Delta Enterprises, Ltd.

DELTA ENTERPRISES, INC.

By Bill Smith

[Please forward your feedback and comments to the author, Bill Smith, at anonymous4371@juno.com. It's always good to know what others think of a story.]

PART 3:

STUD arrived on the flight from Oman exactly as scheduled and was promptly escorted to Mr. Hughes' Miami estate by his staff of assistants, all used to such transfers by now. He was shown into Mr. Hughes' study promptly after being thoroughly cleansed inside and out, freshened with some body oil, and completely lubed. Naked as usual, he strode over next to Mr. Hughes, his huge prick fully erect and dripping.

"Position," Mr. Hughes snapped and STUD instantly complied with his new owner's command. Mr. Hughes hefted the huge ball sac and weighed it in his hand, noting the large band firmly around his genitals which lifted his massive stiff penis up on full display. He then stroked the familiar shaft a few times and noted new drops of precum dripping out of the tip. He ran his hands over the clearly washboarded abdominal muscles, up over his massive muscular pectorals with the huge ringed tits prominently jutting out, swollen to three times the size of a new recruit, and then checked out the neck collar - high enough to force the head always upward, loose enough to allow sidewards movement by his muscular neck, and then ran his hands down the swollen well-defined muscular biceps, now well banded, and then ran his hand down to check out his taut ass cheeks, also clearly defined, and very muscular.

"Bend over and spread ," Mr. Hughes said softly and STUD quickly complied, spreading his asschecks with both hands so his pink hole was totally exposed. Mr. Hughes ran his middle finger up the chute and wiggled it around a bit to test for tightness.

"Good," he stated, "DELTA's exercise program has done it's job. You're tight as a teenager."

"Yes, master," STUD replied with great humility in his voice.

"Position," Mr. Hughes ordered and STUD snapped to attention and placed his hands once again behind his neck and shoved his pelvis forward for full display. A tear spilled down his cheek.

"What are you crying about, boy?" Mr. Hughes said with a smart slap to the slave's cheek. "I'm so happy to be here, master," STUD replied, his voice shaking in gratitude.

"You should be, boy, from what I've heard. Royalty ain't all it's cracked up to be?" he chuckled.

"No master," was all STUD felt he was allowed to say as his new master began to play with his well developed tits.

As Mr. Hughes played with his tits with one hand and then began massaging his prick with his other hand, STUD had a chance to reflect on his life since leaving this very estate a few years before.

Master Wiggins had taken full pleasure with STUD's body the minute he bought him until he delivered him to the Prince's estate in Key Biscayne. By the time the Prince was looking him over a week or so later, his ass was already sore and raw from Master Wiggins constant fucking and his jaws were sore from Master Wiggins' large prick being forced down his throat over and over and over until he thought he would drown in cum.

But that was simply a warmup to ownership by the Prince. Although the Arab Prince had two other slaves at his disposal at his Florida estate, he had so many friends over to enjoy the slaves he seldom got any rest. All three slaves, it seemed, were in constant usage, and a lot of times all three of them had pricks stuffed up their asses and down their throats simultaneously. By the time the guests and the Prince finally were finished with them, the three simply collapsed in place with bleeding assholes and throats so sore they couldn't speak.

Over the next few months, STUD got to know the other two slaves. One was a blond Dane who had been sold to the Prince by a Danish slavebroker who had bought him out of a prison from a corrupt warden - the boy had no family and was simply written off as dead, the result of a prison homosexual riot according to the records, although the boy had never thought of himself as homosexual in any way until he found out it was the only way he was going to survive in prison in one piece. In time, he had been shipped to Arabia, trained in all that was expected of slaves in that land, and later smuggled via private jet into this place in Florida where his body was used every waking hour by someone or another with the Prince's blessing.

The Dane was extremely handsome, very muscular, and well equipped. He had not a hair on his body - obviously totally body shaved - and sported a large band around his genitals, 2" rings in both tits, and even a small ring through his nose which the Prince used to attach his leash for walks around the estate's many rooms. When he wasn't being fucked, he almost always had a 12x3 buttplug firmly in place, either to keep him stretched or simply to remind him of his slave status. It served both purposes as far as he was concerned and by now he had grown used to the constant intrusion. He was fed well, forced to exercise two hours a day to keep his magnificent body in perfect shape, and promptly severely beaten if he even hinted anything but total and complete compliance to his owner's wishes. His life here in Key Biscayne was no worse than life in the Royal Palace in Arabia. I never heard him complain, although he did indicate that he would like to fuck me if he ever got the chance. I didn't mind, but couldn't imagine when the opportunity would arise since slaves are seldom, if ever, the ones doing the fucking.

The other slave was, I suppose technically, a Saudi. He had been bred from slave stock at the Royal family's slave breeding farm located in a very remote area of South Arabia near the Yemen border. Saudis bred toward large genitals and musculature and this boy reflected those traits. To me, he didn't look in the remotest Middle Eastern, though. He looked Italian more than anything and when I pointed this out to the slave, he told me I was probably right. Many Saudi slaves were Italian, Greek, or Circassian in origin and, although he never knew exactly who his parents were, of course, he had been told many times his stud had been a very heavy hung Italian with a weight lifters body. His mother was a big boned Greek slave who was kept constantly pregnant at the farm because she produced a series of well muscled light skinned baby boys no matter who studded her it seemed. He assumed that was probably fairly accurate in that most stock on the slave farm had similar origins. The farm had about 500 females kept in constant pregnancy and about 5 studs on hand at any time, who were kept busy fucking selected mates no less than five times a day. Studs were sent back to the palaces for other duties after six months or so in that they were generally drained completely dry by that time and replacements were brought in to start the whole process again. The farm was able to produce an average of about 490 new slaves a year if everything went well. Of course, the crop took a while to grow, but that gave the trainers plenty of time to literally whip the new slaves into total compliance for their new owners when they were marketed and teach them the skills they would need to be of value to their masters. He thought he would be sent for stud duty at one of the Arabian slave farms any day now, but wasn't looking forward to it. "It's even more exhausting than servicing the Prince's guests," he stated matter-of-factly.

"But aren't you looking forward to fucking the slave women provided if, indeed, you do get reassigned to the stud farm?" I asked. I told him it had been "years and years since I had actually fucked anything. I can barely recalled fucking a woman, although I knew I had on my first salel - indeed, that's what my mistress bought me for - and, of course, I had fucked plenty of women before being sent to that Texas prison, but all that was so long ago. Of course," I added,"DELTA used to have me fuck the male trainees regularly to test that their holes had been stretched properly and to make sure they were totally accepting of being fucked. But even that seems like a distant memory."

"Well, it would be nice to fuck for a change instead of always getting fucked," he signed, "but fucking that much is exhausting work and it just wears you down - even more than getting fucked all the time - at least we get to rest some of the time if our user isn't too demanding - especially after they've popped off in us and are too tired to pull it out yet. That's when I rest," he giggled.

I smiled and told him I used to fuck the DELTA male trainees at least 10 to 20 times a day "Of course," I giggled, "we were never allowed to shoot off so I can see what you mean."

"I can fuck that much if I'm ordered not to shoot," The Italian/Greek slave responded defensively. "But having to shoot a full load every time takes it out of you, STUD."

"You're probably right. I'm never going to know, it seems," I laughed.

"Slaves don't call the shots anyway," the Italian slave replied with no remorse.

"Do you like it better here than in Saudi Arabia?" I asked the Dane so as to not leave him out of the conversation.

"Well, it's a lot cooler here," the Dane said, "but the duties are about the same. But, sometimes, in Saudi, I felt I was there to display as much as to fuck. I was just constantly paraded around on a leash, stark naked of course, with the leash hooked to my genital band, or one of my tit rings, or to my nose ring. Here, at least I just get leashed once or twice a day, although it's always through this damn nose ring. Really hurts when the master tugs on it."

"The Dane's right about being on display all the time," the Italian/Greek slave confirmed. "Over in the palace, I used to always be led around by a leash tugging on my ball sac. My balls get really sore after a while of being squeezed by that damn leash all the time. Here, the master usually leads me around by one of my tit rings - it's actually a relief."

"I'd like it if I was sent to that stud farm you were talking about. Just fucking away all day long - sounds good!" I said, returning to the topic they wanted to avoid.

"Forget it, black boy. They'd like to stud you because of your equipment, but that's the problem. You're too damn big. You'd tear their female stock up in no time at all. They'll pick studs that are plenty big but can still fuck without tearing their brood slaves up. You're way too big for that," the Italian looking slave said with some finality.

"More likely, they'll ship you over there, display you every chance they get because of that monster between your legs, and fuck the hell out of you when they aren't parading you around." the Dane added. "They really like to fuck black boys for some reason or another - almost as much as they do blonds," he added. "But they really do believe that blacks suck better - something about having a rough tongue that's more sensuous. So, if you're sent to the Kingdom, better lube your throat as well as you lube your ass, buddy."

Three weeks later, all three of us were shipped to Arabia since the Prince had decided to move back home. Our shipping cages fit neatly, one on top of the other, in the cargo area of the Prince's private jet.

Upon arrival, everything the blond and Italian slave said came true. The blond was constantly paraded around by his nose ring; the Italian looking slave was almost constantly leashed by his genital band; and I sure wished my throat was lubed. All three of us were put into constant usage by the royal household, their business customers, and all their endless relatives and hangers-on. If we weren't being fucked, we were sucking someone or another off. In between, they constantly played with our erect swollen tits and pulsating pricks and swollen balls.

But our almost constant usage prevented the scheduled exercise sessions we were accustomed to over the years, and we were feed regular human food for a change - the leftovers from the Royal banquets were dumped in a trough and all slaves were forced to eat out of that trough at the same time with our hands clasped behind our backs so we looked and felt liked the animals our owners perceived us as. By the end of the first few months, I noticed by washboarded abs were now covered by a layer of fat. By the end of six months, all of us had drooping tits on flabby pecs, and even our asses were beginning to sag. By the end of the year, we looked a good ten years older, and our ass muscles were so flabby and out of tone that we really couldn't deliver a very satisfying fuck anymore. Our physiques sagged and I, for the first time in my life since I had become a slave, was ashamed of my body even though I knew that body had belonged to others for years. Only the hangers-on around the palace used me or the other two slaves from Florida anymore and all three of us knew our days were numbered. Even the numerous teenagers around the Palace who generally used the nearest slave to fulfill their lustful urges the instant they occurred, looked a little further now.

Sure enough, by the time another year and another 30 pound weight gain had elapsed, we were being herded to shipping cages, and placed on a flight for Oman.

When I recognized the slave cages inside DELTA, my heart leaped with joy. When Sheik Amani ordered me to position in that icy tone of us, I was overwhelmed with pure ecstasy as his eyes expertly assessed my body and I felt his warm, smooth hands once again caressing my shaft and urging it to a full erection.. The Prince was talking about harvesting me for body parts, but, at that point, I didn't care.

I was home!

INVITED GUESTS:

"You are cordially invited to the home of Mr. John Hughes

of Miami, Florida for buffet and cocktails on Saturday, August

17th starting around 11:30 A.M and ending at your pleasure

August 18th. Personal staff, servants, pets, and staff-in-training

may be included in your entourage subject to your usual

appropriate discretion. Please forward the names and/or labels

of all members of your entourage who will be attending as soon

as possible so that gate clearance can be arranged. Directions

and fax number enclosed."

"You got the guest list ready, Bruce?" John Hughes asked his long time manager and close associate.

"Yes, the invites are all ready to send out, but I wanted to go over the list once more before we send them out," Bruce responded with his usual enthusiasm. "I have a feeling this is going to be an interesting shin-ding, Mr. Hughes, especially with all those authors on the list. I know our business associates will show up - who wouldn't when you're providing all that free meat on the hoof - and they're not going to be bringing any "personal staff, servants, pets, or staff-in-training" with them - not when you provide it all right here for them anyway. Besides, I doubt if they could afford such luxuries even if they had the vaguest idea of how to go about obtaining them. Maybe a few will be inspired by the invitation and hire a hustler or two to accompany them, but its going to be hard to hire anyone who'd hold a candle to what's waiting right here and they all know it. Besides, what hustler is going to agree to come decked out appropriate for the event - collars, leashes, and maybe a tit-ring or two as the sole clothing?"

"Such boys are available right here in Miami without too much trouble if the price is right, Bruce," Mr. Hughes responded, "although it would be hard to find one that looked half as good as anything we have all around us here - let alone willing to just let anybody so anything they wanted at any time - hard to find boys like that any more, even through the best agencies in town."

"But those author friends of yours, Mr. Hughes. I bet they're something else again. I doubt if they go anywhere without at least some "personal staff" accompanying them - at least, that's the idea I get reading their books."

"Well, they have a public image to maintain," Mr. Hughes laughed. "Kind of like the secret service around the President. Their reading public expects at least something in return for buying all those books. My guess is they're used to maintaining a little public spectacle just to stay in the news, so to speak. We'll see, Bruce, we'll see. For all I know, they may turn me down flat. Writers tend to be a strange lot, I've heard."

"Naw," Bruce popped back. "They'll come out of curiosity if nothing else. Hell, that invitation is weird enough to draw them in I would think and your reputation for real money will do what curiosity won't. They'll come, Mr. Hughes. An invitation from someone as well known as you are in financial and social circles would be like an invitation to the White House as far as they're concerned. Yeah, they'll come all right."

"Well, we'll soon know. As far as the list goes, all my business associates who gross over $5 million business a year with my firm AND are regular clients of the services we provide here in the mansion should be on the list. If they don't partake of the business services we provide here in the house, they shouldn't be on the list no matter how good a customer they are. They wouldn't appreciate the subtle nuisances of the party itself. As far as the authors go, make sure whoever wrote my favorite novels are all on the list, Bruce."

"Here what I've got, Mr. Hughes. Jacque Aaronsen for The Itinerant Slave; Anne Rice for the Sleeping Beauty Trilogy as well as Exit to Eden; John Payne for The Exchange; Tammy Jo Eckhart for Justice and other Stories; Gordon Neale for To Serve Two Masters; Sara Adamson for the Marketplace Series; and Aaron Travis for Empire of Slaves. Have I got them all, Mr. Hughes?"

"Sounds like it, Bruce. What great writers! I think Anne Rice will be coming with her husband, Stan, and I doubt if they'd bring anything at all with them - they seem to live a pretty simple life style from what I've read. I imagine Jacque Aaronsen will have something interesting in tow, but his books are mainly heterosexual with some bisexuality thrown in for flavor so who knows, but Jacques' books show no one knows a slave's mind better. Gordon Neale would be coming over from England, so it may be difficult to bring anything with him, but if he does, it's probably going to be male, although you never know - his books have plenty of heterosexual demands placed on the slaves from time to time. I can't imagine either John Payne or Aaron Travis going anywhere without some interesting male entourage following along behind, some of whom should equal our own stock. Tammy Jo Eckhart's bound to bring at least one male in tow if she's anything at all like her books. Sara Adamson, who'll use her real name Laura, could bring anything, slave, trainer, male or female, maybe both, maybe all of them . Who knows? It's going to be interesting at the very least. Oh, and one other thing, Bruce. Send an invitation to my good friend Sheik Amani in Oman. Who knows - maybe he'd like a break from the routine over at DELTA ENTERPRISES although it's a grueling plane ride just for a weekend party. Well, at least he'd know I was thinking of him!"

"Bruce, one more thing. How are the boys being readied for the event?"

"They'll all be exercised, thoroughly flushed, body shaved, lubed, and completely oiled right before the guests arrive and we'll make sure they are all thoroughly rested and fed sparingly the night before. It won't hurt them if they don't get fed again until Sunday night in view of the usage we can expect. Their collars, rings and bands will all be fleshly polished and each one will be sporting a fresh white linen bow tie fastened to their collar with the company's logo on it. That's it for dress, but we're going to make sure no one unloads for at least two weeks before the event to insure they'll all be displaying how interested they are."

"Sounds good, Bruce. Seems like you've thought of everything."

"Where are we at on the R.S.V.P.'s, Bruce?" John asked three days before the party.

"Ninety percent of our business associates have already said 'yes, they'll be here' and, John, every single author you invited is coming. It's your reputation, I tell you," Bruce said admiringly.

"Who else?"

"What do you mean?" Bruce responded.

"Are the authors bringing anyone in tow?" John asked.

"Oh, that! Well, yes, although they didn't state just what was in tow, just how many!" he laughed. "And you were right about Anne Rice, Mr. Hughes. She's just coming with her husband."

"Well, how many in tow altogether?" Mr. Hughes pursued the topic.

"Almost 20, Mr. Hughes. Can you believe it?"

"I'm surprised they're aren't more," Mr. Hughes replied with a slight smile.

Some of the business associates were already at the mansion by 11:15 and were already playing around with a few of the boys who were trying to finish stocking the buffet table. By 11:45, a good half of those invited were already there and a few were already into utilizing some of the staff for their immediate pleasure. Bruce saw WACO was already on his knees sucking someone and EAGER was bent over a sofa as he was being plowed by one of the corporation's newer clients. CAR 7 was vigorously fucking INDIA under a customer's direct instruction while others were content to just watch the interesting little show. The other staff, supervised by DRIVER 2 as usual, were busily serving drinks and canapes as the party got underway.

Tammy Jo Eckhart was the first author to arrive, driving a plain looking Impala rental car. She was dressed in a simple black cocktail dress, appropriate enough for the occasion, with a single strand of pearls her only decoration.

"I'm Tammy Jo Eckhart, Mr. Hughes," she explained to her host who greeted her at the front steps by her car.

"I've been looking forward to meeting you in person, Miss Eckhart," Mr. Hughes responded smoothly. "Your books are a delight."

"Where shall I park? I didn't see anyplace."

"Oh, the boys will take it back to one of the parking lots. Forget about it, Miss. Eckhart."

"I can't until we get the trunk unloaded, Mr. Hughes," she responded sweetly as she turned back toward the car and unlocked the truck. She drew a small leather whip out of her purse.

As soon as the trunk lid opened, two beautiful naked male specimens rose from their prone position and climbed out of the truck quickly before kneeling before Miss Eckhart, presenting their leashes, attached to their collared necks, to her with both hands in a supplicant's position. They were both tall, extremely well-built, and devastatingly handsome. Both wore black leather pants cut low enough to display their muscled abdomens and fitted extremely tight so that their bubble butts, their muscular thighs, and their prodigious genitals were all fully displayed. It was obvious through the thin, stretched leather that both boy's thick, long shafts were fully erect. Mr. Hughes thought to himself that the ultra tight pants made the boys look even sexier than if they were totally naked as most slaves were usually displayed. Above their extremely thin waists rose massive muscular pecs highlighted by big, prominent ringed tits. Their bodies, tanned and oiled, were totally hairless except for their head hair which was jet black and cut short, and both sported unusual green eyes. Most impressively, they were totally alike - identical twins!

Both blushed with embarrassment and shame as Mr. Hughes openly assessed them, not as men but as slaves fully available for their owner's pleasure. Both tried their best to hide their shame, however unsuccessfully, because they had learned it only added to their erotic appeal as helpless slaves.

"Very nice, Miss Eckhart," Mr. Hughes said admiringly as he quickly assessed the twins kneeling before their mistress, lifting their heads up from their collars to enjoy the shamed look on their faces.. "Have you had them long?"

"Call me Tammy and I'll call you John," she practically cooed. "I've had these boys for about four months now and they're working out nicely so far. Perhaps before the day is over, you might find time to enjoy them - you're certainly welcome. I think you'll find them a little unusual compared to what you may be used to." Without changing her stance in any way she suddenly barked "Position!"

The two males leaped to their feet, placed their hands in back of their neck and thrust their chest and pelvis out for full display. She reached down and, with the hand that held the whip, vigorously squeezing first one's genitals through the thin leather and then the other's, massaging both in the process.

"I haven't let them unload for three weeks now," she cooed as she began rubbing their erect shafts through the leather pants. "They should be real interested if this party develops the way I expect it will," she smiled.

"Unusual, er..Tammy? You mean in their looks? They are unusually attractive boys if that's what you mean," Mr. Hughes pursued her earlier comment, openly admiring the exceedingly handsome twins displaying themselves as commanded.

"No, John, although they are uncommonly attractive, I admit," she answered as she continued stroking their erect shafts. "Apparently, a few male slaves are just born 100 percent heterosexual and, no matter how much you train them with the best known conditioning techniques in the world, they just never learn to relax and enjoy being used by another man. These boys here have been trained until I thought they would die in the process. John, we've gone all the way to starvation, beatings, branding, raping, shocking - you name it - and these boys still resent being fucked or ordered into oral service of a another man. Oh, they'll do it quick enough, no problem with that, but there's a hint of resentment that seems to always flavor their usage that way. For some reason, I really get a kick out of that, especially since they really enjoy being ordered to service a women in any way you can dream up - but I love to see that resentment in their eyes every time I arrange for another male to use them. I thought you might find it interesting to bed down a male slave who deeply resents what you're doing to them, but will remain compliant enough, knowing what would happen if there was even a hint of rebellion. It's especially interesting when the twins absolutely love all the other aspects of their slavery - having every decision made for them, the total subjection of their will to a master, being expensive property responsible only to their owner. To put it bluntly, John, they're addicted to loving every aspect of their slave lives except being fucked up the ass and sucking prick. That's why I think you'll find them unusual in bed - compared to what you're probably used to! I found it's certainly hard to find stock like that at the auctions. Most slaves seem to slide into bisexuality with relative ease. - these boys never did for God knows what reason - genetics, I guess, or maybe they were brought up Southern Baptist," she giggled.

"Where did you get them?" Mr. Hughes said, aware that another car was coming up the driveway.

"Bought them from the Rev. Jerry Falwell, John," she giggled, again with a mocking look in her eye. "Seriously, John, I found them at an auction in Toronto. A slave training facility there had given up with them because of their little quirk and was willing to give me a substantial discount if I'd take them 'as is.' Turned out 'as is' was just what I was looking for," she said proudly. Before the weekend's over, I'll tell you all the details if you're interested."

"Count on it!" John replied.

"You've got other guests to greet so we'll chat later," Miss Eckhart said as she said "Relax" and jerked on the collar leashes for her two slaves to follow her into the mansion. The handsome twins quickly got in step behind her, their hands now at their sides with their heads bowed as low as their collars would allow, their large aroused organs provocatively evident as they pushed against the tight leather confining them.

A couple was walking up the driveway beside the next arriving car. Mr. Hughes recognized Anne and Stan Rice from the book covers.

"Mr. Hughes. Stan Rice and my wife, Anne. We took a cab from the airport and left it at the gate. Didn't want to give the cab driver anything to talk about," he laughed.

"Very thoughtful of both of you. We can't have cab drivers spreading tales around town, now can we, although, Stan, most of them can't speak English anyway," Mr. Hughes laughed as he shook both of their hands. "Welcome to my home and thanks for honoring me with your presence."

"It's our pleasure, Mr. Hughes. We're not much to participate at these things, but Anne and I both enjoy watching - just dirty old voyeurs, I guess. Anne gets some good ideas for her books and I just enjoy looking around and enjoying the scenery. Thanks for inviting us. Well, I see you have more guests coming. We're both starving so we'll go in and load up on the food - I'm one who actually goes to these things to eat - can you believe it?" he laughed. "Anne picks around at the food, but swallows everything else up, believe you me - you'll probably read about it in her next book. She working on a new series now about a couple of Roman slaves, a brother and sister, who get bought up to do nasty things,' he roared hilariously. "I'll let Anne tell you all about it later."

The couple disappeared into the mansion as quickly as they had appeared.

The stretch Lincoln was now in front of the steps and the chauffeur quickly ran around to open the back door. The black was in a skin tight livery and tall leather boots that covered all of him and which exactly matched the car's exterior paint, except for the broad bronze collar around his thick neck. As soon as he opened the door, he dropped flat on his stomach beside the open door.

"I don't believe we've met before, Mr. Hughes," a voice came out of the open door. "Jacque Aaronsen here. Thanks for the invite!" A foot stepped out of the car squarely on the middle of the chauffeur's back, as if was a foot mat. The man quickly emerged from the car pulling two others, chained by their necks, out the same way. The chauffeur grunted from the weight of each person's exit but remained perfectly rigid as he'd been trained.

"And these two beauties?" Mr. Hughes asked as he took in their naked assets, now on full display.

"My personal attendants, Mr. Hughes. Meet Burma and Alabama - I always name my attendants by where they came from," he added brightly. "Helps me keep them all straight."

"Your book, 'The Itinerant Slave,' is a masterpiece, Mr. Aaronsen," John Hughes said sincerely. "I can't remember ever reading a more insightful tale. There's real depth in your writing."

"Why, thanks, Mr. Hughes. Authors don't get too many compliments like that, you know. I appreciate it."

"I thought I understood my staff, myself, and the whole world around us a whole lot better after I finished 'The Itinerant Slave'. It was, well, a profound experience for me."

"Wow! You do know how to make a person feel good, Mr. Hughes. Don't be surprised if you have trouble getting rid of me!"

"Are these girls volunteers, rented, or bought and paid for, Aaron, if I may be so bold?"

"Only if I can call you John. I hate formalities. The girls here belong to me, John, and have for about six months now. The way I understand it, they've had about five or six owners before I came along despite their youth. People like a change now and then, I guess. Next time I get a chance, I going to trade one of them in on a male slave if I can find one that turns me on. I think it's a little showier when you have a male and female in tow. Where can my chauffeur park the car?"

"The parking lot's in back. Will he be staying with the car or did you prefer him with you, Jacque?" Mr. Hughes answered.

"With me - some of your guests may find him entertaining." The chauffeur was still prone on the pavement since he had not been ordered otherwise. Mr. Aaronsen reached down and jerked the boy's head up by his hair. "Park the car in back, strip, and lock all of your clothes in the trunk. Then find me in the mansion. Is this the only door open, John?"

"Today it is, Aaron. We didn't want anyone snooping around and it makes it easier to keep track of our guest's staff."

"Very well. Use this door here, Asad," Mr. Aaronsen said as he reached down and jerked the black's head even higher until he was staring directly into the boy's unusual blue eyes.

"Yes, master," the chauffeur respectfully responded, a touch of excitement evident in his soft bass voice.

"Looks interesting, Aaron," John commented as the boy gracefully rose to his feet and headed back to the driver's position, his head bowed as low as his thick neck collar would allow.

"He's a handsome lad and well trained," Aaron replied, "and you'll soon see a body that's developed into a mighty valuable commodity. He's probably hoping to get some use here - I pretty well limited him to driving the car and looking pretty the past two weeks - in fact, I don't think I've allowed him to unload for about a month now. If someone even touches him, he'll probably lose it and go spurting off," Aaron laughed.

"I thought you said he was well trained," Mr. Hughes said reprovingly.

"He is, John, but there are limits!" Mr. Aaronsen laughed again."He's still just a boy - just turned 18 now I think!"

"Where'd you pick him up, Jacque?" John queried.

"He's from Sierra Leone. Orphaned by the civil war there, he had been rounded up with hundreds of others by some local slave catchers who'd pretty well broken him to the realities of slavery before auctioning him off. Some French cartel bought up loads of the best looking ones and, after fattening them up with some decent food, exercising them to full muscular development, and fully training them in what potential owners would expect, sold him off in a private auction in Paris. That's where I bought him about four years ago. So far, it's worked out well!"

"Perhaps we can talk later about that French cartel, Jacque. Always interested in sources of new stock."

"I've heard you've been able to acquire some mighty interesting stock yourself, John," Jacque responded. "We'll swap notes," he promised as he clasped his host's hand warmly and walked into the mansion, the two slave girls in tow.

A cargo truck roared up the driveway next. A large, muscular, rather rough looking man was driving the truck, alone in the cab. He jumped out and strode purposefully over to Mr. Hughes.

"John Hughes?" he asked. "Robert Payne here. Sorry about coming in a truck, but it's about the only way I could get them all here without anyone seeing them."

"Seeing what?" Mr. Hughes looked surprised.

"My personal staff, as you so politely called it in your invitation, Mr. Hughes," Mr. Payne laughed displaying a beautiful set of white teeth highlighting a craggy, but handsome face.

"Anything like 'The Exchange,' Robert?"

"Any resemblance is purely intentional," he laughed again. "You'll see just as soon as I unload."

"Be my guest....be my guest. I hope it's as good as the book," Mr. Hughes mused, his eyes reflecting his curiosity.

Mr. Payne grabbed a huge bull whip from the front seat of the truck before unlocking the back door. A crack of the whip led to an anguished shriek as the lash found a target in solid flesh and the sound of frantic shuffling rocked the truck.

"Get that litter out of the truck and on your miserable shoulders, you bastards," he yelled as the whip cracked out again and found another target with an accompanying scream. Body after body, 10 in all, spilled out of the truck along with a huge gold colored litter complete with a red velvet top and matching cushions. Almost instantly, eight of the men had hoisted the heavy litter to their shoulders and were standing absolutely still with perfect posture, their muscles tense, and with their naked bodies on full display. The remaining two men, obviously relief bearers serving as footmen until needed, had knelt alongside, their knees spread wide to expose their banded erect genitals, their chests thrust out to best display their massive pectoral development highlighted by huge ringed tits. All 10 were fitted with thick, high gold- colored collars that forced their heads upright so you could see their faces. The collars, lined in red velvet, exactly matched the litter.

Mr. Hughes' eyes swept over the sudden display. Every slave was exactly matched for height, weight, physique and skin color. All were about as muscular as men can get, all had their golden tan bodies fully shaved, all featured well trimmed shoulder length straight black hair parted in the middle, all had been banded around the base of their balls and the base of their shaft to insure constant full protrusion of their extra large genitals, and every one of their tits were fitted with 2" rings that matched their collars. All sported a dripping erection even as they stood there silently, strongly suggesting to Mr. Hughes' practiced eye that all were also fitted with large butt plugs stimulating their prostates. Sure enough, a protruding ring of the deeply inserted plugs was evident in each man's tightly clinched ass.

"Very nice, Mr. Payne. What are they - American Indians?"

"Hung like that, John?" Mr. Payne laughed. "Hardly. They're Latinos - mainly light- skinned stock from Puerto Rico, Mexico, and the Dominican Republic. That stock's so cheap right now you can pick and choose most anything you want," he added. "Of course, boys looking like these cost a little more," reaching out and stroking the massive sculptured chest closest to him and then kneading a swollen ringed tit until the slave softly moaned but never flinched.

"Looks like an old-fashioned Hollywood movie," John commented, "except," he paused as he again inspected the entourage, "their costuming sure's a lot simpler."

"Kind of like a chapter out of 'The Exchange', John?"

"Well, now that you brought it up, yes," Mr. Hughes replied. "Where'd you get them, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Oh, I picked one or two up as I spotted them in American markets. But, mainly, John, there's a market way out in the remotest wilds of Puerto Rico, a good 100 miles out of San Juan, that can provide most anything you're looking for and at reasonable prices too. Of course, they mainly stock Haitians, Mexicans, Dominicans, and a few kidnaped Puerto Ricans. Hardly any European stock there, let alone Asians or Americans. If you're looking for Latinos, though, it's worth the trip. I can tell you how to make contact if you're interested."

"I'd appreciate it, Robert. Latinos seem to be picking up in popularity lately. These boys are really magnificent if I do say so myself."

"They just don't look good, John. Wait 'till you bed one down. I know you're used to the best, but I doubt if you'll be disappointed in any one of them," Robert Payne bragged enthusiastically as he begin to pump the shaft of the slaveboy nearest him. "They fuck as good as they look."

Without further comment, he motioned to his slaves, who promptly knelt in one synchronized movement , lowering the litter to entrance height. Mr. Payne climbed in, and with another crack of his whip, pointed to the entrance of the mansion. The entire entourage entered the double-doored entrance, litter aloft, no doubt to the great amusement of everyone already inside. Mr. Payne was waving enthusiastically to the guests, cracking his whip over the shoulders and rumps of his straining slaves for an added dramatic effect.

Appearing out of nowhere seemingly, a single lady, dressed in a well-tailored riding outfit, introduced herself to the host.

"Mr. Hughes. We haven't met. I'm Laura Antoniou."

"Ah, the legendary Sara Adamson. Thanks so much for coming, Miss Antoniou. I've enjoyed your books - all of them - but I thought you were bringing a trainer with you," Mr. Hughes said warmly as he clasped her hand.

"Oh, he's coming. But he won't be able to get here for a few hours - he's on a new assignment," she added without further explanation. "I hope that's alright with you. - that is, not arriving together?" she pursed his lips together in a frown.

"Makes no difference at all, Miss Antoniou, as long as you're comfortable. I'm sure you'll find some of the other guests interesting to talk to," he suggested.

"I'm sure I will if half of what I heard is true. Is Anne Rice coming? And someone said Robert Payne was coming in from California. And would you believe, I've never met Jacque Aaronsen, but his book 'The Itinerant Slave' was a masterpiece. If he's actually coming, it will be a real treat for me," she gushed with sincere enthusiasm.

"Those you mentioned are already here, Miss Antoniou, so I'm sure you have plenty of opportunity to talk as much as you want with them. All but Anne didn't come alone, though, and I'm certain you're going to find some of the staff they brought with them equally interesting," John replied with considerable conviction. "I'm sure your trainer will be more interested in some of the staff than he is in the authors themselves," he laughed. "Wait until you see what Robert Payne brought along - it took a whole truck simply to move them in," he smiled and then laughed warmly. "You'll appreciate it - it's as good as his 'Exchange' book."

A beautiful black youth, extremely well built and naked except for a high neck collar and ringed tits, patiently waited to one side until the door was cleared.

"Here's Jacque Aaronsen's chauffeur if I recognize him with his uniform off," Mr. Hughes commented as he reached over and, grabbing the boy's erect prick, hauled the boy over next to the two of them. "A native African, is that right, boy?"

"Sierra Leone, Master," the boy answered as he thrust his pelvis forward into Mr. Hughes' hand for easier handling.

"I've always dealt with Americans,"Miss Antoniou commented as she stroked the boy's cheek and then squeezed his left nipple between her thumb and forefinger, massaging it until it too became fully erect. "This one's so exotic compared to American stock. And so young too, it seems," as she ran her other hand appraisingly over his well rounded muscular butt checks. "I bet he's a good fuck, don't you think, John?" she asked without a hint of embarrassment. "I'd love to try him out if Mr. Aaronsen would agree to use of his property like that - you know what I mean, John - we've never met and I'd be just a total stranger as far as he's concerned. Oh, there I go again - prattling away - neither one of us probably knows if this boy even knows how to fuck. Let alone a woman - which way does Mr. Aaronsen swing, anyway, Mr. Hughes? Do you know?"

"No, he had two beautiful women leased by their collars when he entered," John Hughes laughed, but I imagine this boy here doesn't just drive his car. What about it, boy?" Mr. Hughes asked as he reached down and roughly squeezed the boy's balls with his other hand.

"Ugh," the boy groaned from the ball squeezing but never flinched from his position. "I know how to fuck fine, Master," the boy answered and, glancing over at Miss Antoniou, "and Mistress. Never had a complaint. Master Aaronsen has had me fuck lots of his friends, men and women, and lots of his other slaves too for their amusement. Course, I've been fucked a whole lot more than I've fucked, but, Master and Mistress, I'm good at that too they tell me."

"Chatty, isn't he," Miss Antoniou commented as her finger slid up the boy's hole.

"I told you he didn't just drive the car," Mr. Hughes chuckled.

"Well, his hole's still good and tight anyway," she added as she wiggled the inserted finger around in him. "Think you could keep from shooting off if I let you pleasure me?" she asked in her straight-forward manner, reaching over and rubbing her hand over the head of his rampant prick, still being vigorously massaged by Mr. Hughes.

"Yes, mistress - I sure can - but I'm going to shoot off if you keep rubbing me like that, I'm afraid."

Miss Antoniou's hand shot up and slapped the youth so smartly across the cheek his black skin turned momentarily a reddish mahogany. "You'll not shoot until you're given permission, boy, if you know what's good for you," she stated coldly. "Apparently, your master doesn't handle you much, slaveboy."

"No mistress."

Another slap to the other cheek was as swift as the first. "No he doesn't handle you much, or no, I was wrong and he does handle you a lot? Your voice-training is atrocious. Which is it, boy?

"Sorry, Mistress. He doesn't handle me, Mistress. Just his friends."

"Well, if your master agrees, you'll learn what it's all about once I bed you down, slaveboy."

"Yes, mistress."

"With your permission, Mr. Hughes, I'll ask the boy to take me to his owner, now - that is," she laughed and looked down at the boy's genitals - "if you can get your hands off the boy's shaft."

"See you later, Miss Antoniou," John Hughes laughed as he released the boy from his grasp."Good luck if Jacque lets you bed this boy down for the thorough training you promised."

"You're as charming as I'd heard you were," she said, leaving pulling the boy behind her by one of his tit rings.

The next bunch of guests were all business associates who had frequented the mansion on a regular basis and were eager to get to their favorites among Mr. Hughes ever willing and well trained staff. But at the end of that group stood a well dressed Scot, complete with wool kilt, a sport tweed jacket, a sporty tam, and three huge males crawling along behind him on their hands and knees, all chained by their collars to the Scot's waist. Mr. Hughes was bemused by the wanton display of pure power.

"John Hughes," he greeted the Scot.

"Glad to meet you, laddie. Gordon Neale here. And bonnie glad to be here, I tell you."

"Was your flight a problem, Mr. Neale?" Mr. Hughes inquired.

"Pleasant as flights can be, first class or not, Mr. Hughes, but it's a wee long one I tell you," he smiled. "But getting these boys through customs took a while, even though they've all got valid passports and a U.S. visa, they were kind of suspicious - I suppose because of where these boys came from originally," jerking on their neck chains with the harsh order, "Sit" whereupon each one sat on their haunches and let their weight rest on their arms.

"What visas do they carry?" Mr. Hughes asked incredulously as he stared at the naked animals at the Scot's feet. It was hard imagining them riding fully clothed in tourist class sipping a health drink (or whatever their master would allow) just a few hours ago, crowded as they would be due to their immense size.

"Macedonia, Croatia, and Serbia. British and U.S. immigration people are suspicious of those visas to start with, but I suppose these boy's sheer size sort of intimidates them anyway,"

he stated. "Little do they know they're just slaves. Doesn't seem to me you'd need passports and visas for property - after all they're just a commodity," Mr. Neal complained. "Well, we're here now and these boys are back where they belong - their balls swinging in the breeze, their necks tightly collared, and big, big butt plugs firmly up their assholes."

"Well, you're here now," Mr. Hughes said soothingly. "Doesn't sound like you travel much. I'm honored you made such an effort, Mr. Neale."

"Wouldn't have missed the event, Mr. Hughes. I've heard through the grapevine that some of your parties are right out of the pages of some of my books," he laughed. "I may pick up new ideas."

"I loved 'To Serve Two Masters,' Mr. Neale. I bet I've read it 10 times at least. And I've picked up some good ideas for training out of it," Mr. Hughes enthused. "I hope you enjoy the party enough to warrant the bother of the long trip."

"Wouldn't have come if I didn't think so, laddie. What do you think of these brutes here?" he jerked on their collars once again and the men's heads jerked up. They're as close to my description of 'Ilyrian' slaves as I could get in terms of size, coloring, musculature, and sexual equipment. A very long and painful training program has taken them the rest of the way. I think they represent my book pretty well now. A good advertisement if nothing else," he chortled, "although they're well trained to Illyrian standards when you want to get some pleasure out of those big muscular bodies. They're solid Ilyrian bed bucks by now - the kind that would bring top dollar in an Illyrian auction I tell you. Lord, listen to me. It's like I believed the book was real and I just didn't make the island of Illyria up to start with. Well, Balkans make damn fine slaves anyway, Mr. Hughes," Gordon Neale laughed. "Wait till you try one of the slaves out for yourself. You'll see what I'm talking about." To illustrate, he stuck his finger into the open lips of the slave nearest him and looked pleased as the slave readily slid the finger completely down his throat and started vigorously sucking. "His ass is just as eager," Mr. Neale commended. "We keep them plugged unless we're using them - my trainers insist it takes more than collars and tit rings to remind them of what they are. Frequent use of a good whip, tight genital bands, and the biggest damn plugs you can ram up their ass - all are necessary to get the finished product according to them. That may be to keep them going, but initially, I think fucking them senseless, keeping them constantly naked, strict voice-control, and making sure they're in constant sexual tension without any relief possibilities - that's what produces a really good slave, Balkan or not!"

"A philosopher with a mission," Mr. Hughes smiled. Looking down, he was reminded of the bar slaves so vividly described in one chapter of "To Serve Two Masters" and the dog slaves in yet another chapter. He remembered how happy the slaves were to serve their owners. These three seemed eager to please, it seemed, and certainly didn't seem unhappy. "These slaves do remind me of Illyria, Mr. Neale. I can see where they more or less advertise your book."

"When I turn one over for your pleasure, Mr. Hughes, you'll think you were on Illyria itself," Mr. Neale laughed. "And, by the way, call me Gordon. It's my given name, you know."

"And call me John, Gordon. I think you're one of the last to arrive. Can I escort you and your slaves into the mansion, Gordon?"

Mr. Neale handed the chain leads to John Hughes. The slaves fell on their hands and knees once again and briskly crawled after their owner and his host through the front doors, their massive organs, ever erect, swaying beneath them.

"How do you buy up Balkan stock, Gordon?" Mr. Hughes queried as the entourage entered the party itself.

"Big market outside of Bucharest, John. Prisoners of war mainly for the older stock; orphans mainly for the teenagers. Some are sold to the dealers by their parents who have too many children to feed anyway. It's sort of a Serbian tradition, so no one thinks much about it. All the surrounding countries love the market - they can get their hands on hard currency by selling off their prisoners and orphans, both groups eating them out of house and home. And the Romanians love it - they get a tax on each sale. Everyone wins and the market's so gutted, the prices are practically giveaway compared to the rest of Europe and Asia."

"I'm not sure the slave wins, Gordon," John chuckled.

"Yes he does, John. What are his options? Starving to death? Being shot at sunrise? Being let loose with no skills in a land filled with 50% unemployment as it is? It's seldom they have anyone seriously object when they're placed up on the auction block. Seemed to me like most of them were looking forward to it. Where else would they be fed, safe, and with a purpose in life? The slave's the real winner," Mr. Neal said in finality.

"Point well made, Gordon. That part's even better than your book!"

"I suppose it is. Illyrian slaves were mainly pirated and had to be broken with constant rape, beating, and humiliation. These Balkans welcome being sold and really don't need much breaking, even when you start fucking them. I suppose they feel that's a small price to pay for all you've done for them. They're so damn grateful, John - it's like nothing they do can ever pay you back for saving them."

"Excuse me, Gordon. I just remembered one of our guests hasn't arrived yet and I need to be out front to welcome him," John said graciously, "but I'm not forgetting your offer of sampling some of that Illyrian pleasure you promised."

"Whenever you're ready, John, these boys are yours to use," Mr. Neale smiled as he jerked the slaves collars upward so John could appreciate their handsome faces.

As soon as Mr. Hughes got outside again, he realized his arrival was none too soon. Coming up the driveway was an apparition only Aaron Travis was capable of: two young, very muscular slaves, one white and one black, outfitted as ancient Roman gladiators, were on either side of a much shorter, white haired gentleman dressed in simple slacks and a golf shirt. Each of the two slaves were enough alike to be twins other than their color. Each had a thick muscular neck, massive shoulders, sculptured hairless protruding pecs highlighted with large dark nipples, waists unnaturally thin for such large bodies giving them a definite V- shaped appearance cinched in by noticeably ridged abdominal muscles, butts that bubbled out from the tiny waists in masses of hairless rounded solid muscle, thick trunk-like thighs with corded muscle clearly viable on the smooth youthful skin, and calves that were all muscle, but perfectly shaped, especially as compared to the thin ankles and high arches of their feet. They were obviously kept body shaved at all times and a light oil highlighted the beauty of their skin. Neither of the pair could have been a day over 18 and the similarity of their sexual equipment matched the sameness of their bodies: each had a circumcised shaft that was thick, long, and beautifully shaped without the bulging veins that ruined the appearance of some slave's erect organs. The hole in each slave's gaping crown was clearly visible and each sported a small dollop of white cream to reflect their excitement at being displayed. The large, erect shafts were well positioned atop two large, but tight, balls that hung close to their bodies. Seemingly, no genital rings were necessary to keep the slave's equipment in almost perfect display and to make handling them easier, but close inspection revealed thin rings had been installed behind each slave's balls and over the base of their shafts, no doubt to remind the slaves of their total ownership, to serve as a cosmetic enhancement, or to allow for genital leashing, since a small clip ring installed to the larger genital band allowed for a lead chain to be used when necessary, convenient, or simply to add to the total appearance in public.

The slaves each wore full bronze helmets with uplifted visors, thick bronze slave collars with their names "Brutus" and "Rufus" noticeably engraved on each one, thick bronze wrist and ankle bands welded in place, upper arm bands welded above each of their biceps, and a large brand of ownership ("AT" surrounded by a circle) prominently displayed on each of their right pectorals and on each of their left rumps. Both slave's ankle bands were linked together by a chain which was long enough to clatter as it was dragged along the pavement, but short enough to prevent them running.

John extended a hand of welcome to the clothed man between the two strikingly handsome slaves.

"Mr. Travis, welcome. John Hughes here."

"How did you know it was me?" the silver haired gentleman said with a bemused curiosity.

"It's like stepping into the pages of your book, Mr. Travis," John Hughes replied with a smile, reaching out and running his hand across the raised scar of the prominent ownership brand on the chest of the slave right in front of him. "Complete even to the owner's mark," he smiled again as he circled the brand with his finger.

"I thought they'd add a little color to the festivities, Mr. Hughes," Aaron Travis smiled as he reached down and wrapped his hand around the massive swollen shaft of the white slave on one side of him and began gently massaging it. "They're so damn big that when I order them to fuck each other, it's quite a show."

"I'm sure it is and one our guests will no doubt enjoy," John Hughes smiled warmly. "It's not every day you get to see boys fucking wearing bronze helmets," he laughed. "I love the way you have the boys decorated."

"Just a touch here and there," Mr. Travis winked. Everything, even the helmets, are either welded or locked on. That way, nothing gets lost and they're always the same," he added with a tingle in his voice.

"How do you cut their hair?" Mr. Hughes asked.

"Oh, that. Well, we do unlock the helmets every third month and harvest their hair. Sell it to a wigmaker in Frisco who's eager to get it. Sell their sperm to a slave breeder in Saudi and lease the boys out as decorations for some of my friend's parties. Rent them out as models for some of the bolder magazines and to ad agencies when they need Roman gladiators and I contract them out to a whore house in Frisco at least three days a week where they get a good working over. All in all, under careful management, I got what I paid for them back and then some before I'd had them a year, even taking out the cost of their training, feed, and fittings - not too shabby, do you think, John?"

"The financial advantages inherent in slave ownership has always been underrated, Mr. Travis," Mr. Hughes replied. "As you say, good management is the key element to success in this area. I'm afraid so many of our colleagues are so wrapped up in just the thrill of owning another person and being able to order them to do absolutely anything they ever fantasized about, that the profit potential is completely overlooked. It's refreshing to meet someone who realizes that all a person's fantasies can be fulfilled without question, but tremendous profits can be made simultaneously. Takes a good businessman to have a plan. That's how I've been able to accumulate a little, Mr. Travis."

"More than a little, Mr. Hughes, from what I've heard. I'm not in your league, but I'm working on it," Aaron Travis chuckled. "Right now, I'm planning on buying and then training five more teams just like this one, Mr. Hughes. There's always a market for them - got three teams working the circuits right now. Damn good investments."

"Beats the stock market hands down," Mr. Hughes laughed as he reached down and hefted the heavy ball sac of the black slave, weighing it in his hand. A strong shudder ran down the slave's legs as he did so, although the black didn't move.

"A little skittish aren't they, Aaron?" Mr. Hughes commented as he began massaging the balls in his hands. The slave's tremors did not stop and a look of absolute terror seemed to peer out from under the helmet's brim.

"A little, Mr. Hughes. They have reason to be. You see, John, I've trained them to such a high degree of absolute obedience that they run scared most of the time."

Mr. Hughes quickly looked into the white slave's eyes.

"Slaves should know what's expected of them at all times, Aaron, but both of these boys look absolutely terrified all of the time. I'm curious. How'd you train them to that level?"

"The secret's in the helmet, Mr. Hughes. See this little bulge in the back of the helmet," Mr. Travis said as he patted on a prominent bulge in the back of the black's helmet. "That's the power source for the electrodes. You see, John, the electrodes to the pain center of the brain are spring- loaded inside the helmet so they always rest right on the appropriate spot on the cranium no matter how much their heads get knocked around. Once I press this button on my transmitter, they feel pain like you can't imagine - it's direct from their own brain's pain center. The harder I press the button, the more pain they feel. Let me show you," Mr. Travis said as he pressed lightly on the small black transmitter clipped to his belt.

Instantly, both slaves crumpled onto the floor screaming in torment as their muscles forced each of them into a fetal position and their muscles froze in constricted anguish. The pain was so intense their screams melted into a horrid gasp of pure, unadulterated agony. Tears sprang out of their eyes but their misery didn't allow them to sob, cry, groan or do anything other than their eyes revealed the stark horror of their situation.

"See, Mr. Hughes," Mr. Travis commented as he released the button and the two slaves gasped for air. "Quick and instant discipline. They learn quickly once the helmets are on them."

"I can imagine, Aaron. I'm surprised they haven't made some attempt to damage or remove the helmets."

Mr. Travis laughed heartedly. "Oh! They've tried alright. We've had to redesign the helmets three times before we got these tamper proof models. First, we have to weld the helmets on or they would break the locks we had on the helmets originally, even when they broke their jaws in the process. Then they tried to bang their heads into walls to loosen the batteries, but they can't do that anymore because the batteries are part of the helmet. The white boy here repeatedly knocked himself unconscious trying to loosen the batteries when it was just a battery pack. And the black tried to stick his head in water to short it out - even when he passed out from lack of oxygen. Can't do that anymore it's entirely waterproof now. You can knock it to hell and back, drown yourself in it, and the shock goes on. Totally slave proof now!" he said with a note of pride. "They don't even try anymore. It's easier to just obey instantly, or just take the pain like they did right now when I gave you this little demonstration. John, even if they went totally berserk, there's no need to worry. Push all the way down on the button and the slave is totally unconscious for at least an hour or so. You can even kill the bastards with it if you want, but you'd have to hold the button all the way down for at least 30 seconds to do that. I didn't realize it before, but pain alone can kill a slave if it's strong enough. No need to worry about rogue slaves fitted with this helmet," he laughed.

"I take it you've had some slaves go mad or try to kill themselves with this type of training, Aaron, or you wouldn't have gone to such measures to design such a foolproof training helmet."

"John, I can see you've had some training experience yourself to ask such a good question. Of course, we lost a few in the original training program until we got the helmet just right. Now we're training slaves routinely to our standards of exact obedience with no troubles whatsoever, as these two so clearly demonstrate. They're do anything you want instantly and without questioning and thank you for it," Mr. Travis said proudly.

"I kind of like that look of abject terror the slaves seem to have, Aaron," John commented. "If that a side effect of the helmet training? Or does that take additional training?"

"Nope, it's part of the package. Once those electrodes fly into use, the 'look' emerges in just a few days. It is sort of a nice touch - you don't see that all that often in slaves anymore it seems."

"No you don't. It gives your slaves a novel and unique look that becomes them in their role as your property. I imagine it will up the price considerably. How many teams are you going to put on the market trained like this, Aaron?"

"Just as many as I can buy up and get fitted out with the helmets. It only takes a few weeks to train them once they're fitted properly. The problem is finding boys on the open market that are closely matched as a team, built like a gladiator would be but with those thin, thin waists and bubble butts, and young enough to offer a lifetime of service. And, of course, I like them hung heavy and pretty! "

"Who doesn't?" Mr. Hughes interjected.

"No, really hung heavy, like these boys here," Mr. Travis continued. "I have to look over hundreds and hundreds of slaves, probably over a thousand, before I can find two boys meeting all the specifications I'm looking for."

"I don't doubt it. Lookers like these two only come along once in a while. Ever thought about breeding them and saving yourself a lot of trouble."

"I'm going to, but it'll be 16 or 17 years before that'll pay off. In the interim, I'll just keep searching the markets both here in the United States and throughout the whole world. But, your dead right, Mr. Hughes, the only real solution is to breed the bastards. Then we can get exactly what we want without hunting all over God's green earth!"

The two slaves had recovered enough to get back on their feet and assume display position. Despite their use in the recent demonstration of the embedded electrodes, their shafts were once again erect and prominently displayed. But the look of sheer terror emanated from their eyes.

"Take your gladiators inside, Mr. Travis, and join the party. The guests are going to get a real hoot when they see what you've brought with you."

"I hear some of your own stock is well worth a visit, Mr. Hughes."

"I hope they meet your expectations, Aaron. Feel free to use any of them that interest you. That's why I've got them here. More important, they understand completely that's why they're here - to satisfy the slightest whim of any guest. Enjoy!"

"There's an offer I can't refuse," Mr. Travis responded with a deep laugh, grabbing both of his slave gladiators by their salient pricks and leading them into the main hall.

THE PARTY:

At last, Mr. Hughes, satisfied that all of the invited guests had now arrived, could check on how his party was going. He entered the main hall and swiftly visually swept the room.

MIAMI was bent over a coffee table on his washboarded stomach being vigorously fucked by one of Mr. Hughes' business associates, his bright red hair waving back and forth as his head was jostled in cadence with his intense ass-fucking. Even from a distance, Mr. Hughes could hear MIAMI's low moans as Mr. Hughes' customer hammered in and out of his stretched hole with his unusually thick prick.

EAGER was fucking STUD on top of the dining room table under the explicit direction of Tammy Jo Eckhart, sitting comfortably in a nearby armchair. Her set of identical twins were on their knees on either side of her, the buttons on their tight pants now opened to fully expose their erect genitals. She idly played with their swollen ringed tits as she watched the two slaves of Mr. Hughes perform for her. EAGER's legendary phenomenal organ was almost all the way up STUD's ass by now as EAGER pumped harder and harder, his ass muscles gleaming in sweat as his strokes got longer and faster with each stroke. STUD's body glistened with sweat as his ass muscles struggled to accommodate the huge invasion while his handsome face reflected the intense pain as his chute was stretched wider and wider by the unbelievable circumference of his fellow slave's shaft, the arteries in his face and neck clearly visible as he continuously slowly twisted his rump in an attempt to accommodate EAGER's thrusting.

"Get it in there deeper - all the way, boy," Miss Eckhart commanded harshly as she smacked a rawhide whip over EAGER's pumping ass, leaving a bright red weal on the boy's smooth skin.

"Yes, mistress," EAGER grunted in his labored breathing, his ass muscles squeezing together tightly as he rammed STUD's ass so hard his ball sac smacked against STUD's ass with each thrust.

"And you there, black boy, get that ass wide open and take it all in. That's it. Now push back on the shaft so you show you appreciate it. That's right. Now, black boy, get your ass rocking in time with your fucker's thrusting. There - that's better. Now that it's all in, let's see you increase the tempo - I want to see both of you working up a real sweat here, boys," she laughed as she smacked EAGER's ass again with the whip and enjoyed hearing him groan from the pain. EAGER's groans from the whip matched harmoniously STUD's moans at being fucked so thoroughly - it was almost as if the two had practiced signing together!

"Those two are my heaviest-hung boys, Tammy Jo. It's taken years of training to get them to the point where they can take each other up the ass. Quite a show, isn't it?"

"I thought my two identical twins were really hung until I saw these two." Reaching down, she hefted one of the twin's erect penis up with a loop in her whip. "Makes my two look like 10-year-old's by comparison," she said in a rather disgusted tone. "Maybe I can give them hormones or stretch them somehow," she added as she reached down and squeezed the other twin's 10-inch shaft. Both of the twin slaves turned bright red both in embarrassment and apprehension at their failing, but kept their eyes glued to the ground in submission.

"There's nothing wrong with your twins, Tammy Jo. In all honesty, they're pretty heavy hung as they are. It's just these two are, well, freaks in a sense. I doubt if one in 10,000 male slaves are hung like that. It's got it's downside you know. We end up mainly using them for butt fucking and to suck - the only time they get to fuck is with each other and occasionally when we want to really punish a recalcitrant slave, but it usually tears the slave up rather permanently in the process so that's not too sensible unless we want to fuck the slave to death anyway. And we haven't found a woman yet that can take them comfortably - we've had several mistresses bed them down with great anticipation but found the soreness afterwards just wasn't worth it. I'm sure they'll love you forever for allowing them to fuck anything, even if it is just themselves. But, Tammy Jo, make sure you order STUD to fuck EAGER before the party's over - seems only fair. And EAGER could use the butt training."

"I promise," Tammy Jo said laughing as she flicked the rawhide whip once again over EAGER's pistoning butt. "All the way, boy, all the way in. And let's pick the pace up a bit, EAGER, or whatever they call you here."

"Yes, mistress," EAGER gasped out as he quickened the thrusting, sweat dripping off his back and butt as his exertions continued. He noticed that STUD's hole had opened up completely when he heard his master suggest to the lady that he be ordered to fuck EAGER later. EAGER could understand his joy at being allowed to fuck for a change, but he dreaded the painful ass stretching he knew STUD's giant pick would certainly guarantee. Well, he'd taken it before and he'd manage again, but past experience had taught him the pain wouldn't be completely gone until two or three days later. At least, he didn't pass out like he used to when STUD fucked him. Still, each time STUD fucked him, he realized he had repressed how huge he really was and swore the slave had grown in the area since the last time. As he continued the rapid thrusting, EAGER wondered what it would be like to fuck women regularly, like the slaves sold as studs for their female owners. Back in DELTA's pens in Muscat, he had known a number of these stud slaves who ended up fucking, eight, nine, ten times a day - even more if their mistresses loaned them out for usage by their female friends. Most of them, in their late teens or early twenties, seemed to like their slave duties for the first few weeks, but after a while they began to look sort of worn out and fatigued, and, months later, a look of apprehension and dread seemed to cloud their faces when they were summoned to their mistress's bed. EAGER remembered they never stayed with a given owner very long - they were frequently put back up for auction. It seemed their owners got bored with them quickly or the stud slaves couldn't keep up the pace. EAGER understood the real strain was not the fucking - it was the command to keep from shooting off - at least until the owner was completely satisfied. Punishment for "losing control" before your user was totally pleasured was extremely severe and most owners required the slave to never orgasm, no matter what, so that they were "ready for usage" at any given moment. Thinking it over, EAGER thought the pleasure of fucking women under these circumstances was highly overrated. He was probably just as well off being used like he was. At least he got to unload once in a while, even if it was just up STUD's ass. He smiled as he remembered a lot of Mr. Hughes' customers like to milk him from time to time and that was certainly pleasurable, although they got sort of rough sometimes stroking him to orgasm - their squeezing, stroking and ball massage, usually one hand on the shaft with the other around the balls, got more and more vigorous until he finally shot off with as much force as he could. He was well aware the customers wanted to feel they had, in fact, "milked" the superhung slave, and it was his job not to disappoint them in any way no matter how much they chafed his shaft, braised the tender skin on the head of his swollen penis, or bruised his balls as they churned them in their fists. He was, after all, there for their pleasure - not the other way around.

Mr. Hughes reached over and ran his hand through the hair of Miss Eckhart's exceedingly handsome twin slaves. "I'd like to take you up on your offer to try out your boys, Tammy Jo. As you suspected, it's been a while since I seen much resentment in a slave. It would probably be fun to feel like a real master again," he chucked.

The twin's eyes quickly reflected their frustration and anger that they would again be subjected to such shame. They trembled as they contemplated their immediate fate at the hands of this new master.

"Be my guest, John. You'll going to need a good slave whip, though, to get full cooperation," he laughed. "Stand up and position," she snapped as she jerked on their neck leashes. When the twins had assumed the commanded position, their beautiful faces flushed with embarrassment, she handed their leads over to their new user.

"Strip," Mr. Hughes commanded the twins as he grabbed a slave whip from a convenient stand nearby. As the slaves peeled out of their one piece of clothing, Mr. Hughes admired their sleek rounded bubble butts, their large, taut ball sacs which rested close to their body, and their thick, circumcised well-shaped penises which were at least 10" long erect. The boys were obviously kept body shaved at all times in that not one hair could be seen on their glowing ivory-colored skin.

"Just bring them back when you're finished. I'll just watch this little show until you're finished with them. Take your time, John. I'm in no hurry."

"I'm not going anywhere, Tammy Jo," Mr. Hughes said as he too stripped out of his loose clothing, "unless you'll feel more comfortable if I used them upstairs in privacy."

"It's not like I haven't seen the twins fucked before," she laughed. "It'll probably be better down here, because this way I can help you whip the hell out of them if they don't cooperate," she chuckled, giving a dark, threatening look at her two slaveboys. "Besides, I enjoy all those looks of deep resentment that simply ooze out of these pretty boys when they're being fucked up their ass. And they usually turn beet red they're so embarrassed!"

"Please, master, please, mistress," one of the slaves muttered as the tears spilled down his cheeks, shaking as he struggled to hold the commanded display position."Please don't fuck me, master. I'll do anything - anything at all - you want - but please don't fuck me," he begged as the tears increased in volume.

A whip slashed across the slave's back and rump as he screamed from the sudden pain and struggled to maintain his balance.

"Silence, slave," Tammy Jo's commanded in the coldest tone Mr. Hughes had heard in years. "How dare you beg in front of your owner," she icily stated as another blow, even harder, rained down on the slave's back.

"Aagh," the slave screamed in agony as Miss Eckhart delivered a third, fourth and fifth vicious blow to the slave's body until he slumped over a nearby chair, blood running down his back profusely.

"Easy," Tammy Jo," Mr. Hughes counseled. "You're going to knock all the resentment out of the slave before I get a chance to fuck him senseless. I'll probably enjoy the resentment more than the fuck. After all, I have at least 20 slaves I can fuck any time I want, but none of them resent it - in fact, they seem to love it," he laughed. "No fun in that."

"Well, I haven't touched the other one yet," Tammy Jo laughed as the first slave struggled to his feet again and resumed the commanded posture position.

Mr. Hughes stuck his finger up the other slave's asshole as far as his finger would reach and pumped it vigorously.

"Bastard," the slave hissed as his clenched his asshole shut the best he could around the impaled finger. "I hate to be fucked, master - please, master - please - don't fuck me," he wailed as broke out sobbing. "Anything but fucking, master, anything......." He saw Mr. Hughes draw back the slavewhip and could anticipate the blow to his chest and stomach even before it tore into his flesh.

"Ah.........." he screamed in anguish. "Don't....Don't......" But the whip continued to tear into his butt, his back, and his shoulders before it again slashed across his chest, the tip of one strand catching in one of his tit rings and tearing his tit open as the whip was jerked back.

"On your hands and knees, slave, with your ass up and your hole open. You're going to be fucked thoroughly, you impertinent bastard," Mr. Hughes directed as he again swung the whip down on the slave's body with full force. "You'll think bastard when I'm through fucking you," he laughed wickedly as yet another blow was directed at the slave, this time directly onto his genitals.

"And you, slave," he yelled at the other twin still standing ramrod in the commanded position. "On your back with your legs up over your shoulder and your hole open and ready. I want to see the suffering in your stupid face when I'm fucking you. You'll resent it all the more when you can see how much I'm enjoying it!"

Both slaves, in utter defeat now that pain ruled their bodies, assumed the commanded positions, their faces flushed with shame and their eyes filled with a mixture of terror, resentment and complete helplessness. A deep sigh of resignation, typical of the defeated slave, escaped their lips between their sobs of utter despair. Both holes were presented for ravishment as their faces turned as red in embarrassment as the blood on their bleeding backs.

"They are unusual, Tammy Jo," Mr. Hughes commented as he turned their heads up to better enjoy their total humiliation. "That's a look of raw hatred mixed with the certain knowledge they can't do a damn thing about it. Yes, they're going to get fucked. And, yes, they're going to hate it. Very interesting. All of my own slaves accepted their fate long before their training was completed and, by now, have learned how to enjoy it. Most of mine even shoot off while they're being fucked if you don't command them not to. These slaves aren't going to enjoy it, though. Just the opposite. Well, it'll make it all the better as far as I'm concerned and that's all that matter's, isn't it, slaveboys?"

Without further comment, he plunged into the slave on his hands and knees and drove into his dry hole in one lunge. The slave buckled as the shaft drove into him and screamed anew in agony as he felt his rectum stretched in all directions at once. He made every effort to clamp his hole shut despite the invasion.

"Open up, you whoring bastard," Mr. Hughes yelled as his whip smashed across the slave's back and he plunged anew into the boy's hole as the body beneath him shuddered in pain.

For an instance, the slave lost consciousness, but quickly came back to his pain and buckled anew as his user began pumping the big shaft in and out of his violated hole, the friction causing even more pain. He couldn't help screaming as the pain seemed unbearable, but eventually his body adjusted to the assault, and, as his hole opened despite his efforts to keep it clamped shut, the pain became almost tolerable. The slave realized his body was beginning to adjust to the rape and his humiliation reached new heights of shame, especially when the prostate stimulation was yielding some arousal and pleasurable feelings he simply could not fight down despite every effort on his part. As he felt his own prick become erect and begin to drip, he knew he was turning into the true whore his owner had always claimed was right beneath the surface. How did she always introduce the twins to a new onlooker, "Have you seen my two slave whores?" How right she was turning out to be, and the thought made the boy feel all the more ashamed as Mr. Hughes' shaft pumped faster and faster into him until he shuddered, and the slave felt the hot cum of his user spilling deep into his rectum in five separate eruptions. As Mr. Hughes roughly withdrew, the slave felt the hot cum leaking out of his hole and running down his thigh and over his still swollen balls. He could imagine what he looked like with his rampant prick quivering in need, his user's cum running down his legs, and his face expressing his anguish at being raped once again.

Without even a break in pace, Mr. Hughes crawled onto the other twin slave, waiting to be used on his back with his legs up around his shoulders, and quickly inserted his still rampant prick up the tight hole, rigidly clamped shut as the slave beneath him tensed his ass muscles in defense. The slime from his previous fuck lubricated the boy's channel, however, and despite the slave's resistance, the invading rod slowly inched up his asshole. The pace was considerably slower as the asshole reluctantly opened, so the fuck was slow and leisurely, taking a good 15 minutes of slow pumping before Mr. Hughes once again felt the jism rising within him waiting for release. As the slave was fucked, his resentment never ceased and the look of utter humiliation and deep shame on the slave's exceptionally beautiful face made this fuck particularly enjoyable. Mr. Hughes felt the rush only complete mastery of another's body could give him. He raised himself up and pistoned his shaft as deeply as possible into the boy's hole, enjoying the boy's moans of utter despair. He increased the pace until he was jerking in the throes or orgasm, again spilling his seed deep up a slave's ass. As he withdrew from the boy's hole, he ordered the boy to cleanse his shaft and once again enjoyed the deep look of resentment the boy managed to give him briefly before going about his commanded task.

"I told you they'll never learn to like it," Tammy Jo laughed as the two gorgeous slaveboys struggled to their feet and tried to ignore the cum running down their legs, their sore assholes, their hair matted with sweat, the tears spilling down their cheeks, and the still bleeding whip weals on their backs and sides. She motioned for the two boys to wiggle back into their tight leather pants and assume their kneeling position beside her while she again took claim of their collar leashes. "But it's kind of fun to see all that resentment every time they're put to use with a man. You wonder why most slaves can just learn to lean back and enjoy it and these two can't. Pity, really, but it sure as hell's not my problem," she stated as she jerked their neck leashes as a symbol of her renewed ownership of them.

"Thanks, Tammy Jo," Mr. Hughes said. "I did enjoy it, just like you promised. And all that resentment does add - like you said. But they're so damn tight. If they were mine, I'd have a big butt plug up them for a month or so - at least until they loosened up a bit. Of course, if you did that, they'd get use to something up their ass and it would take some of that resentment out of them - probably ruin all the fun," he laughed. "I suppose you might as well keep them like they are - that way, they'll squirm every time they get mounted. Well, it was fun screwing those resisting little butts. I owe you one, I guess," he snickered.

"Hardly, John, "Tammy Jo replied. "Not after the way I've drained both of these superstuds of yours. It's been fun watching them in action."

"Well, we're even then," John Hughes laughed as he got back into his clothes. "Enjoy the rest of the party."

Mr. Hughes moved on. Gordon Neale had CAR 7, the muscular blond Swede, on his knees between his legs with his mouth firmly implanted on his shaft and his face pressed into his groin as the Swedish slave sucked away. His three huge Balkan dog slaves stared straight ahead in apprehensive tension one frequently observed in trained slaves, positioned back on their muscular haunches with their knees spread wide as their ass muscles churned around the colossal butt plugs wedged far up their chute, their swollen organs prominently displayed. Mr. Neale played with their ringed erect tits as the Swede worked away, his throat muscles visibly massaging the master's deeply imbedded shaft.

Laura Antonious already had Jacque Aaronsen's 18-year-old black slave from Sierra Leone leashed by his collar, flat on his back in the middle of one of the room's many carpets, and was gently lowering herself inch by inch onto his long thick prick, pulsating now in his excitement at such humiliating public usage. As Miss Antoniou leaned forward to suckle his ringed tits, his brown face turned maroon in his embarrassment at such wanton exploitation of his body. But within seconds, the sheer sensory sensations overcame any social feelings he might have had and his body's physiology took over as he thrashed his handsome head from one side to another as his body was ravished by the woman riding him. Despite himself, his hips rose up from the floor to further impale himself into the woman's opening and he moaned as her lips worked his swollen, sensitive tits. All thoughts turned to controlling his rapidly pending ejaculation. If he shot off now, he didn't think he could hold his erection and he knew such lack of control would infuriate his user and lead to hours of unbearable "corrective punishment" such as a week without food, an electrified dildo shocker up his ass, or electrodes on his tits and balls, or more likely, all three. Months of slave training took over and all thoughts were channeled on postponing any pending eruption as he consciously began pistoning his hips up and down now that the mistress had completely enveloped him and he ever so gently caressed her hips and thighs covering his lower torso. Her suckling of his tits increased in their voracity as he steadily increased his hip thrusting. Her low moans encouraged him and he twisted his huge shaft inside her to increase her pleasure while he steadily increased his pumping movements.

"Is this part of the training you promised him, Laura?" Mr. Hughes laughed as he passed by.

Miss Antoniou removed her lips from the boy's swollen tits temporarily and straightened up on the slave as she raised herself up a bit and then dropped her body hard back down on his shaft. "Just the beginning, Mr. Hughes. Just the beginning. By the time I'm through with him, Mr. Aaronsen will either be profusely thanking me for properly training the boy, or in the market for a new slave.....who knows," she laughed as she again knelt over and this time took the other tit to suckle as the slave moaned anew. Her other hand crept below them, encircled the slave's balls, and begin squeezing them until the boy's moans increased in intensity.

"I'm sure Jacque will appreciate your training efforts, Laura, even if the training does the boy in. He can easily afford another one, I'm sure," he laughed as the boy's moans from the ball squeezing got louder and louder.

Miss Antoniou stopped suckling the boy's tit long enough to respond. "I was just kidding, John. He'll live through this exercise fine and be all the better for it. Those little groans and moans don't mean a damn thing. Probably an 18-year-old's way of trying to get attention," she laughed. "When I let him unload - which will probably be a long time yet - he'll think he's in slave heaven and the next time a mistress wants to bed him down, he'll really know how to please her," she laughed. "Won't you, slave?" she added as she again squeezed his balls while simultaneously biting one of his swollen tits.

"Yes, mistress," the black slave gasped between cinched lips as he steadily pumped upward into her.

John Payne had obviously directed his huge litter right into the middle of the main hall and then ordered the litter bearers to place it down. He then had the eight bearers, plus the two relief slaves, gather in a circle around the litter, each slave facing the right. At a signal, he pointed at one particular slave of the muscled Latino ensemble and said "Fuck." The slave instantly removed the huge butt plug from the ass of the slave to his right (that had been fitted in each of the slaves as part of their normal "dress" routine) and mounted that slave, jamming his gigantic erect prick into the slave's ass. The slave being fucked jerked at the sudden intrusion, but managed to pull out the butt plug from the ass of the slave to his right, and quickly mounted that slave, inserting his shaft deep into the slave's ass who responded in like fashion, moaning as his ass was quickly ravished. Within a minute, all ten slaves were energetically fucking each other in a Latino "daisy chain" and as the rampant shafts plunged in and out of the proffered holes, the scene took on a surreal quality of plunging movement of skin on skin, sighs and moans mixed with the sound of huge rods plunging in and out of well greased holes, and the distinctive smell of sweat, precum, and lubricant permeating the air. Their faces reflected the unique Latin conflict within them: the "macho" of fucking countered with the "maricon" of being fucked, but their eyes revealed the simple truth: as slaves they had no choice in the matter.

A bull whip suddenly cracked through the air like a gun shot and the 10 slaves froze in motion.

"No cumming without permission," Mr. Payne reminded the litter bearers. "Continue fucking," he ordered as the whip cracked over their heads once again, "and increase the pace."

Immediately the muscled asses churned fasting in their pumping motions and the low moans characteristic of men being thoroughly fucked increased. The well-defined handsome bodies took on a lustrous sheen as the sweat from their vigorous efforts filled every pore and begin to drip from every body crevice. One could hear their heavy panting as they pumped their shafts deeply into the nearest asshole mixed with their moans of submission as each slave struggled to accommodate having his ass completely stuffed while fucking simultaneously. It was obvious from the strained look on their faces that it was getting more and more difficult to control their pending eruptions, especially under the pace of fucking ordered. Some had closed their eyes in an effort to better control themselves while other's faces were turning bright red from the strain of orgasmic control.

"Remember a slave cannot shoot without his master's permission," Mr. Payne stated again as his whip cracked sharply on the butt of a slave who looked like he was about to lose it, accompanied by a quick jerk and groan from the recipient of his owner's attention, an acknowledgment of the whip's pain.

"Yes, master," the slave gasped back as he noticeably increased the length of his thrust into the ass he was fucking.

Mr. Payne enjoyed the large crowd that had gathered to watch the well-coordinated spectacle of his gorgeous well-trained rutting animals.

"Takes a lot of training to get slaves to that level," an onlooker said admiringly to the slave's owner.

"That's simply beautiful," Anne Rice said to her husband as well as Mr. Payne. "The symmetry and coordination with those gorgeous bodies is a real art form in itself."

"Thanks, Anne, it is sort of arty, isn't it? But if I don't stop this show or let them shoot, it's going to end rather prematurely, I'm afraid. Even the best-trained slaves can only hold it so long."

"So I've heard, Mr. Payne, so I've heard. But the discipline involved is marvelous - you can see the suffering in their eyes - it's almost mystical."

"Getting fucked isn't so mystical," he laughed, "but fighting unloading gets mighty mystical at a certain point. Looks like some of the boys are about to faint. That's as close to religion as they'll ever get, probably," he laughed again as he winked at Anne Rice.

Mr. Payne cracked his bullwhip over the slave's heads once again with the order, "Slaves, release your loads."

A look of blessed relief spread over each of the slave's faces and a wide smile illuminated their faces as they inserted their cocks all the way up the chute they were fucking, squeezed their ass cheeks together as hard as they could, and groaned as they shot their initial load far up their partner's rectum. Their sweat soaked bodies quivered in tension as load after load was pumped deep into the violated channels they had opened so thoroughly as their moaning increased. Finally, each of the slaves visibly relaxed and thick white cum could be seen leaking out of each of the 10 holes although they were still totally plugged by tumescent cock.

"Withdraw, completely clean out the ass you just fucked with your tongue, cleanse the prick of the slave who just fucked you with a good tongue bath, making sure you swallow all the cum and lubricants your tongue has picked up, reinsert your butt plug, and assume display position," Mr. Payne ordered with another short crack of his whip. Each of the slaves quickly withdrew his deeply embedded prick from the cum drenched hole he had fucked, set to rimming the hole with his tongue deeply inserted up the ass, sucking up all cum still residing there, and then turned around and cleansed the prick that had fucked him, swallowing all the residue of cum and lubricants until the prick glistened. Then, standing and turning toward their master, each slave in the Latino team spread their legs far apart, forced the huge butt plugs up their own holes, placed their hands in back of their head, and thrust their pelvis forward, displaying their now clean organs, once again erect, thanks to the monstrous butt plug, for display. One slave was spending considerable time swallowing a rather large load of cum he had picked up from an invading prick and was slightly behind the others in assuming the commanded display position. Without hesitation, Mr. Payne's whip cracked across the slave's ass cheeks leaving a bright red weal, a small amount of blood as the whip had lacerated the skin, and a piercing scream as the slave struggled to assume the commanded display position as quickly as possible, tears streaming down his face as his ass muscles churned to accommodate the hastily inserted butt plug.

"John, that's a beautifully trained team," Mr. Hughes said as he approached. "And they're so well matched. You'd think the entire team had been cloned - same height, weight, musculature, skin color, prick size - even the size and shape of their tits seem to be the same - amazing. I hadn't though of Latinos much before in that they never seemed hung very heavy or have the clearly defined musculature I prefer. But these boys are a mighty handsome lot and plenty well hung to boot. Where did you say you got them?"

"Mr. Hughes, I got all of them at the market I mentioned about 100 miles north of San Juan in Puerto Rico - way out in an isolated spot in the country. About the only thing there is the slave market and, of course, it's existence is only known by a very few. It's hard to get to - you'll need a helicopter although there is an obscure truck route I understand - and there's never more than four or five buyers around even at their scheduled auctions. They build up an inventory of about 300 slaves before they offer a venue - that happens about every two or three months. That market handles all kind of stock, but seems to specialize in well built males in their late teens or early twenties. But they always have a few females and children around if you're interested. Not much there in the way of older slaves or even ordinary looking slaves, John. They're not interested in "field hands" obviously. You pay considerably more than some other places, but the stock is always healthy, well selected toward good musculature and exceptional good looks, and well hung. They claim they ship everything else out to the open markets down in Brazil or don't buy it up to start with. I believe it because all I've ever been shown there are boys similar to these. If they can't sell a slave within six months, they pack him down to Brazil and dispose of the stock in the open market. The only fault I can quibble with, John, is that they don't do squat in the training area. That's up to the buyer - but they make that clear up front. But they do offer a 30-day guarantee on the stock they sell - you can trade it in at the same price you paid, or, if you can't find anything you like, they'll even give you your money back. I suppose they figure they can easily sell the stock at the next venue. But as far as training goes - that's up to the buyer. Consequently, they just keep the stock chained in close confinement so their hands are always behind their necks, they are hobbled, and they've got butt plugs up them when they're not being cleaned out, always naked of course, kept chronically hungry and thirsty to they learn to be totally dependent on their owners, and usually gagged. They use the whip heavy - the slightest little thing and you'll hear one of them howling away in agony around his gag as they lash the bastards into one bloody mess. I suppose you could call that the beginning of training - but it sure won't produce the type of slave that brings top dollar in the markets we're used to, John. When you buy one down there, it's usually trembling in fear of being whipped, half starved, and yet still with a streak of raw hatred and open rebellion in them. Takes a while to get them shaped up, that's for damn sure!"

"I can take care of the training, John," Mr. Hughes laughed. "May I?" he asked as he gestured toward one of Mr. Payne's slaves nearest him.

"Of course, John. You want to take him to one of your rooms upstairs for a little privacy or did you want to use him here?"

"I just wanted to examine his body a little more thoroughly, John, although I appreciate your offer - maybe a little later," he smiled as he reached toward the slave and wrapped his hand around the boy's genitals, first weighing the ballsac and then squeezing the now fully erect penis. He then pinched each of the boy's ringed tits until the slave shuddered in reaction to the intense pain and then ran his hand closely over the well developed pectorals, his huge shoulder muscles, and then lightly ran his fingers over the boy's cheeks, eyes, and through his thick, black hair. He then put his finger on the boy's lips who promptly open his mouth wide.

"Well trained," Mr. Hughes commented as he ran his hand over the boy's full set of beautiful white teeth and then studied the boy's strong sucking action as his mouth closed around the invading finger. "Does he suck well?"

"To tell you the truth, they all look alike to me, so I can't talk about that specific slave. But I think they all do now. Everyone I've tried has taken it all the way down and they know to use their throat muscles too. And they all swallow the whole load without any fuss. But it wasn't that way to start with, John," Mr. Payne chucked. "You know Latinos - sucking isn't macho - so they had to be trained to the task. Takes a lot of whip and prods to get them to this level, let me tell you. With this bunch I got so much resistance at first, I just had them fitted with 6" penis gags for a month of so. Wore them all the time except when they were eating, drinking, or sucking cock. After that, the resistance sort of melted away and they took some interest in how to suck cock properly. Especially when I used the whip pretty heavy the minute I noted any hesitation whatsoever. Even Latinos can be taught to suck cock properly," he laughed. "It just takes a little extra effort."

"Turn around," Mr. Hughes ordered and the boy instantly complied, being careful to keep his legs spread and his hands in back of his neck. Mr. Hughes squeezed each of the very muscled ass cheeks, ran his hand down the thighs, and reached around to prod and poke the well-defined abdominal muscles forming a "six pack" on the boy's lower torso.

"Bend over and open your hole for inspection," Mr. Hughes ordered matter-of-factly. The slave quickly bent down to totally expose his ass and, reaching behind, removed his butt plug with a solid hard pull, and pulled his ass cheeks apart to best display his gaping hole, still a little red and raw from the recent fucking. Mr. Hughes studied the nicely shaped hole, sticking his index finger deep into the hole to test for tightness.

"He's still nice and tight, despite the big butt plug you keep up them," Mr. Hughes commented as he withdrew his finger.

"I've got a special exercise they go through each morning to keep it that way, John," Mr. Payne smiled.

"You're not the only one that knows that trick," Mr Hughes smiled back. "I use it with all my boys, even the one's not being fucked regularly."

"Resume position," Mr. Hughes ordered as he smacked the slave on his butt to indicate the inspection was over. The slave complied instantly and was again facing front with this hands in back of his neck, his pelvis thrust out, and his muscles tensed.

"I'd appreciate learning how to contact the market you use in Puerto Rico, John, if you don't mind sharing your sources," Mr. Hughes smiled at John Payne.

"They only deal with referrals, so I'll call them right now and set it up for you," Mr. Payne said as he whipped out his cellular phone from the inside of his litter. "Approximately how many do you buy on a shopping expedition, John? They'll want to know."

"Usually just one or two at a time. I'm pretty fussy as you know, and I've got a pretty big inventory right now. But it would probably be worth a trip down just to look over what they've got if you can get it set up for me. I'd appreciate it, John."

"If you could fly down next Thursday, I'd be glad to go with you - sort of introduce you to everyone and 'show you the way' if you know what I mean."

"Why, that's mighty nice of you. And Thursday would be fine. Set it up and I'll cover our expenses. Should be fun!"

Within a few minutes of mumbled conversation, Mr. Payne had arranged the Thursday trip including a chartered helicopter once they got to the San Juan airport.

"We're all set up. Meet you at 9 AM at the Miami Airport, Delta gate. We have a flight leaving around 9:40, getting us in San Juan around 11:30. With a light lunch, we can leave on the charter no later than 12:15 and be at the market by 12:30 or so. We can leave around 4, which should give you plenty of time to look the stock over and meet all the people you'd be dealing with and we'll be back in Miami by early evening. The flight gets us back to Miami around 6:45. This treat's on me - I put all the tickets on my American Express card so everything's taken care of."

"John, I told you I'd take care of it," Mr. Hughes protested with a smile.

"Hell, after this party, it's the least I can do for you," John Payne shot back. "Besides, I may want a favor from you real soon - like using that absolutely beautiful blonde slave I saw up by the front door - the one with that real thick ring around his whole package and with both his tits ringed in gold. I assume he's one of your's. He looked perfectly at home here."

"Oh, you mean PLEASURE. He's mine all right and you'll love bedding him down if that's what you've got in mind. He's one of the best fucks I've ever had and his mouth is pure velvet."

"He's one of the best looking slaves I believe I've ever seen - and I've been around a bit as you know. Where'd you get him?"

"John, he's a bred slave. Got him in the Middle East but he'd been bred at a slave farm in the Caribbean out of an American stud and a German brood to exact specifications of the training facility that ordered him up. Sure worked, didn't it?"

"God Almighty - I didn't know they were actually breeding slaves now, although it's a damn good idea when you see all the crap on the market. Sure would save on shopping time. Now that cloning is becoming a possibility, I'm sure they'll try it with slaves first - the market's already in place."

"He's not only a looker but he just seems to intuitively know how to use that hot body to please you and enjoys it in the process - no matter how hard you use him. Just a natural born whore, I guess. You're in for one good time fucking that boy. Of course, looking at some of your own stock here, I can see you set pretty high standards."

"You know, John, sometimes I enjoy it best when the bastards really resent you fucking them yet they know there's not a damn thing they can do about it and keep living. A lot of the Latino boys are that way. They really resent being fucked no matter what you do to them - they just won't give up their damn macho attitudes they've been taught since childhood. And hetero to the core no matter how much you expose them to the genuine pleasures you can get in man-to-man sex. These boys here are an example. I bet they've been fucked 2000 times by now at least and they still manage to give you those little looks of raw resentment every time you stick it up them. Looks like after a while, you'd just relax and enjoy it - dumb bastards! They know a damn slave has no choice in the matter - so what's their hangup, anyway? Nevertheless, it still makes for a nice fuck - gives me a real power rush. I guess that's one of the joys of ownership."

"You're right about that, John. But PLEASURE isn't one of those resentful bastards. He really appreciates being fucked. Take him upstairs and you'll see if you'd like a little privacy. Or fuck him down here in front of everyone - he's used to putting on little shows."

Mr. Payne ordered his litter bearers to circulate among the crowd and offer their bodies for the guest's usage. As an added incentive, he announced that anyone who hadn't found a taker in the next five minutes would be subject to a public whipping of "no less than 50 strokes with the rawhide here" as he waved it menacingly. As the slaves quickly dispersed pleading with the guests to use them, Mr. Payne walked over near the door and grabbed PLEASURE by one of his tit rings.

"Your master has offered your use to me, slaveboy. We might as well do it right here. On your back, slave, with your legs spread wide and up over your shoulders. I want to see your pretty face when I fuck you."

"Yes, sir," PLEASURE replied with a wide smile as he quickly assumed the commanded position. "Do you want to suck on my tits as you're fucking me, sir?"

"Good idea, slave. Get those swollen tits up close to my mouth after I get fully in you. And, guess what, slaveboy, I want you to do most of the pumping. No sense in me doing all the work."

"Yes, sir. I'm real good at massaging and pumping your shaft with my ass muscles once you're in, master. I hope you find it most satisfying. Took me a long time to learn how to do it, but I've got it down pat now, master. Just relax and let me do all the work, master sir."

Within minutes, Mr. Payne had his shaft all the way up PLEASURE's chute and was happily chewing on PLEASURE's tits as the slaveboy churned his well-trained ass muscles around the shaft deep inside him. Mr. Payne could only moan in total satisfaction as he felt an orgasm quickly building within him.

"You are well trained, boy," Mr. Payne said as he released one of the swollen tits he had been working on. "Keep it up, boy, feels real good."

"Thank you, master," PLEASURE said humbly as he increased the workings of his ass muscles.

Within a few more minutes, Mr. Payne was shooting load after load deep into the boy's chute, but the slave never let up massaging the prick within him with his ass muscles until he was assured his user had been completely drained. A small crowd of onlookers had gathered around the pair and were enjoying the uninhibitedness of the pair in their sex play as well as the obvious talent of the slave chosen for usage. As Mr. Payne pulled out of the boy, the onlookers clapped in appreciation and were already lining up to try the slave out for themselves.

"How'd you like PLEASURE, John?" Mr. Hughes inquired as Mr. Payne slowly got to his feet and the first in line was already in PLEASURE's cum-ridden hole.

"That boy sure knows how to take a fuck. That's for sure. You think that's part of being bred to it, or just some damn good training?"

"Probably both, John. But did his lack of resentment detract from your enjoyment?"

"Not in the slightest, Mr. Hughes. He was so damn good, I didn't have time to notice!" Both men broke into broad laughter and slapped each other on the back. "You know, John, when they get cloning perfected and on the market, you'd be a fool not to start with that one. Hell, you could charge anything you dreamed up and still sell a thousand of him."

"Your boys certainly found some takers fast enough, John," Mr. Hughes said as he pointed around the room and all ten of the Latino slaves were either on their knees with their mouths around a prick sucking away or were on their hands and knees being vigorously fucked from the rear. One was being fucked at both ends at once. Mr. Hughes pointed to him and asked "Will you give him double credit?" Again, both men broke into cordial laughter as they watched the handsome muscular Latino struggle to take a particularly large prick clear down his throat while simultaneously taking another large shaft up his rear.

"That boy's going to have to breathe through his nose or strangle to death," Mr. Hughes announced as the slaveboy started to choke for air as the huge penis, now clearly outlined in the boy's throat, began heaving back and forth in a fast face-fuck.

Tammy Jo Eckhart and Gordon Neale were chatting amiably as they watched four of Mr. Hughes' slaves do a little show ordered up by Gordon for their amusement utilizing Mr. Neal's 'Illyrian' slaves from the Balkans and both of Miss Eckhart's slave twins, again stripped for action. WACO was sucking one of the twins while DRIVER 2, the half black/half Indian who generally served as Mr. Hughes' slave supervisor, fucked the twin from behind. Despite being sucked by WACO, the exceedingly handsome twin was again red with shame at his predicament of being fucked, muttering "bastard" and "son of a bitch" at DRIVER 2 as the older, more experienced slave completely ignored his protests and drove ever deeper into the boy's ass. INDIA was fucking one of the Balkan 'Illyrians' while CAGE 14 was being fucked by the other of Miss Eckhart's twin slaves while sucking another of the "Illyrian' slaves of Mr. Neale. The sheer number of slaves involved in heavy action in one setting attracted quite a crowd and showed off both the eight slave's bodies as well as their trained skills in pleasuring quite well. Long before the slaveboys had worked up a real sweat, numerous guests watching them in action had already decided on which one they were going to use just as soon as they became available.

"Look at that line-up," Miss Eckhart laughed to her new friend, Mr. Neale. "I'm afraid all of our slaves, as well as these four of Mr. Hughes, have their work lined up for them - literally. It's going to be a long night ahead of them before they get that crowd serviced and satisfied."

"Well, that's why I brought my 'Illyrians.' They need a good work-out and those twins of your look big enough to hold up to a good night's usage."

"It'll be good for them," Miss Eckhart agreed. "I'm just not able to keep them busy enough, living by myself. I really don't need two of them anyway, but I couldn't resist buying identical twins, especially hung like those two are."

"Enjoying yourself?" Mr. Hughes said as he sauntered by taking in the orgy-like scene in front of him.

"Great party, John," Tammy Jo said.

"And great for the slaves, John," Mr. Neale added. "Your's are certainly cooperative enough, and mine needed a good workout. Thanks so much for inviting us."

"My pleasure, Gordon. We'll do it again sometime. And, Tammy Jo," Mr. Hughes nodded toward one of her identical twins moaning as DRIVER 2 fucked him deeply, "I see your slave is bright red blushing with shame being fucked by DRIVER 2 just as much as he did when I fucked him senseless. Didn't seem to learn a thing."

"He probably hates it even more. Seems to me he hates getting fucked by a slave more than by a master. Can't see how that would make one grain of difference - getting fucked is getting fucked," she laughed. "I told you the twins will go to their grave resenting being used by a man - they're just hetero to the core I tell you. If they were going to change, they sure as hell would have by now. I bet I've had them fucked up the ass at least 1000 times by now and they still blush like they were a virgin. It's almost sort of charming," she giggled as she studied the look of pure resentment, raw hatred, and livid shame on the twin's face as he buckled under DRIVER 2's relentless ass pounding.