully mated with a large black stud until they had "taken." That the mating was memorable was plainly evident in their fearful faces as they took in the enormity of the black slave chained across from me.

"They always sell better when they're about to pup," the handler laughed to the driver, who helped the handler quickly fasten their neck collars to the walls of the van in the last two available slots, right next to the huge black male and myself. "They're due to deliver their git in about eight weeks if all goes well, so their buyer will be getting a bonus pup when he buys one of these broods. They've both been tested: they're carrying good sized mulatto male pups that should bring a good price in 15 or 16 years when they're full grown. Should be good- looking slaves, too. They were studded by the best looking, most muscular black stud in these parts - hung like a horse and always ready to fuck no matter how many times he's been used that day - and, of course, they're not bad looking themselves," he added as he reached forward and squeezed one of the female slave's tits as sort of a parting shot, whereupon a tiny bit of milk squired out. "Look at that," he exclaimed. "The slave's milk is ready to go and she hasn't even grunted her pup out yet. Must be getting close,." he speculated as he again kneaded the tit and got another squirt of milk.. "Buyers are going to love that!"

Clint studied the two new additions to the van. Obviously they had been bred from the time they were mature enough to "take" and were already, at 18, experienced broods with one or two pups already produced for their master. Clint knew, from Colonel Beddington's own operations, that they would be kept pregnant the majority of time over the next 20 years or so, and before they were retired from the breeding pens, they would be expected to produce 20 to 25 slaves apiece for the slave markets two decades in the future where the demand for slaves would be, in all probability, even higher than it was currently despite the fact slave breeding had turned into a huge industry and was marketing more and more 'home breds' each year. Colonel Beddington had explained to him when viewing the Colonel's operations that bred slaves usually brought top dollar at the markets: they were trained from birth to accept their status as property and knew nothing else; they were markedly genetically superior in that they were generally the result of careful mating of slaves picked for their handsome good looks, their magnificent physiques, their huge sexual endowments, their disease resistance, and their endurance; and their training had taken place over years and years, so nothing had gone uncovered in what their new owners might expect out of them. Bred slaves expected nothing less than to be sexually exploited for their master's pleasure; to be worked hard at all times; to be bred under their owner's directions; and to be unclothed and slightly hungry all the time as was a slave's fate in life. As he studied the stretch marks on their bellies, he wondered whether they ever thought about the fate of their offspring: slaves for life forced to do the bidding of others until, finally, worn out or losing their looks, they would be sold off to organ banks for what profit was left in their bodies. Looking closely into their eyes, squinting as a result of the large penis gag forced down their throat, he doubted if they ever thought about it at all. He was sure they thought of nothing but how long the torturous trip would take until they arrived at the slave pens, when and what they would be fed upon arrival there, and who would buy them once they had been placed up on the sales stands. In his brief experience with slaves to date, that seemed to be the extent of their thinking processes: entirely based on the here and now, the fulfillment of their bodily needs, and ways to minimize punishment. There was, he knew instinctively, a 'slave mentality,' and he was smart enough to know he was rapidly sinking into that mental state and, once there, would remain there for the rest of his life. Colonel Beddington knew exactly what he was doing when it came to handling his livestock.

Before the doors were shut once again, Clint looked carefully at the other three male slaves in the van. All were churning their mouths vigorously around the penis gags forced down their throats, sucking the oral dildo as their throat muscles stretched around the object - the only way, really, to 'adjust' to the intrusion. Clint realized he was doing the same without realizing it - the device forced sucking as the only possible response to alleviate the gagging and choking that otherwise occurred. The other slaves' huge penises were fully erect and dripping pre-cum as was Clint's, again a natural response to the huge butt plugs forced up their rears and constantly stimulating their prostates - especially when the van got underway and the butt plug 'fucked' them as their bodies swayed around in the van's movement. The Middle Eastern slave had his eyes shut; the blond slave stared straight ahead. But the black slave opposite him was staring at him and, as Clint looked into the black's eyes, he saw raw lust and pure desire. For some reason, he turned the black on! Clint shuddered as he realized that, without the heavy chains holding the black in place, the huge slave would have overpowered him and would be ravishing his body until his lust was slacked. He could only hope that once they arrived at the slave pens, the black wasn't put into the same pen with him. But that thought only frightened him more. For every slave like the black chained opposite him, wouldn't there by at least a 100 more?

In about another hour, the van slowed and the slaves inside could hear horns and other signs of congested traffic. Soon the van seemed to be involved in a lot of starts and stops, indicating they had reached a busy city. But that only lasted about 15 minutes before the van stopped and backed up. The doors were opened and the slaves inside could see they were on another loading dock, this one with the sign "Keetman-shoop Slave Training and Sales" posted beside the open door.

Clint shuddered as he thought about this new chapter in his life.

[Continued in Part II]