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 4:

THE PUERTO RICAN MARKET:

The flights were right on schedule and Mr. Payne, devoid of any entourage, proved to be engaging and enjoyable company. His tales of working in the publishing world were interesting and witty and certainly different from the corporate world so familiar to John Hughes.

Before either of them realized it, the helicopter was landing in a tropical clearing near a series of shabby tin-roofed warehouses in the jungle. The pilot never turned the engine off as they quickly alighted, but promised to be back promptly at 4 PM. The two men walked the few hundred feet to the compound of warehouses where a large, burly looking black man, dressed in a well tailored linen suit, greeted them.

"Welcome back, Mr. Payne," the black said in perfect English without a hint of an accent. "I take it this is your friend Mr. Hughes that might be interested in some of our wares," he added as he extended his hand to greet the two visitors. "Enrico Suarez here. Welcome, Mr. Hughes, to Puerto Rico. Is this your first time here?"

"No, Mr. Suarez. I've been to San Juan a number of times, but that's about it. Used to be a small market near the docks there in San Juan but I never actually did business with them. Never could find what I was looking for."

"Yes, well there have been a number of markets here in Puerto Rico that have come and gone. Generally poor quality, so it's little wonder they didn't last long. Usually just some man that had run across a windfall and was trying to turn a quick profit on what he had or a middleman hired to get rid of some undesirable stock."

"That was my impression, Mr. Suarez. Mr. Payne says your market here is considerably more promising."

"Mr. Payne has bought 10 or 15 prime hands off me over the past decade. That makes him a valued customer," Mr. Suarez smiled.

"I'm only interested in prime quality, Mr. Suarez, mainly between the ages of 16 and 25. That way I can get some serious use out of them once they're trained. Money isn't an object if the stock is right. I limit my purchases to boys exceptionally good looking, well muscled with nicely shaped physiques, very heavy hung, and in great health. Of course, I also expect smooth, flawless skin, a full set of bright white teeth, sparkling eyes, and a good head of hair. Body hair doesn't matter one way or the other in that I keep all my boys completely body shaved, but I'm particularly fond of boys with massive pecs topped by large tits. They can be any shade of skin color as long as its entirely even, and I prefer boys cleanly circumcised, although you can always do that once you own the boy yourself."

"Quite a list, Mr. Hughes, although you didn't mention size and shape of their balls or their sexual abilities," Mr. Suarez said professionally.

"Well, all things being equal, I like big balls close to the body - not hanging down between their legs like a old bull and I'm not quite sure I know what you mean by sexual abilities. Do you train them in that area here?"

"Not really, Mr. Hughes," Mr. Suarez chuckled. "I just meant their ability to get it up when needed. I suppose ability isn't the right word in English. Ability to become sexually aroused is what I meant."

Mr. Hughes laughed. "If they're in good health and in the age range I mentioned and built like I specified, I would think I wouldn't have to worry too much."

"Some are more lethargic than others, it seems. A Latin peculiarity, I suppose. We've had some stock that can't seem to get it up no matter what," Mr. Suarez replied. "It's almost like they are all worn out - and at that tender age yet."

"Well, scratch those. You'd be lucky to sell them as rough field slaves, let alone prime stock."

"That's exactly what we do, Mr. Hughes. I dispose of them to the sugar cane plantations here in the Caribbeans. A slave there doesn't last long anyway as all his energy is used up by the cane. They bring very little on the block - little more than the transportation costs to get them there."

"Well, Enrico, you got any stock you think Mr. Hughes might be interested in?" John Payne said rather impatiently. "I know I'd like to look over your stock, just to see what's available this time of year. You never know what might have turned up."

"Of course, Mr. Payne. In fact, I think we have two or three new ones that you'd enjoy looking over and, Mr. Hughes, I would like to get your assessment of how our stock compares to some of the other, better known markets. Of course, we generally just stock Latinos due to our supply sources, but, in general, I'd like to know how we stand competitively - including quality, and pricing. I know we're weak in variety - but what can you expect in this God- forsaken jungle," he laughed. "Shall we?" he gestured the two men toward a large warehouse to their left.

As Mr. Suarez unlocked the heavy steel door into the warehouse, John Hughes was struck with the constant hum of low groans he could detect as they entered the darkened interior. Mr. Suarez flicked some lights on and the place was suddenly ablaze. The warehouse was large, well ventilated, and divided by two main aisles. Off of each wide aisle were series of small wire-mesh pens, each about 4 x 8 x 6, the sides, top and bottom all covered with the wire mesh; the front of the cage was a large barred door. They were set on a slanted concrete floor with drains running down each side of the building so it was obvious the pens were hosed out periodically to take care of the occupant's wastes. A few of the pens showed fresh droppings on the floor and most showed the results of recent urination, but overall, the place was remarkably odor-free and fresh despite the sweating specimens inside each of the cages. Each pen held one occupant who had his legs hobbled by ankle chains, his arms chained behind him by connecting wrist bands, a wide leather belt locked around his waist which served as both a phallus holder for the dildo jammed up each occupant's butt as well as supported a chain connected to a genital ring which kept the occupant's genitals yanked up unnaturally, obviously to better display them. All wore thick leather collars which forced their heads into a chronic upright position so their handsome faces were best displayed. Some had gags stuffed in their mouths, some were fitted with more elaborate strapped on penis gags, while others were left untouched in that area. All had been completely body shaved which made their nakedness all the more complete, but especially made their genitals loom larger than life without the thick pubic hair surrounding them. There must have been at least 100 in this building alone.

"These boys have been here a while and will be the next up for auction," Mr. Suarez said as we began slowly walking down the first aisle. He flipped another switch and a small gong started sounding. Every pen's occupant leaped to their feet, stretched their legs as far apart as their hobble would allow, went to the front of the cage, and thrust their pelvis through the open bars. Their thick collars prevented them from looking down, so they stared straight ahead.

When I looked surprised as such a wanton display of their bodies, Mr. Suarez smiled slightly and said, "By this time, they're eager to be sold. It gets boring in that small cage month after month, although we do exercise them twice a day to build up their musculature. And those here over a month are milked twice a day - just to make sure their balls are working properly. Use it or lose it, they say. Of course, we don't milk them for at least a week before auction time so they're fresh and ready."

"If you see anything that interests you, just let me know and we'll get it out for you for a closer inspection" Mr. Suarez said pleasantly. "Of course, we encourage you to try any of the goods out you want. We don't expect anyone to buy a 'pig in a poke' as they say in America," he laughed, "but remember none of them are really trained yet. Still, you could get some idea of what they would be like with some decent training."

The first three cages held very muscular, well-built jet black boys that didn't appear to be a day over 17. They were devoid of the usual Negroid features, having straight noses, high cheek bones, thin lips, and bright brown eyes. Their long thick shafts were throbbing in full erection and their balls had been banded to insure prominent display in their hefted, close to the body position. Their skin was silky smooth.

"Nice," Mr. Hughes said as he hefted their swollen ballsacs and stroked their long circumcised shafts. "You claiming these boys are milked twice a day and still show like this?"

"Yep, milked less than three hours ago, Mr. Hughes. They're still young, you know, and regular milking actually seems to enhance their semen production rather than just drain them. Works that way in a cow, you know. You'd get a good load out of any one of them if you milked them now, I'd bet. Blacks tend to be good producers as well as hot all the time," he laughed.

"Mr. Hughes owns a slave bred at some facility here in the Caribbean, Enrico, that specializes in breeding slaves to order. These boys would make good breeding studs, I bet."

"Among other things, John. But once they're properly trained, I imagine they'd turn into mighty fine bed bucks for some lucky owner, male or female."

The three slaves were interested but humiliated they were being discussed as if they weren't even there. The conversation reminded them once again they were viewed as nothing more than owned property now - no different than the horses and cows routinely sold in their home villages, although they doubted that those horses and cows would have their bodies so thoroughly exploited as they probably would by their new owner.

"Where do you get boys this black?" Mr. Hughes asked out of curiosity.

"They're native to the island. Undiluted slave stock dating back to the mid 1800s, probably brought over from the Sudan or Mauritania - one of the northern African groups - as you can see, they're not Negroid. Sort of unusual to get stock not mongrelized one way or another. And I got them already neatly circumcised so I imagine they're from some Arabic background - they circumcise boys the minute they're born. My guess is they were sold to some slavers right in their home villages by their parents who needed the money to survive - slavers frequently visit villages in the midst of famine because they know families will part with what's marketable if they're starving and there are always too many mouths to feed. Those sold that way make good slaves. They know their sale has saved their families - sort of a heroic sacrifice, you might say - and they know they'll never see their families again - so they never make an attempt to change their destiny. They also soon realize they're going to get some food and a job to do as a slave - more than they can expect at home where they know they're just a burden. It's getting more and more common since the U.S. companies starting moving out and there's no employment and no money to buy food with. It's about all we've got to sell anymore," he sighed. "The slavers I buy from always seem to have a fresh batch ready."

We moved down the line, but other than skin color and physique size, all of the stock up for sale seemed well built, muscular, young, reasonably good looking, and in good health. Most were very well endowed, although a few appeared to be just average. Some were strikingly handsome, some were exceptionally well hung, some were almost feminine they were so pretty, and some sported massive physiques coated with layers of well-developed muscle. There seemed to be something for everyone. Most could not speak English, most were totally uneducated, and most had never been anywhere other than their home villages and a few holding pens here and there as they awaited sale. Most had been slaves before and were being resold; a few were raw recruits and faced considerable training before they would be of much worth to their owners; a few had been slaves so long they couldn't remember anything else; and a very few were bred slaves, having been born to parents already in servitude. Prices varied by age, sex, skin color, amount of training, time in slavery, musculature, and size and shape of their equipment. Young teen-age males who were well acclimated to slavery, had already had considerable training, were fairly muscular, were exceptionally good looking, and who were well hung brought top dollar regardless of skin color. Men in their twenties with the same characteristics cost a little less, with good looking willing-to-serve women coming in behind them. Males older and younger than the prime years brought in considerably less, but nothing as low as the ugly, poorly built, and poorly endowed who were worth little more than their transportation costs to a new work station.

"These are my best stock, Mr. Hughes," Enrico Suarez said as they continued through the building. "The other buildings are where I keep the other stock that I'm planning to ship down to the Brazilian markets as soon as I get a full truck load. I don't make as much per head on that stock, but there's so much more of it, I suppose that's my cash cow. Actually, that's the biggest market anyway - few people can afford stock like this. But a lot of people can afford just an ordinary looking slave who has a lot of work potential in his bones. These boys here are really "exotics" when it comes to mass marketing," as we stopped in front of a pen containing a tall, beautiful blond with blue eyes and shiny tan skin glistening with a light coat of sweat.

The blond's massive well-shaped organ was sticking out between the bars in full arousal.

"This boy doesn't look like he came from around here," Mr. Payne said as he reached down and stroked the dripping shaft. "Where's he from, anyway?"

"Well, Ricky Martin doesn't look Puerto Rican either, does he?" Mr. Suarez joked. "Actually, this boy looks a lot like Ricky Martin, doesn't he? But he is a Latino, Mr. Payne, believe it or not. He's from Martinique and was owned by a French planter there who fathered him off one of his slave girls. He sells all his progeny when they reach an age to bring top dollar on the market. By that time, he's got them pretty well trained. He's one of my most expensive items because he's almost fully trained as is, and he sure is a beauty, isn't he? Only problem is - he only understands French so far, but a new owner could get him conversant in short order I would think. He's so pretty, I doubt if an owner would be buying him to talk to anyway."

The boy's shaft began to quiver in Mr. Payne's hand as he continued his stroking.

"Watch it or the boy's going to shoot all over you," Mr. Suarez warned.

"Could I try him out, Enrico," Mr. Payne said as he ran his hand's over the boy's muscular chest. "A blond could prove interesting after all those dark haired brutes you sold me."

"Sure, John," Mr. Suarez said as he opened the cage door and pulled the boy out by his rampant shaft. "How do you want him? On his back or on all fours?"

"I'll like to check out his mouth first, Enrico."

"On your knees, boy, with your mouth open," the slavemaster ordered as he hooked a leash to his neck collar and handled it to Mr. Payne who was hauling his own organ out through an open fly.

The boy swallowed Mr. Payne's shaft in one quick gulp clear down to its roots and began massaging the embedded organ with his well trained throat muscles.

"Well, little doubt the boy's experienced in that area," Mr. Hughes said as he noticed the boy neither gagged nor choked on the rather large object well down his throat. "I wonder if his ass is as well trained?"

"We'll soon see," Mr. Payne said as he quickly withdrew his prick from the eager throat and, pushing the boy back on his back, raised his legs up over his shoulders and rammed the huge organ up next to the boy's exposed hole. "Has the boy been lubed, Enrico?" he asked.

"Of course, all our boy's are lubed every morning as part of the routine whether it'll ever be put to use or not. Gets them use to it."

Without further ado, Mr. Payne rammed his organ completely up the boy's chute in one long forceful stroke until his pubic hair was scratching the boy's ass cheeks. The blond boy gasped, shuffled his hips around slightly to accommodate the invader, and moaned in pleasure as Mr. Payne began steadily pumping into him. Within minutes, it was obvious he was working his ass muscles around the invading shaft, adding to his user's pleasure immeasurably. The blond's own organ, trapped between the two bodies, was leaking pre-cum profusely and soon was shooting masses of hot cum on both parties stomachs as the blond gasped and sighed with each ejaculation. His own eruption didn't interrupt his own ass muscles working on the shaft inside him, however, and, other than the sudden wetness between them, Mr. Payne noticed no decrease in ardor or interest on the boy's part. Nor did the boy's prick ever soften. When Mr. Payne bucked heavily and shot into the boy load after load, the boy beneath him squeezed his ass muscles as tight as he could so his user would extract the last ounce of pleasure from the orgasm. In essence, he milked his user of the last drops and Mr. Payne appreciated this professional added touch as he eventually withdrew his shaft from the boy, completely drained and satisfied.

As soon as his shaft was free from his chute, the blond boy began to lick his own cum off his user's stomach and then completely cleaned his user's shaft before beginning to clean his own body of cum.

"Thank you, master," the blond boy said humbly as he resumed a kneeling position. "How may I serve you next?"

"How much, Enrico?" Mr. Payne gasped out. "How much?"

"Isn't he fabulous, Mr. Payne? Completely trained as you just saw for yourself, and by his own father no less. Ah! The French."

"How much?" Mr. Payne said as he buttoned himself back up and slowly stood up, his knees rather weak in the process.

"Well, as I warned you, he's my most expensive stock, John," Mr. Suarez replied. "I paid dearly for him."

"I don't doubt it and worth every penny. But, I repeat, how much? And, remember, before you answer, the market is limited for a boy of this quality. There aren't too many people you know who could afford such a boy. You run a chance of getting stuck with over-priced goods, my friend."

"I'd thought of that, John. It's the risk you take when you get into goods of such high caliber. So I'll make it so reasonable you can't refuse," he smiled.

"And make a huge profit to boot, I wager," Mr. Payne smiled back. "How much?"

"In view of the fact you're such a good customer, I'll let you have the boy for $180,000 US. He'd cost you at least $250,000 to $300,000 in Toronto or New York and he'd even bring $210,000 in the Mexico City market I'd wager, just because he's blond if nothing else. No telling what I could get for him over in the Persian Gulf or in Africa - probably at least $500,000. They love blonds you know and will pay anything to get them, especially trained boys like this one that aren't going to give them any trouble."

"Sold, Enrico. I'll take him home with me today if you'll get his ass cleaned out and relubed."

"I love doing business with you, John. You're so....how do I say it....to the point and decisive. We'll have him cleaned out and polished for the trip home with minutes. Cash or check - we even take credit cards now," he smiled.

"Good - I'll put him on VISA," Mr. Payne smiled. "That way I won't have to pay for him until my next royalty check comes in."

"VISA it is, John," Mr. Sanchez smiled. "I was hoping that would prove to be more convenient for my customers. Actually, I was hoping they're spend a little more with the convenience."

"They probably will, Enrico. Probably end up buying two instead of one with all your Latin conveniences," he laughed.

"See anything that interests you so far, Mr. Hughes?" Enrico turned to Mr. Payne's companion. "Remember, you can try any of the stock out that you want."

"You've good some decent stock, Mr. Sanchez, and your prices seem to be about right, if that blond boy you just sold John is any example, but your wares are so limited you really don't compete with the big houses at all. As you seem to be aware, you can never ask the prices they demand for similar quality goods, just because they stock most anything anyone could want. The biggest problem though, Mr. Sanchez, is the lack of training. Hardly any major buyer these days buys untrained stock - its just too much trouble and you never know how the training is going to turn out. Most of the big houses nowadays fully train the stock long before it's ever put on the market and some of them are even guaranteeing their products - some for 90 days, some for 6 months, one of my sources is extending the warranty up to a year on certain stock where they've done all the training themselves or where they're dealing primarily in bred slaves who've been trained since birth. With your stock here, I don't think you could ever ask more than about 50% of the price for a fully guaranteed trained slave of similar qualifications. Judging your price on the blond, I assume you know all that already, but remember that blond is about as trained as they get around here."

"I appreciate your candor, Mr. Hughes. It's obvious you know the market well and I'm grateful you're willing to share your knowledge so openly. I know the limitations of my tiny operation here and am well aware my hope for survival is to offer some potentially quality stock at bargain basement prices. There's not much I can do about the variety of stock unless I can broaden my sources and that seems most unlikely in this desolate location. Nevertheless, so far I'm making a decent living at it and my reputation is growing."

"And it will continue to grow with such an honest, open attitude. I'll try to swing some business down to you, but it'll take a while. My business associates are a most cautious lot and it takes them considerable time to make a major change. But Sheik Amani, in Muscat, will be interested in you as a source of material ready to be trained, I'm sure. His agents are always on the lookout for fresh stock at good prices and they don't care whether any one trained them or not - they do all the training themselves so they can guarantee all their stock. But, they're mighty expensive," Mr. Hughes laughed. "I'll make sure he hears about you! He could turn this operation upside down - I imagine he buys 1500 to a 3000 head a year from all over the world."

Mr. Sanchez flushed in excitement. "I'd be so grateful, Mr. Hughes. Isn't there anything I can do for you in exchange?"

"Well, maybe. I was thinking about getting my faithful business manager a birthday gift he'd really enjoy. He's never had the wherewithall to buy a slave for himself and probably never will - he's always had to use some of mine which he's most welcome to, of course. But I think he would really be thrilled to actually own a slaveboy that belonged just to him. He's got a thing for blacks and those boys up by the front door would be a real turn-on for him - well built, heavy hung, good looking, and black but not Negroid in their features. He'd love one of them as his own personal bed buck and if anyone could train a slaveboy, it would be him. He manages my own stock and keeps those boys right in line all the time, no matter what they're asked to do, and he gets more work out of them than anyone could imagine. Most of my stock is worked 18 hours a day - half in hard labor around the estate to keep their bodies in perfect shape; half in servicing my biggest customers as one of the perks of doing business with me. Thanks to his management, I never have a bit of trouble with them year and year. He really deserves a slave of his own to play around with. How about selling me one of those blacks as a surprise birthday gift?

"A wonderful idea, Mr. Hughes, and I'll give you a price only a person of your experience could appreciate. Which one did you want?"

"Let's look them over and I'll decide," Mr. Hughes said as all three men walked back to the three black's pens. All three were still standing with their legs widespread and their genitals poking through the bars. They were obviously excited that the three men were returning to their pens.

"I like the looks of the one in the middle cage best," Mr. Hughes said.

Mr. Sanchez unlocked the cage and, grabbing his shaft, pulled him out into the aisle. "You want him stripped down, Mr. Hughes?" he asked as he began to loosen the belt that held the dildo and genital ring in place.

"All but his collar," Mr. Hughes said as he watched the long, thick dildo, coated with grease, being tugged out of the boy's ass as the slave grunted and groaned. The chain connected to his genital ring quickly turned into a leash handed to Mr. Hughes.

"He's yours, Mr. Hughes. He's fairly well trained - at least enough to do anything you want."

"I'd like to see how he handles being fucked, Mr. Sanchez, since I know Bruce would use a slave often in that capacity. The other thing we better check out is his sucking abilties - Bruce is big into that too and he's had some of the best at his disposal. If he's had that monstrous dildo up him for several weeks, as I suspect, I doubt if he's going to object much to being fucked by anything short of a Mack truck. I just hope he's not stretched all out of shape."

"He's still tight, Mr. Hughes," Mr Sanchez said as he stuck one finger up the greased hole. "See for yourself. It's just that the dildo gets them use to being fucked."

Mr. Hughes stuck his middle finger as far up the boy's hole as he could reach and wiggled it around a bit. "Yes, he's still tight enough to fuck well."

"Go ahead and try him out. Or would you like a bit of privacy? I'm afraid we don't have much of that around here."

"I'm not much in the mood right now. Could we have another slave fuck him? All I want to see is how he handles it and whether he enjoys it or not."

"No problem, Mr. Hughes." Mr. Sanchez quickly opened the door of a pen containing another one of the black boys and hauled the slave out into the aisle but made no attempt to remove his waist band holding the huge dildo and his genital ring in place. "Will this one do?"

"Fine," Mr. Hughes said as he looked the chiseled body of the new black over, his well developed pectorals sporting huge ringed tits, as erect as his large shaft quivering in excitement. "Have him fuck the boy doggie style. He can probably get it in further that way."

"On your hands and knees, #630, for a through fucking. And you, #629, you heard the master, boy. Fuck!" Mr. Sanchez barked as his riding crop slashed over #629's butt.

Quickly, the first slave was on his hands and knees with his legs wide spread and his butt poking toward the sky. As soon as he was positioned, the other slave was entering him and shoving his shaft up its full length before he started a rhythmic pistoning. Both slaves were smiling - the slave on bottom twisted his hips as he groaned in absolute pleasure as the rod pumping him massaged his prostate. The slave on top was steadily increasing the tempo as he felt an orgasm rising to the surface. Their daily milkings had made them almost forget how enjoyable real sex could be and they wanted to take full advantage of this opportunity to cum of their own accord. Within minutes, both slaves were caught up in their orgasms - one was spurting a huge load up the ass of the slave beneath him - the other was spurting a sizable load into a large puddle beneath him.

As soon as the slaves were finished, Mr. Sanchez had the bottom slave lick up the mess he'd made on the concrete floor and then clean the prick of the slave fucking him. He then had the fucker clean out the bottom slave's ass so all the cum leaking out was sucked into his own mouth. He then led the fucking slave back into his pen and locked the door. The other slave was quickly refitted with his dildo and the harness holding it in place as well as have his genital ring reattached to the waist band.

"Would you like to try his mouth out before we recage him, Mr. Hughes?"

"Better," Mr. Hughes answered as he quickly unbuttoned and took his prick out. "On your knees, slave, and get that mouth busy on this prick."

The slave swallowed the prick in stages, massaging the shaft with his tongue carefully until the entire shaft was well down him and he felt his throat muscles spasm around the intruder. He remembered to run his tongue up and down the shaft while sucking for all he was worth and twisting his head around to rub the shaft against the contracting throat muscles while he bobbed his head back and forth on the shaft to increase the friction in his throat. Soon the slave felt the shaft swell even wider and gobs of cum shot into his throat and were quickly swallowed into his stomach. This master's cum had a somewhat salty, but fresh taste which he enjoyed and he was pleased he had gotten the master to unload so much in this one orgasm. Before he knew it, the shaft was being jerked out of his mouth and he found himself scrambling to clean the shaft thoroughly before he had to be commanded to do so.

"The boy's got a well trained mouth, Mr. Sanchez," Mr. Hughes said as he carefully placed his prick back in his pants and ruffled the slave's hair. "He's obviously had considerable practice."

"Both of them looked good to me," John Payne added. "I don't think you'd be making a mistake buying the boy," he counseled.

"I don't either, John," Mr. Hughes said. "Bruce will love him - first because he's black and willing; second, and most important, because he'll be all his - body and soul. It's always fun to own your very own slave. Remember, John, the first time you actually owned a slave of your own - quite a thrill wasn't it, knowing you can do anything you want with them. It beats anything I know."

"How much, Enrico?" Mr Hughes said.

"The boy's been in stock for some time. I'll let you have him for $80,000 - blacks aren't too popular anymore. Makes a nice reasonable birthday gift, don't you think?"

"Done, Enrico. I'll write you a check, but I want you to clean that boy inside and out, body shave him completely, get him out of his shackles and leg chains, get those wrist cuffs off of him, take that dildo and waist belt off of him, but leave his genital ring in place. I think Bruce will like that on him. It'll cause a little fuss at airport security, but I don't care if they strip search him - what the hell, a lot of people are wearing genitals rings these days. And keep his neck collar on - it's only leather and we'll pass it off as the latest fashion - besides, it will remind him he's owned property whether he's in Puerto Rico or the States. And package him in some loose clothing and some shoes - nothing fancy - he'll never need it after I get him back to my estate anyway. He'll be buck naked from that moment on if I know Bruce. You wouldn't happen to have a big bow around here, would you? It would be fun to wrap that around him when I give him to Bruce."

"Can do everything but the bow, Mr. Hughes. But I think you can buy that right in the San Juan airport at the florist shop."

"Enrico, do exactly the same to my boy but we can skip the birthday bow. But leave his wrist bands on him. I might need to shackle him after I get him in the car for the trip home from the airport."

"Could we look in the other warehouses before we leave, Enrico, while you're getting the slaves ready for shipment? We don't have to leave for another hour or so."

"Help yourself. I'm sorry I can take you around myself, but I really do need to get these boys ready," Mr. Suarez answered as he tossed them the keys.

John can explain it all to me, Enrico," Mr. Hughes said as he and his friend left for some of the back buildings.

The next building wasn't nearly as clean or well ventilated and the many odors emanating were unpleasant. Like the first building, it primarily consisted of small individual pens, but these pens were stacked on top of each other three fold so that the building held at least 300. The smell of sweat and urine was overpowering. Toward the back was a large open area with shackles and chains fixed into the wall itself. Hanging from the wall were dozens of slaves in various stages of punishment. Most had been whipped raw, others had been burnt with branding irons and electric prods, still others were impaled on huge rough wooden phalluses set into the floor, their feet chained in place so they couldn't move off the phalluses deep within them. About a dozen "slave trainers" were busily moving the slaves from their cages into the punishment area, their whips constantly lashing out at the bare flesh they were "training," while "trustee slaves" placed a foul smelling soup in bowls attached to the side of each cage and filled the water bowls with a brackish water dripping with worms. Everywhere you could hear moans of real pain, the look of acute suffering, and the smell of blood, sweat, semen, urine and shit. The place reeked of misery and the slaves chained within must have thought they were in Hell itself.

"It takes some time in a place like this to learn you're now a slave," John Payne explained.

"It's absolutely necessary if you ask me, John. How else is a slave to learn his place in the world and begin to appreciate all a master does for them? How long are they kept in here?"

"Depends on their background. If they're new to slavery, they're here until depression takes over and they start to waste away. That's generally when they're broken and can be properly trained. A person can only take so much pain and suffering and, when they just give up, they're broken and you can start seriously training them. About three or four months on the average, I think. Of course, if they've been broken to slavery before or were born into it, this stage is really unnecessary and you can get right on with serious slave training."

Sheik Amani, a slave trainer I know in Oman, takes his time. He spends all the way from one month to a year before he feels a slave is ready for auction. About a month for a slave born into it or who is being resold - up to a year for a person from a proud, arrogant background that emphasizes personal freedom and decision making - you know, like former lawyers and other professionals. But he claims they all break eventually if you know what you're doing - it's just when!"

"I've never had a slave that openly rebelled or tried to take his freedom back. Have you, John?"

"Never, and I hope I don't either. I keep a firm hand on them all the time - Sheik Amani says it's essential to keep a slave in line. You know, frequent beatings, short rations, extra chores - that sort of thing. It reminds them who's in charge at all times. And he claims you've got to keep them collared, ringed, and naked all the time. Reminds them they're slaves. Absolutely essential, he claims and I believe him. Claims the only time a slave is returned to him for retraining is when the master has been too soft and lax with the slave or has dressed the slave up like a human. Bad business, he says, and leads to nothing but trouble."

"Sounds like this Sheik Amani really knows his stuff. I keep my slaves in a constant state of humiliation and shame - I think that keeps them in line as much as anything. Of course, fucking them regularly, whipping them for the slightest hesitation in carrying out your orders, and keeping them chronically hungry and naked also helps. It serves as a constant reminder that you're their master and they're nothing but owned property."

"Well, this is where it all starts," Mr. Payne waved his hand around the stinking room amid the screams of terror and pain, along with the constant moans of suffering, shame, and humiliation that seemed to emanate from all corners.

"What's in the other buildings, John?"

"Mainly warehousing of stock for the Brazilian markets - stuff that won't sell here along with those too unattractive to be anything but just raw labor. They're kept healthy, but are all under constant heavy discipline. Makes them more marketable when they do get shipped out. But one of the buildings is just set up for pure punishment. It's where Enrico sends those that rebel or talk back or try to run away. They really get disciplined if you know what I mean. It's so bad they never try any of that stuff again. I've never seen the place, but Enrico says I wouldn't like what I would see - he says he doesn't even like to go there himself in that it practically makes him sick every time - but it works well so he's not going to change anything. He says he found some sadistic brute in San Juan that runs it for him - claims he gets his jollies that way so he really enjoys his work, so much so Enrico pays him next to nothing. But Enrico says he never has trouble again after a slave is sent there. You might keep the place in mind if you ever have a real problem."

"Might be good to have my slave stock tour the place," Mr. Hughes smiled. "Sounds like they'd really appreciate my ownership after that."

"Not a bad idea, John," Mr. Payne laughed. "Of course, those Latinos you saw at the party had done just that since I bought them here. Maybe that's why I've never had a bit of trouble out of any of them, no matter what I ask them to do."

It was nearing 4 PM and the two men returned to the main building, picked up their new purchases, now fully clothed, and headed for the landing spot just as the helicopter showed up on the horizon.

"Four going back?" was all the pilot said as he picked up his load.

Sure enough, the genital rings set off the airport security alarm and both of the slaves had to be examined in a private room where their leather neck collars, the wrist bracelets welded on Mr. Payne's slave, and the genital bands on both of them were briefly noted and then the two were passed on with a few weird looks from the rent-a-cops doing the inspection. At the Miami airport, Mr. Payne led his blonde slave over to the plane to San Francisco while Bruce picked me up in the limousine.

As we parted, I said, "John, if you ever want to sell your new blond, let me know. I'll give you 300 grand for him."

"Used?" Mr. Payne shot back. "That's more than I paid, as you know."

"Yes, but your training of the boy will only enhance his value."

Mr. Payne thought a while as he reached over and ran his hand through his new slave's hair."Well, it will probably be a little while, but I just might take you up on that offer."

"I thought you might. I get the impression you turn over slaves pretty fast in your house."

"Well, I do like fresh meat, Mr. Hughes. This boy here's going to get a lot of use over the next few weeks - he's a great fuck as you saw for yourself - but eventually I'll tire of him and sell him off - it might as well be to you. And I'll turn quite a profit with your generous offer!"

"When I saw the slave shoot off so profusely when you were fucking him, I knew he was a natural for our operation at the estate. That boy actually likes to be fucked and all those customers I need to entertain would keep him mighty busy I imagine. They always seem to like blondes, anyway. And, John, the boy's a real beauty whether you realize it or not."

"Oh, I realize it - it's one of the things that really turns me on with him. But just because they're a sight to behold doesn't mean they know how to take a fuck - this boy does and seems to enjoy it in the process."

"Well, he's worth $300 grand to me."

"Tell you what, John. I'll 'train' him for a few months, which is a nice way of saying I plan to fuck him near to death, and then give you first option on him. But he may not be worth all that money when he's been fucked that hard."

"Fair enough, John. And don't worry about fucking him senseless. A boy like this thrives on heavy usage."

The slave being discussed felt his prick swell in excitement. Not only was he apparently worth a lot of money which practically guaranteed a good life as a slave, but his new owner planned to use him on a regular basis. Compared to living in the dismal warehouse where his only sex life was being milked twice a day, he thought of how fortunate he was and tears welled in his eyes.

Mr. Payne noticed his obvious erection as well as the tears in his eyes. "Don't you want to get sold, boy, or are you worried about being fucked so hard?"

"I'm just so happy you bought me master," the slave replied as tears began to spill down his cheeks. "And if you want to sell me to the new master, that's fine too, master. You can do anything you want with your new property, master. You fuck me all you want, master, and if you get tired of me, you can sell me to someone else, master. I'm yours now to do with what you want."

"See why I like this new slave, John. He likes to get fucked, he's grateful to be owned, and he wants to be sold when the time comes. What more could a master want?" he laughed as he reached over and squeezed the slaves tits through his loose shirt.

"Exactly why I want to be his next owner, John," Mr. Hughes replied as he reached over and grabbed the blond slave's genitals, squeezing them tightly since no one was nearby.

"Whose this?" Bruce asked as I shoved the black slave into the front seat with him.

"Your birthday present, Bruce," I replied as casually as I could. "Enjoy!"

"You're kidding. You remembered my birthday, Mr. Hughes?"

"Certainly, and here's my present," I said, handling a small chain leash to Bruce. "He's all yours, body and soul. You can do with him any thing you want. But, Bruce, he has the potential to be the best bed buck you've ever seen - even better than all those loan slaves I given you all these years. You can still borrow all the damn slaves you want, Bruce, but I thought you would really enjoy having one all your own."

Tears spilled down Bruce's cheeks as the enormity of my gift finally took hold. "Mr. Hughes, it's too much..... It's far too much.... I don't deserve this......... Oh,God, you're right, Mr. Hughes, it's what I always wanted - I've always wanted a slave of my own.. And a black boy too..... It's just too much.... I'm so excited I don't think I can even drive..........Oh, thank you, Mr. Hughes, thank you.....I can never repay you........"

"I'll drive. You get in the back with your new slaveboy, Bruce. You're far too excited to face Miami traffic right now. By the time we get home, I want to see that black slave buck naked and well used."

Bruce smiled as he grabbed his new possession and got in the back of the limo as I suggested. As I drove out of the airport lot, I saw the slave's clothes being ripped off and his prominent nipples reaching up to Bruce's mouth. Yes, a perfect birthday present.

DELTA DISCOUNTS:

"John, Sheik Amani here, calling from Muscat," the strong baritone voice was astonishingly clear considering the call was traveling over 6000 miles.

"Sheik Amani, it's great to hear your voice again," Mr. Hughes replied warmly. "I trust nothing's wrong."

"To the contrary, John. First, before I forget it, I really appreciated the invitation to your party in Miami. Sorry I had to send my regrets but I knew you'd understand - that was the very weekend we were expecting several large shipments in from five different markets and I simply couldn't get away - over a 100 males and around 30 females within a 24 hours period - you can imagine the paperwork involved. It was so crowded around here at one point, we had over 50 of the poor bastards chained up sitting out in the blazing sun on the loading dock before we could figure out cage assignments for them. Praise Allah they still had their shipment clothes on or they would have been cooked meat by the time we got them all stripped, hosed down, and properly caged. Would have loved to have met some of those authors you invited and, of course, I've always wanted to see all those DELTA products earning their keep in Florida. They still working out OK, John? Remember, they're all..."

"Guaranteed," Mr. Hughes finished the sentence for him, laughing. "Yes, Sheik Amani, all those DELTA products here in Miami are performing faultlessly to date, although the party almost did some of them in."

"You need more stock, John?" the Sheik anxiously responded. "I can get some fresh meat over there fast enough."

"No, No, Sheik," John laughed again. "A full day's uninterrupted sleep, some antiseptic cream up their raw, overworked assholes, and no one stuffing their throats or pinching their tits for a day or so, and they're all as good as new. The party went on for 18 hours before everyone started to leave - that's a lot of action - even for my boys. But we all had a great time."

"Except for the slaves," Sheik Amani chuckled.

"Well, that's why we bought them, Sheik, and they seem to know it by now," John laughed. "But it took them almost three days to get everything cleaned up and put back in place after the party - kept them plenty busy while those beautiful bodies were healing."

"Sorry I missed it. John, you always manage to make me proud of DELTA training. It's always good to hear our efforts here are paying off down the line."

"Indeed they are, Sheik. A lot of the guests were very impressed with the stock here and were most curious as where I was able to purchase such well trained beauties since they quickly figured out they were way beyond hired hustlers or slaves available in the markets they normally visited. I never told them about DELTA itself, Sheik, in that I know you like to keep your operation discrete, but I did tell them 'my international agency' was very selective in listing stock, was extremely expensive but worth every penny, that the stock wasn't put up for sale until it was completely trained, and that 'the agency' was so sure of their training that they guaranteed the finished product! I also mentioned that what they saw at the party was premium goods, even for this particular agency."

"Well done, John. Properly mysterious, totally discrete, and yet you're our best advertising," Sheik Amani said affectionately. I feel I owe you a free boy or two just for the testimonials."

"You'd be impressed, Sheik, with some of the stock the guests brought along with them despite all your experience in the field. I know I was. Some interesting exceptionally handsome black boys beautifully trained, a set of absolutely stunning identical twins, a large team of young muscle-boy Latinos so carefully matched you would have sworn they were cloned and whip trained to perfection, and some huge dog slaves from the Balkans, precisely trained to act exactly like the slaves mentioned in a fictional book - you know, 'To Serve Two Masters' - and a pair of extremely narrow-waisted Roman Gladiators, one white and one black identical in all but skin color, who had been fear trained with a special welded-on helmet featuring direct stimulation of the pain centers of the brain. They shivered in raw terror whenever you even touched them, but were more than compliant in fulfilling every wish. Fascinating. Their owner had three teams out on hire and was buying up for five more teams to train. Claimed they had earned their purchase price back in less than a year, even deducting for the cost of food, body fittings, and training."

"I'm surprised you ever let the guests leave intact, John. You should have invited them to stay the season and put their stock to work for you. I take it some of those authors put their vivid imaginations to work when it comes to purchasing and training their slaves."

"There wasn't a fantasy left that hadn't been turned into reality during that party," John said proudly. "My own slaves had their eyes opened."

"Good. That's what slaves are for, John, among other things. Most of DELTA's customers don't buy stock just to clean out the toilets and keep the lawn mowed, you know. I suppose that's what a lot of slaves end up doing, but DELTA slaves are expected to do so much more - like fulfilling the fantasies of their owners. Good training assures the purchaser that the slave can cut sugar cane all day without complaint and then act out prescribed fantasies all night without fault. It's all in the training."

"You and your training, Sheik," John chided. "Bruce, my business manager and you would get along fine. He's the one responsible for making sure your damn DELTA OWNER'S MANUAL is rigidly adhered to here at the estate - the punishments every night before being caged, the semen-flavored liquid breakfast, the servicing quotas, the production schedules, the measured amounts of slave chow - the whole package. Anyway, Bruce claims the training is great but is only as good as its maintenance every single day. Every slave here is punished every day for the least bit of hesitancy, the slightest error in anticipating a master's wishes, the tiniest lack of constant enthusiasm and appreciation for their assigned chores, even the most trifling lack of cleanliness or constant humble politeness expressed around the clock. All leads to the whip, hunger, thirst, lack of sleep, or extra chores. It never stops with Bruce running things - never - he's relentless with the slaves."

"You've got a great man, there, John. I hope you properly appreciate all he does for you. He's the main reason you never have a bit of trouble and are so totally satisfied with DELTA products year after year. Even DELTA training wears off eventually unless it's constantly reinforced. Bruce is your mainstay, John, and a real treasure."

"He'll be real pleased to hear you approve of him, Sheik," John said seriously. "He thinks you're the greatest when it comes to selection and training. And, Sheik, I do in appreciate him. I even bought him a birthday present last week - a slave of his very own!"

"Yes, I heard," the Sheik responded. "A frisky young black boy."

"How could you have heard about that?" Mr. Hughes said, flabbergasted. "I only bought him last week and he cost me next to nothing."

"First, you were kind enough to call last week after you got back from Puerto Rico and tip me off about the great buys at that obscure little market you ran across. Well, I had my agents check it out and in doing so, heard all about you buying that black Latino for a mere $80,000 and your friend from San Francisco buying a bargain basement blond Chicano who, they told me, was a mighty handsome boy. I didn't know until this minute that you had bought the slaveboy as a gift for your business manager. That was one of the reasons I was calling you - worried that you were dissatisfied with us somehow and were switching to a new source for your staff."

"You are phenomenal, my good friend. First off, you're 6000 miles away and you know about a minor little purchase I made in the middle of a jungle within 48 hours and, you rascal, you even found out how much I paid for that pretty little piece of pure black muscle. Well, the boy's half trained at best, but, despite that, he's a gorgeous piece of fresh meat that seems eager to please - on the surface at least - and I wasn't worried about the lack of training with Bruce, the Gestapo Master, in charge. Bruce will finish up his training in short order if anyone could. And, my friend, Bruce was tickled to death to get a slave of his own - he'd never have enough to buy even a worn out ugly slave in the Brazilian markets with a 4' dick , let alone a pretty heavy hung compliant boy like that one who seemed reasonably resigned to his fate. I didn't think to mention it to you. My friend, Mr. Travis and I both bought a slave. Mr. Travis is the author who showed up at the party with that team of muscular Latino studs that looked like they were cloned - and well trained to boot. He had bought most of that team down at that dinky little market over a period of time, and the blond boy he bought there last week was real promising - looked exactly like Ricky Martin, the rock star that's such a fad in the United States these days - the blonde took a fuck like a real pro and seemed to love sucking. He's a real looker, too. I told Mr. Travis I wanted first option on him when he decides to sell him because he'd be a natural for working at the estate here - my customers would keep that ass of his hot."

"Well, I guess I shouldn't worry too much. The black boy sounds like an incredible bargain at $80,000, especially since he's just a birthday gift anyway, and the blonde sounds like something we might want to buy.

"But let's get back to why I was calling you to start with. I wanted to thank you for tipping me off about that little Puerto Rican market. My agents liked the set-up there. They said a lot of the stock was acquired from families with too many children to fed and had sold their excess to slavers to get a little cash in hand, or were unwanted orphans no one wanted to feed so few if anyone would ever be trying to trace their disappearance. Others that were kidnaped for the market by professional slave hunters either had no family or were social nuisances anyway, so people would either not notice their sudden absence, or, if they did, would be glad they were gone. Some from the lower Caribbean islands were offspring of slaves who were harvested for market when they reached full growth. Bred slaves, as you know, John, are really trained since birth to be good slaves and the only training needed is in performing special acts that would enhance their marketability. The others, well, the training needs would vary, but generally, with backgrounds like I described, they tend to accept their new status as slaves relatively quickly and simply try to adjust to the demands placed upon them as bought property with a minimum of pain. My agents also told me the slave master there had already done most of the culling - the one's up for sale were generally young, muscular, healthy, well hung, docile, and eager to be sold - eager enough to realize their bodily charms were about all they had to offer a potential buyer so they didn't fuss around much about being sexually exploited - they understood that was a slave's lot in life by the time they were put up for sale. Overall, John, good material for our training program here at DELTA. My agents bought up over 80 top quality males on that first visit and they're being shipped over on a special chartered flight as we speak. I've got you to thank for this new contact. Within a year, we'll have those Latino boys available fully trained and guaranteed. It's exciting - my first serious venture into Latino slave stock. I hope they're not duds as potential sexual playthings."

"I doubt it, Sheik Amani. My business associate claims his black boy is the best thing he's ever seen in bed and Lord knows he's bedded down enough of my stock to be able to compare. And Mr. Travis told me while we were down shopping that the team of beautiful Latino studs he brought to my party had never disappointed him or any of his guests. Of course, Aaron Travis had them whip trained and used it unsparingly when I saw him with that team. When he ordered them to fuck each other, he meant right now, and when one hesitated just a second, that whip of his was tearing up his back and ass in short order. But Aaron did add he only used the whip in training them to service other men - they took to servicing women, no matter how demanding the mistress, without any prodding whatsoever - part of their culture, he claimed."

"I'll keep that in mind when we start their training, John. Thanks for the tip. The other reason for calling you, over and above thanking you for the Latino slave source, was to see how the blonde's working out that I loaned you a month or so ago. Any problems?"

"Hardly, Sheik. The boy's a natural for our operation here just as you surmised. Not only is he a hard, willing worker in loading and unloading the trucks down in the shipment area of our business, but he seems to delight in being sexually used by our clients every night. I haven't had a complaint yet on his whoring duties, as Bruce puts it. He'll do anything asked of him and seems to want to please the customers every time. He's mighty popular with that well- built body of his, his blonde hair, as well as his totally subservient attitude of wanting to please at all times, but he's holding up to customer usage fine. I'm not shipping him back, Sheik, regardless of the outrageous price I'm sure you intend to charge me."

"Have you used the boy yourself yet, John?" the Sheik inquired.

"Of course. I found him delightful: well trained, great attitude, and always interested in pleasing. Doesn't hold anything back. You ask him to suck - it's halfway down his throat and being massaged before you know it's even there. You ask to fuck him - he's got his hole so open, his ass practically guides you in for a good working over. Always erect, but never shoots off without permission, and his voice-training is superb."

"I'm going to give you a real deal if you're sincere in wanting to buy him."

"Sincere isn't the word, Sheik. Adamant is more appropriate."

"He'd normally cost at least a million as I'm sure you're aware. But, John, I'm only going to charge you $500,000 for the boy. It's my way of thanking you for all the business you given me over the years, but especially for giving me the lead on the Puerto Rican market. I'm going to make a very healthy profit on those Latinos after they're trained. I got them dirt cheap, as I'm sure you suspected. As cheap as you bought that birthday present for your business manager."

"Sheik Amani, you don't have to give me any discount at all. The blonde slave's worth every penny of the $1 million he'd bring at venue and I'm more than glad to pay it. You and I both know I'll get my money's worth out of him right here at the estate, let alone what I could sell him for if he didn't work out exactly right. I don't expect a thing for tipping you off about the bargains to be had in that dismal rusty old jungle warehouse. I just hope those boys are fully trainable."

"No, John, my dear and long-time friend. I won't pay one bit of attention to you on this one. The boy's yours if you'll have him for $500,000, billed to your account tonight with no arguments out of you. I'll send the ownership papers, bill of sale, etc., over Fed Ex."

"Sheik Amani, I simply can't let you do this - it's just too generous and I'm not due a thing. I simply wanted your agents to check the place out and see if you could take advantage of the situation. That's the least I could have done after the many, many favors you've done me over the years."

"John, shut up, get that blonde slave we're talking about in your bed, and fuck the boy half to death to seal the deal. I'm running the charge through tonight, getting those ownership papers made out as I'm thinking of you screwing the boy into oblivion, and that's it. No further discussion on the matter."

"Well, thanks," John muttered. "And, Sheik, I might as well confess. The blonde's been between my legs long before I picked up the phone. I was about ready to order him onto his back just as soon as I hung up, long before you suggested it!"

"Well, John, that's fine. But, while we're confessing. I've had the best looking Greek boy you've ever seen kneeling before me for about an hour while I've been playing with his big tits and throbbing shaft that's at least 10 inches long and smooth as a baby's skin. The Greek slave can't hold it much longer, so if I don't hang up I'm going to get showered and I wanted to fuck the boy on his hands and knees while he's still all hot and bothered."

"Bye, Sheik," John sighed as he grabbed the blonde's head and jammed it to the root of his organ.

"Bye, John," Sheik Amani said, almost wheezing as he climbed onto the Greek slave's back.

John reached down to the blonde slave's neck and twisted the welded on collar until the name plate listing him as a DELTA loaner was clearly visible while the boy continued attempting to swallow the entire length of the prick forced well down his throat without gagging or choking in the process.

Holding onto the collar with one hand and running his hand through the boy's thick shock of blond hair with the other, he announced, "I just bought you, boy, from DELTA - lock, stock, and barrel. You're all mine now to do with as I please."

"Yes, master," the slaveboy mumbled around the huge shaft impaling his throat.

"I'll need to label you, slave," he said almost to himself as the boy sucked with renewed fervor and used his well-trained throat muscles to massage the shaft within him. "Did you have a name before?" he asked, forgetting the boy could hardly answer at the moment.

"620, Master," the boy whispered, gasping for air before plunging back on the dripping shaft.

"That's a DELTA label, boy. Before that, before you were shipped to DELTA?" Mr. Hughes persisted.

"I think they called me Jack, Master, but I can't really remember. I think they called me Jack, Master," the boy hurried the response, gasping for air before again returning to swallowing the entire length of Mr. Hughes shaft.

"Well maybe, maybe not. At any rate, that's a stupid name, boy. About as imaginative as 620." Mr. Hughes felt the cum rising within him once again and jammed the boy's head to his crotch. "I think I'll label you......label you....... augh.........oh........." as he erupted down the slave's throat in a quick succession of spasms. The slave's throat busily struggled to swallow the load as fast as it was delivered so the hot cum wouldn't drip out of his mouth and down his chin - a sure sign of poor training and almost certain severe punishment.

"'WILLING,'" Mr. Hughes finished the sentence. I've named some of my property for characteristics, like EAGER or PLEASURE or STUD; some for where they came from, like INDIA or WACO or MIAMI; some for their main assignments, like CAR 7 or DRIVER 2; and some I just kept their original slave label, like CAGE 14. But you're going to be labeled WILLING because you always have been and you're always going to be now that I own you - or you're sure as hell wish you had of been," Mr. Hughes laughed as he slowly withdrew his prick out of the slave's mouth and signaled for the slave to clean it with his tongue.

"Thank you, master," the slave said as soon as he had cleaned his master's shaft, "for letting me service you," he finished in a sincere humble tone of utter servility. "And thank you for labeling me, Master," he added with a note of genuine gratefulness in his voice. Risking going to far in view of his rigid voice-training, he ventured, "I'll always be more than willing to do anything you ask of me, of course, master."

"Damn right you will, boy, or you'll find yourself back in DELTA's training pens so fast you won't know what happened."

"Yes, master," the slave quickly responded with a look of fear in his eyes.

"WILLING," Mr. Hughes said, "kneel up here close to my left hand where I can play with your tits while I write out the work order for your new collar tag. They'll weld in on when you've finished cleansing yourself before caging tonight." As he squeezed and pinched the swollen tits placed in his hand, he scribbled out the work order with his right hand.

"New tag on slave's collar. 'WILLING - property of Hughes Corporation, Miami, Florida. Please call 1-800-777-5511 for double sales price if lost or stolen.' There," he said with satisfaction as the boy groaned in pain from the vigorous tit kneading he was receiving, "that makes sure you always stay right here, no matter what. You're worth twice as much being returned to me as you are right now. You're not going anywhere, boy, unless I decide to sell you myself."

"Yes, master," the slaveboy said as he thrust his erect nipples deeper into his master's kneading fist as a symbolic gesture of his total ownership. His own prick was throbbing and dripping precum from all the stimulation, but he knew he wouldn't be allowed to unload unless it would please his master for some reason and that seemed most unlikely now. So far, Mr. Hughes had always wanted him with balls swollen from chronic need.

PONY - THE GREEK SLAVE SOLD INTO SLAVERY:

The Greek slave settled into being fucked by this strange new master, Sheik Amani, in a foreign land called Oman and let his thoughts stray to the most recent events in his life. Only yesterday, he had been caged and shipped in a small cargo plane to this incredibly hot land, wherever it was, along with six others similarly caged. Since they hadn't been gagged, once the plane took off the caged men were free to talk among themselves. PONY, as the Greek slave's last owner had named him, quickly ascertained that the others, like himself, were slaves, were Greek, had been slaves for at least a year now, were all trained in Greece and owned by Greek masters up to this point, and all were under 20. Due to the arrangement of the cages, he couldn't see all of them, but the two others he could view were, like himself, totally naked, so all aspects of their bodies could be inspected. They were handsome, muscular, uncut, well hung, and looked so much like him they could have been his twin. For some reason, he strongly suspected the other three were just as similar.

PONY remembered clearly when the Macedonian army squadron had swept across his parent's small farm located near the Greek-Macedonian border about three years ago, when he was just 15. His parents had been quickly shot as they tried valiantly to defend their property and children as had his unmarried brother and sister that were well into their 30s., but the five remaining children, aged 21, 19, 18, 16, and 15, were carefully spared, quickly chained to prevent escape, and locked in the back of a large trailer truck which seemed to be following the squadron that particular night. Struggling for all they were worth as the soldiers quickly overpowered them and fastened their restraints, they resorted to biting, spitting and swearing at their captors until they were gagged and watched in horror as a Macedonian army medic punctured the closest leg of each one of them with a huge needle and quickly injected all of the syringe's contents. Within minutes, their struggles ceased - they were out cold.

When the brothers awoke hours later, they found themselves swaying back and forth in the interior of a large truck. They, along with many others, had their arms bound together by a chain with that chain thrown over a long rod running down both sides of the truck forcing two long lines of bodies, their arms suspended from the rod all the way from the front to the very back of the long trailer. Their legs, similarly shackled, were in constant tension as they tried to balance the swaying bodies above them as the truck lumbered down the road. There must have been 100 captives in the truck, maybe 150, all moaning from the pain in the muscles of their upturned arms, the fatigue of standing on a swaying floor for so long, and the stench of their body wastes running down their legs and swishing around their feet on the floor of the truck. Some were shouting in rage and defiance, some were groaning from fatigue and pain, and some were crying in utter despair and uncertainty now that their parents and family were dead. They knew they were prisoners of the Macedonians, but what that would lead to no one knew. In their anguish of the moment, no one noticed they were all between 14 and 25 years old so they didn't question at this time where the other captives were.

Seven more hours elapsed before the nightmarish trip was over. Only occasionally did the truck ever stop, but then only briefly. At those times, they could faintly hear shouted commands passing between soldiers and drivers. No one ever opened the door, offered them any water, let alone food, and there was no relief from having to piss and shit in your pants. Some men were chained right next to women captives and since the truck's movements caused frequent bodily contact, salient erections were tenting out the front of pants from time to time, despite the horrid conditions, and embarrassing those afflicted as if their bodies were betraying them in some way.

At last the truck stopped, the rear door were unlocked and swung open. The sunlight streaming in blinded the men whose pupils were dilated from the total darkness inside and they had great difficulty focusing as their captors released the overhead rods that had forced their chained arms upwards. As their arms fell behind them, the chains between the two wrist bracelets still holding them together, their biceps were paralyzed from being in one position for so long and, as the blood seeped into their arms, the pain was almost unbearable as feeling slowly returned.

"Alright, you Greek sons-of-bitches, off the truck and form a line down here," a Macedonian officer yelled as he pointed with his gun to a place in front of him. A few of those near the back of the truck jumped down and promptly fell on their faces in the rough gravel due to their leg chains. A whip lashed out across their backs lacerating the backs of their shirts and cutting into the flesh underneath in one stroke.

"Awh........awh..," the men screamed as they struggled to their feet to escape the whip.

"Hurry up, you Greek bastards," the officer said calmly, indicating with his finger that the soldier holding the whip should continue. "Ugh...awh...," the men screamed again as the whip lashed into their backs a second time, turning their shirts into fragments.

The whip had its effect. The truck emptied itself quickly as man after man jumped from the back of the truck, stumbled into the course gravel, and tried desperately to get to his feet and into the desired line before the whip found his back. Few were quick enough, and the soldier wielding the whip was covered with sweat by the time the truck was completely emptied. Most of the captives had been lashed at least once and consequently most of their shirts were now in tatters, exposing some whose backs were not only bruised but bleeding. Despite their shame, many were crying from pain, anguish, sorrow, grief, injustice, and uncertainty - at this stage it seemed you didn't haft to have a reason.

When the line was formed, the officer and the surrounding soldiers held their noses at the prisoner's stench and laughed at their soiled pants and torn shirts.

"You are all captives of war. None of you have living parents and most of you, unless they are on this truck with you, have no living family at this point. So no one will be coming to rescue you or trying to pay ransom for your return. The Macedonian government will officially report you to the Greek government as having died in captivity. We make it a policy to kill all older Greeks, such as your parents and older brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, and leave the hungry mouths of small children for the Greeks to feed. The only Greeks we bother capturing are those between the ages 15 and 30 - the ones we report as having 'died in captivity.'"

There was a loud murmur of speculation, remorse, and outrage among the captives with this information, although they all realized their parents had been killed.

"Quiet, you bastards," the officer nodded again to the solider. The whip immediately slashed into the backs of a few captives. The only sound after that was the anguished groans of those freshly whipped.

"The reason you're all officially dead now is so we're not responsible for you under the Geneva Articles of War. We have no intention of feeding our enemies, let me assure you. We can ill afford any coddled maintenance of POW's. To the contrary, you will earn us considerable money as any war booty should. You'll be happy to know we will clean you up, feed you well to keep your health up, and give you an opportunity to sleep. After that, you'll be cleaned again inside and out, given a light snack, and sent to auction."

Most of the prisoners looked relieved that they were somehow to be fed and bathed, but the word auction mystified them and their relief turned to puzzlement. The captain waited until his words had sunk in with all the captives and questions formed in everyone's face.

"Yes, auction, Greek slaves. You are property of the Macedonian government, just like a horse or cow back in your home village, and, as property, will be sold to the highest bidder who will do with you as he or she wills. You'll be slaves the rest of your lives and it will be much to your advantage to present yourself well on the auction block. The higher the price you bring, the better treatment you can expect in that you will be considered valuable stock. Remember back in your villages - the more a horse cost, the better care you took of that horse. Well, the same thing is true of a slave - the more he or she cost, the more their master or mistress will make sure they're fed properly, stay in good health, and are protected from the elements and overwork. Those bringing a low price can expect treatment given a cur dog - starvation, illness, and worked to an early death. It's up to you - which you do want? Bring a good price and you might live a long and useful life. Present yourself poorly - let them know you'll be rebellious and obstinate - and I guarantee you chronic hunger, constantly being chained in close confinement, and a whip always caressing your backside so pain is your constant companion. It's up to you, slaves!" With another nod of his head, the soldier with the whip lashed out at a couple more of the captives to emphasize the officer's main points and the resulting agonizing screams of raw pain did seem to have that effect. A shocked silence fell over the assembled captives as they struggled to assimilate the information.

"Slaves?" one of the captives finally mumbled. "No one has slaves anymore. That's impossible."

The whip tore into his rump, cutting his soiled pants in the process. He screamed in startled torment.

"People certainly do own slaves today as you'll find out very quickly," the officer smiled, "and you will discover for yourselves how very possible it is. Tomorrow by this time, you'll be owned, body and soul, by a new master or mistress who will have paid good money for you and will expect nothing less than total satisfaction with the many services you will provide them with no trouble, no complaints, no rebellion, no defiance." The officer smiled again as he reflected. "We will allow you a little resentment, perhaps, from time to time, quickly corrected with the whip or starvation rations, because life isn't fair. No, it's not fair at all. You're going to give up all will to a master and do their bidding the rest of your life because it is your destiny as a slave. Others will enjoy the fruits of your unceasing labor and the delights of your body because they had the money to buy you, which is their destiny. As your own philosopher, Aristotle, pointed out: some are born to be slaves; some are born to be masters. As of this moment, you were born to be slaves."

Without another word, he nodded to his whip master, who cracked the whip over our heads and we were marched to a large warehouse about 500 yards down the road. With the omnipresent whip, we were formed into a new "processing" line, manned by muscular naked men with iron collars welded around their neck, bands welded around both biceps as well as around their scrotum and the base of their penis , and who remained absolutely mute as they looked us over.

First, they cut all our clothes off with a few strategic cuts of their scissors. It was obvious they had done this for a long time and knew exactly how to strip us in short order. Our tattered clothes, falling to the floor beneath us, were scooped up and thrown in a huge hamper. This technique meant our arm and leg restraints didn't have to be removed. Suddenly, we were as naked as the men with the scissors and our faces turned a dark red in shame and humiliation, especially since about one-third of the captives were women, mixed right in with us. We weren't embarrassed by our nakedness per se. After all, most of us had at least seen others of our own sex nude on many occasions. But it was being forced to be naked in public, especially in front of the women captives, that got to us. Most of the women and a good number of the men looked like they would die of shame right on the spot. They tried their best to cover themselves from view by the opposite sex with their shackled hands, but those hands were roughly and quickly swept aside by the handlers.

Once stripped, we were shoved into another room where we were hosed down and then given a bar of soap. After soaping up the best we could with our shackles on, the processors came down the line and squirted shampoo in our hair and, with hand motions, indicated that we were to wash our hair. After this was done to their satisfaction, we were again hosed down and led one by one to a series of small cubicles.

In the first cubicle, we were given several shots - inoculations against disease they told us.

In the second nook, we were tightly strapped by our hands and feet to a rectangular frame until we couldn't move in any fashion. A processor then shaved our bodies completely - first the front, including every bit of pubic hair, and then on our backside, including the hair up our ass crack and any hair on our ball sac. I had never experienced anything like it. The feel of the razor scraping over my balls and around my tits had a sense of unreality to it tempered by raw fear as I watched the sharp razor moving swiftly around such delicate areas of my body. As I saw the hair sliding off on the razor head, I felt violated and strangely demasculinized somehow. The women captives looked even more shocked at this cosmetic touch for some reason.

It wasn't unless we were in the third cubicle that what they had done was driven home to me. It featured a huge mirror on three sides. All views of my totally shaved body was on full display. I looked like a young child again but with the equipment of a fully mature man, now totally displayed without the pubic hair to hide it. Already, I felt like an object more than a man in that I had been modified to meet the whim of someone else; my wishes had not been considered in the slightest. The women looked as naked as the men - their own organs now fully on display for all to see with not a shred of privacy allowed them in any way. Even my ass had been made baby smooth and the entrance to my anus was now as bare as my butt, no different than a child's. It was in that third cubicle that a tight metal collar was snapped around my neck and quickly welded shut, the sparks from the hot welding gun burning a few places on my shoulders, back and pectorals in the process. I noted the collar had a leash ring embedded in one side - no different than a dog's collar - and the thought that I was just an owned animal, no different than a horse or a pet dog, struck me like a blow from a whip. Again, it was just done - no one asked me about it - no one told me about it - it was just done as one would identify a piece of property or decorate an animal.

The fourth cubicle was the most degrading of all. Grabbing us by our newly installed collars, we were forced on our stomachs across a padded sawhorse and manacled by our arms and legs to the legs of the sawhorse. Positioned with our anus fully exposed, a metal tube coated with lubricant was forced well up our anus and I felt warm water gushing into my bowels. The processors forced our ass checks together tightly around the tube with their huge hands until our stomachs were fully extended and I felt like I would explode from the pressure. We were then released from our manacles and led to a hole in the floor, told to squat, and relief ourselves. The discharge was watery, extremely smelly, and utterly humiliating. The instant we had emptied our bowels in relief, we were jerked back to the sawhorse and reshackled. Again, we were submitted to the forced enema and again had to discharge at their command into the hole in the floor. A third enema produced a clear discharge which ended the nightmare. Nothing I had ever experienced was worse nor could I imagine any experience in the future to be worse than this. I felt totally debased and dehumanized.

I was naive in thinking the future could hold nothing more humiliating. The fifth cubicle again featured the saw horse with the shackles for my extended arms and legs. As the processor approached my restrained butt with the smoldering electric branding iron, I howled in anguish long before the crackling hot iron pressed into the firm flesh of my butt. Before I passed out from pain, I smelled the acrid smoke of burning human flesh. When I came to, the processor placed a mirror in front of me so I could view the results. In permanent burn scars, the Latin word "SERVI" was forever neatly engraved across my right butt. I didn't have to be told its translation: it universally meant "slave" in anyone's language. Some cool, healing antiseptic cream was gently smoothed across the burn before I was led to the sixth cubicle.

This station was called the "fitting cubicle." In it, all slaves were "fitted" with appropriated sized butt plugs which would "stretch" their anal tract properly. But for male slaves, a large protrusion also guaranteed their prostates were continually stimulated, thereby causing an almost continual erection as long as no relief was allowed. When slaves of both sexes left that booth, they felt like slaves. Nothing quite leads to feelings of total subjection like having an large object forced up your rear - it's like being constantly raped and there's nothing you can do about it. If the brand didn't establish the fact you were owned property, the phallus up your rear certainly did. The continual intrusion made you feel vanquished, totally subservient, and a mere plaything of others more powerful than yourself. For the male slaves, it was even worse. The constant erection began dripping precum after a short while and your were consumed with the need to ejaculate yet you couldn't unless your owner allowed it. There was never a meaner, more efficient device to turn a man into a slave, physically and psychologically. The processors struggled to force larger and larger phalluses up your channel until they were convinced the largest possible that wouldn't cause permanent damage was now in place, oblivious to the screams of outrage, anguish, and pain emanating from the bodies beneath them. When you had been "fitted," the phallus was locked in place by the clever little bulbous end which forced the anal sphincter to clamp around it and hold it in place. Despite the huge intrusion into the depths of your bowels, all that showed was a telltale totally humiliating ring at the opening. By grabbing the convenient ring, anybody could shove it in you even further; pump you as if you were being fucked by a huge stud; or pull it out with a loud plop and severe pain on the slave's part as his sphincter was stretched to the tearing point. After being fitted, each slave was released from his leg and arm shackles, told to stand upright, and marched into the holding pen at the end of the six cubicles. When first standing upright, most slaves "properly fitted" with the device felt they were torn in two; when ordered to walk, it was like they were being torn up inside from every angle as the huge phallus literally deeply fucked their ass with each step. Most slaves screamed in torment from this new assault on their body, let alone their dignity, but a ever ready whip, used frequently by the handlers to speed things up, forced them to stumble ahead and try to walk, despite being vigorously fucked with each step by the huge shaft forced within them. By the time the captives reached the holding pen, their insides felt paralyzed and they simply stood upright, numb from the pain while the tissues of their innards stretched and stretched and eventually adjusted to this new torment. But no matter how much a slave stretched and adjusted over the years, every time he changed position, every time he sat down, every time he even hunched down on his knees, he was reminded he was impaled with the device as a constant reminder he was no more than a mere object there at the disposal of his owner - a slave. Nothing was more humiliating, more subjecting than that ring sticking out of your butt hole.

Eventually all 100 or more slaves had been processed and the holding pen was full, each slave shackled with his arms held behind his back, properly collared, the brand on his right butt announcing to one and all he was now "servi," his organ erect and dripping, and his freshly shaved totally nude body featuring the humiliating ring sticking out of his butt denoting he was properly plugged and being stretched for his owner's usage. Most had no tears left and were simply comatose as their minds struggled to accommodate their new status. Most were beyond hunger and, although offered a light snack, most seemed unaware of the opportunity to alleviate their hunger. One by one they sank to the floor in exhaustion, wiggled their hips in an attempt to accommodate the huge phalluses within them, and fell into a deep slumber.

The officer in charge smiled. They were ready to auction. He'd seen it over and over - each cubicle had its effect. The end result was a marketable commodity!

It all seemed like a lifetime ago, the Greek slave mused as his thoughts strayed back to his present circumstances - being fucked by his new owner in this strange new land. By now a cushion of sweat was between his master's chest and his hairless back and he felt his new owner's nipples rubbing against his shoulder blades as well as felt his course pubic hairs gently scratching his ass with each inward thrust. The slave twisted his hips slightly to allow his user even deeper insertion and tightened his ass muscles around the invading shaft to gently massage it - techniques that had been drilled into him from months of training. An ecstatic sigh issued from his mouth before he softly muttered, "Thank you, master," as he'd been taught to do early in his training as a sex slave. His new owner continued fucking his new property, noting with satisfaction that the new slaveboy was not only exceptionally attractive but had obviously been well trained by previous owners.

The Greek slave settled back into his remembrances.

The next morning, the slaves were aroused, offered fresh water and some cheese and fruit and, with the aid of a cracking whip lashing deep into their flesh, once again shackled to the padded sawhorses, had their butt plugs removed so that new enemas could be administered, but, once flushed out clean, no new phalluses were inserted. The naked slaves were then marched, most slightly straggle-legged from their aching stretched butt holes, to the auction site. Their organs were remarkably still stiff and dripping, despite the current lack of prostate stimulation, probably because no relief from their prolonged stimulation had been allowed. Each was chained onto a small podium where he could be freely inspected by any potential buyer prior to the actual auction scheduled some three hours later.

If the Greek slaves thought their humiliation could not be worse, they were sadly mistaken. Over the next three hours, every opening in their body was fully explored, every muscle was prodded and massaged, every pore of their skin was carefully examined. Every potential buyer, it seemed, felt obligated to examine every tooth in their head while they patiently held their jaws stretched widely apart while the buyer rubbed his grubby fingers around in their mouth. Every toe and finger was examined as to flexibility along with explorations of all aspects of their neck, arm, chest, and leg muscles. The slightest hesitancy in cooperating with this thorough examination of their bodies led to a handler's ever present whip lashing across their backside until, after the first few buyers had examined your fully, your back and butt were red and bruised from the handler's delight in using any excuse to torment you with their whips.

The Greek slave reflected on his own experience. At first, he turned red with shame as an older man squeezed his arm and shoulder muscles before running his hand across his smoothly shaved beard and then ran his garlic-smelling fingers inside his mouth checking for missing teeth. He twitched as the man then ran his hand over his smooth well formed pectorals and then lingered over his paps, pinching and squeezing each nipple until they were fully swollen and erect. He looked at the man in alarm at such an intimacy with his body, but the man calmly reached up and jerked his head downward over the stiff slave collar.

"Untrained bastard," the buyer mumbled as he continued rubbing by swollen tits.

The slave handler, seeing this, lashed me across the butt with a painful blow of his knotted rawhide whip, reminding me rather matter-of-factly that slaves should always keep their eyes respectfully downward unless directed otherwise. I howled in pain from the blow but kept my position, knowing the whip would lash into me again if I moved in any way.

The buyer's hand then moved to my ballsac and hefted it up as if weighing the contents before encircling my swollen shaft with his other hand and then pumped the shaft swiftly while he roughly massaged my balls. I stiffened in shock and protest but dared not move in that I knew the whip would cut into my body the instant I resisted to this outrage in any way. Despite my utter humiliation and shame at being exhibited so wantonly in such a public place, my body betrayed me. My organ was fully erect and dripping within a minute or so. The prospective buyer rubbed his hand across slit at the end of my penis, squeezed the penis hard to extract the full amount of dripping juices, and, raising his hand to his mouth, tasted my output for himself. I moaned in utter shame.

But the worst was yet to come. The prospective buyer continued stroking me and asked the handler, "Can I sample his cum?"

"Not now," the handler said with no emotion. "We don't allow these slaves to be milked until they're auctioned off - keeps them upright and outstanding for the big sale," he laughed. "There's some slaveboys down in the holding pens not up for auction today you can jerk off if you want for a few coins - if fact, you can milk all of them if you want if you can afford it. But slaves up for auction today are to be kept fully loaded and dripping," he laughed again as he reached over and squeezed my balls for emphasis. "Lots of cum packed in these swollen balls," he commented as he too roughly massaged the ballsac. "Some of these slaveboys are going to make mighty fine bed bucks for some lucky mistress or master, that is, unless their new owner decides to geld them!" he laughed.

The buyer turned me around and pushed my back down until it was parallel with my knees, totally exposing my ass to him and everyone else. "Spread those legs," he ordered as he cupped one of my ass cheeks and felt the muscle. I struggled to spread my legs to the length of my manacles whereupon I felt his middle finger twisting its way up my greased asshole.

"Really tight," he commented as he withdrew and then inserted two fingers and began pumping them in and out of my chute as I turned bright red with renewed humiliation at this public shaming. "You can tell the butt plugs have already begun stretching him some, but he's still got a way to go before he'd take a fucking well."

"Well, if you bought him, you could stretch him all you want," the handler said. "But we limit the stretching to keep them good and tight. Most owners like to stretch them to their own specifications after they've been properly opened. That's all we do - just open them up for usage - after a few years, most of the slaveboys that are really good looking have the opposite problem - their holes are just as sloppy and loose as a whore's cunt," he laughed.

I began to drip steadily from the heavy prostate stimulation and precum was running down my leg as I groaned in humiliation. What could I expect if he bought me if he treated me so callously in public? I shuddered as I pondered my fate. At least this man was reasonably good looking. But anyone could buy him if they had the money. And do anything to him that met their whim and fancy - that's what slave's were for that weren't just bought to do heavy labor - in other words, slaves young, well built, and sexually attractive.

The next two and a half hours were more of the same. Buyer after buyer looked him over, stimulating him to the point where he thought he would surely shoot off, but the handler made sure they always stopped their fondling right before he got any relief. Some potential buyers were young and decent looking, some were old and ugly. Some were downright repulsive. All seemed interested in him as a source of their bodily pleasure - namely an object to fuck, to suck them off, to play with, to show off to friends in the most humiliating circumstances possible. Not one gave the impression they viewed him as anything but an animal up for sale - certainly not as a human being with a past history as a free person. Slavery had changed all that. And not one cared a whit about his feelings, his shame, his humiliation, his pain - he was just a piece of property to be used in whatever fashion they wanted. By the time of the auction, he was fatigued from posturing and holding his muscles tense; he was numb to any further humiliation or shame; his balls, nipples, and prick were sore and chaffed from all the handling and constant manipulation, and his asshole was red and sore from all those inquiring fingers twisting around inside him.

Suddenly a gong sounded and the auction began. By the time he was taken up to the auction block, he knew full well what to expect by witnessing the others being sold off before him. He had tried his best to harden himself for what he knew was going to occur, but nothing could fully prepare him for the actual sale. He, like the others, was led up to the block with a leash attached to his neck collar. His legs remained manacled together. His hands were closely shackled behind his neck to best display all aspects of his body. Right before being marched to the block, a handler had stroked him to full erection and massaged his balls until they were visibly swollen. Precum was steadily dripping from the end of his large, thick prick.

Upon mounting the block, the auctioneer flicked his whip around his body as he described each desirable feature. His well-muscled physique, his well developed arm, leg and shoulder muscles, his striking handsome face with its well-defined features, the large swollen tits topping each side of his massive pecs, the muscular butt so perfectly rounded just begging to be fucked, the thick black hair crowning his head, and the perfectly shaped prick just waiting to be played with - a long as a horse, so wide you couldn't get your hand fully around it - and the full ballsac constantly swollen with a full load of fresh cum whenever you wanted to milk the boy. He went on to point out the suburb abdominal muscles, the smooth skin of a boy half my age, my bright sparkling green eyes, and finally, reaching down and grabbing my sore prick - he squeezed it and milked a few drops of precum out for the audience. The audience paid rapt attention to this wanton display of my bodily charms and the bidding began even before the floor was opened by the auctioneer.

"Wait, my friends, wait," the auctioneer pleaded. "We haven't explored every aspect of the boy's charms yet," he laughed as he steadily pushed me down on all fours, jerked my neck leash up to best display my face. "Look again at that handsome face, those superb muscles, that smooth skin and those sparkling eyes. This piece of fresh young meat can be yours if you'll just loosen your purse," he laughed. "Imagine the pleasure this fresh young body will bring his fortunate buyer. Think of this beautiful body warming your own bed before the sun sets. Or perhaps you're a man of profit, a man of business. Think of the profits this boy will bring when you hire him out for the pleasure of others. Why, within months, a slave such as this will have earned his purchase price back many times over."

After giving the audience time to study my face, he quickly turned me half circle. "Now, look at the slave's ass. Have you ever seen such a smooth, rounded ass on a slaveboy before?" Taking his right foot, he pushed my shoulders to the ground forcing my ass up the air as then kicked my legs apart, exposing my hole to the audience. "This piece of fresh young meat can be bringing you unheralded pleasure the minute you start to fuck this splendid ass." Reaching over to a nearby stand, he grabbed a large black leather dildo by its long handle and quickly placed the dildo at my exposed opening. Turning to the audience, he asked "Can he take all of this? Shall we try him out for size?"

The audience laughed uproariously. "Jam it up him. Let's see what he can take. Give the slaveboy something to work on," and other comments rained down on the auctioneer who cocked his ear as if they hadn't shouted loud enough.

"Shall we?" he taunted the audience as he pressed the dildo firmly against my ass lips.

"Yes, yes, get on with it," rained back from the audience.

Without further ado, the auctioneer rammed the greased dildo up my ass as far as he could and then began twisting and screwing it in attempt to get more of the monstrous shaft up my chute. I screamed in pain as the huge leather shaft was jammed up until I thought I was surely tearing in half and my insides were rupturing. My legs went rigid, my back arched, and my ass muscles buckled in a convulsive twitch around the invading shaft as I futilely struggled to expel the massive intrusion. My throat opened in a silent scream as tears spelled down both my cheeks.

Still, the dildo was forced inch by inch up my shaft until I could stand it no longer and shrieked in agony as my ass muscles fought valiantly to accommodate the enormous dildo. Finally I felt the pressure stop and a vigorous pumping action begin as the shaft was rapidly withdrawn a few inches and then shoved back all the way, then withdrawn and again shoved to its base. I gasped audibly as the tears continued to flow.

"A natural if I ever saw one," the auctioneer shouted as he continued to pump the monstrous shaft in and out of me. "Of course, he needs considerable stretching yet, but for a virgin, he takes to being fucked like the natural whore slaves seem destined to be. After some experience, the boy will take to being fucked like a duck takes to water." Looking at the audience as he continued to pump the dildo in and out of the boy's stretched asshole, he quietly said, "Imagine your shaft where this dildo is now."

After giving the audience time to savor that thought, he slowly withdrew the huge shaft and jerked me upright by my neck leash, ordering me to face the audience with my hands grasping the back of my head so all aspects of my body where in full display. Lifting my partially erect shaft with one arm, he begin stroking me back to full erection right in front of everyone. "And ladies," he announced as he continued stroking me, "imagine this slaveboy in your bed pleasing you in every way you desire. This slave would make an excellent bedbuck for those lonely nights. He's built to please both men and women as you can see for yourself." Turning to a group of corporate buyers over to one side, he pointedly announced, "and those of you interested in slave breeding, this boy's a natural stud. Imagine watching his progeny reach the market in just a few years and the profits to be had. Why you could stud this boy with 200 wenches and he'd keep them all knocked up so every year you'd harvest a fresh crop of sturdy, good looking slaves with well formed muscles and all the handsome features this boy possesses. Think about studding this boy if you will. And you women buyers think of having this boy as your personal attendant and pleasure provider. You won't find much better at any other market!"

"Now, let's begin some serious bidding on this slavemeat." The bids went higher and higher as I stood there with my arms in back of my head, my prick in full erection waving in front of me still dripping some precum, and my tits swollen and red from their previous handling.

Young men and old, women of all ages, and several corporate buyers representing chains of brothels or slave breeding farms all tried to outdo each other in their open bids.

Finally, the auctioneer pointed to a women in the back of the audience and proudly announced:."Sold - to the esteemed Lady Diana." She was richly dressed and appeared to be in her early thirties.

A shudder ran through me!

PONY - THE GREEK SLAVE & LADY DIANA:

A slave handler grabbed my neck leash and roughly jerked me back to reality and the holding pens. It all happened so fast I didn't quite fathom I had actually been sold!

"This boy's been sold to a woman," my handler chuckled to one of his colleagues. "That big prick of his is going to be calloused by the end of the week," he snickered. "And those balls of his will be drained dry if she's like most women buying boys looking like this."

"Ah, you're just jealous," his colleague responded. "She either paid all that money to have him stud her whenever she wants like you say, or," he paused dramatically, "she'll geld him and he'll just be another pretty ornament in her boudoir - perfectly manageable, socially acceptable, and no risk of getting knocked up. Of course, the slaveboy going to lose his manhood in the process, but that's often a slave's lot when they're as good looking as he is. It's better to be ugly like us," he laughed, "and end up doing all the real work. At least, we get to keep our balls."

"Well, we'll soon know. Most buyers want them gelded here in the pens before they pick them up - saves them the bother of finding a cutter," the first handler answered.

"Does the lady want her purchase delivered to her estate or do you wish to take him now?" the slave dealer asked.

"I'll take him as now. I'm returning to my home in that the only reason for coming into town was to attend today's auction," she replied, looking the slave dealer straight in the eye. "Marcus, I want him cleaned again - inside and out - after all that handling during the auction and the inspection before. No telling what's been up that boy's ass by now," she commanded as her face took on a disgusted look.

"Yes, Lady," the dealer answered. "I don't know to what use you wanted to place your new property, but we can cut the boy right here in the pens before delivery if you want and install any control devices you may prefer as well as ownership labels of various types."

"Great Gods," Lady Diana shot back. "The slave's already branded with his status on his ass cheek and is fitted with a sturdy iron slave collar that looks secure. And I certainly didn't buy him to be made into an eunuch at this point in his life."

The conversation was taking place as if I wasn't even there, typical of owner's views of their slaves as mere property. And I knew slaves were never to say anything unless specially asked to do so. But the last bit of information was so good I had trouble containing my relief, but managed to just shuffle a little, remembering to keep my head down as much as my thick collar would allow. No matter what my fate was, at least for now I was to remain a whole man and not be made into some sexless half-being.

"No, of course not, Lady Diana. Some control devices then? Our metalsmith is right over there and highly skilled in these matters. A genital band? Nipple Rings? A different type of collar? A leather harness? All is available at a most reasonable price."

"Yes, yes, I know," Lady Diana said impatiently. "It's not like this is my first purchase you know. My estate is filled with slaves, many of them purchased right here. And any of those devices can be fitted at the estate readily enough - it's not like I don't own blacksmiths and leather workers myself. Why should I pay for your services? Just clean the boy as I indicated and put a standard sized leather plug in him for the trip to the estate. The plug will allow the boy to be stretched some even before we arrive. And each step," she chuckled, "will remind him of just what he is."

"The plug will be provided at no additional cost, my Lady," the dealer said, bowing his head slightly. "We rarely release a slave to an owner unplugged."

Macedonia had changed a great deal since the war with Greece had started over a decade ago. Never rich, the costs of the war had quickly decimated what few funds were available and the newly independent country looked desperately for new sources of revenue to counter the rapidly escalating debts owned international bankers who were, almost daily, demanding repayment. It was the Army that provided an answer. Unable to pay its troops and plagued with the costs of keeping ever increasing numbers of Greek prisoners, the generals took to "loaning" prisoners out to Army corpsmen whose families needed the labor to keep their farms going in the absence of the family member serving in the Army.

By the second year of the war, it was policy to "loan out" two prisoners of war to every family who had a person drafted into the Army, the "loans" to be utilized for hard labor and whatever else was necessary to maintain agricultural production. Within months, prisoners were being utilized in more and more applications beyond mere farmwork: road building, manufacturing of all types, maintenance work, and service industries - all without wages and without any civil rights whatsoever.

By the fourth year of the war, prisoners had become the main booty of war and the value of their labor was a major force in the economy, especially since the government took the position that any means possible to produce compliance to whatever was desired from those imprisoned was fully justified in view of the emergency.

By the fifth year, as more and more prisoners became available, their perception by the average Macedonian had dropped to less than human, and they began to be viewed as mere objects, reinforced by the government's position that they were without any legal rights whatsoever and were not entitled to any payment for their efforts. It was during that year, that those granted "prisoners" in lieu of pay began to think of themselves as "owners" of these prisoners and began to informally trade prisoners among themselves, often taking money in exchange for a person's work contract, or exchanging one prisoner for another.

By the seventh year of the war, the whole process was simplified. Prisoners were no longer viewed as prisoners of war by the Army. They were justified booty of war, declared legally dead by the government, and then sold as lifetime chattel "slaves" directly by the army to anyone willing to pay for them. Purchasers could do anything they wanted with their new property, including the right of life and death, as laws were enacted to treat these newly created slaves as nothing more than property of their owners, identical to any other form of livestock. It wasn't long after this that a network of slave dealers emerged, extensive slave markets were established, and slaves were classified and rigorously trained according to age, sex, musculature, health, appearance, trained skills, and various bodily features.

Macedonia changed as it quickly emerged into a slave society. While the average citizen benefitted from the availability of all the new labor and service, some of the most unskilled could not compete and languished. Therefore, the society became one of the "haves" who became quite wealthy from this new national resource and the "have-not's" who couldn't afford the initial costs of ownership. The middle class merchants and peasantry, long the mainstay of the country's social structure, simply disappeared and was replaced with a large wealthy upperclass of slave owners, members of the Macedonian Armed Forces, and a lower class relegated to the only jobs open to them: slave handlers, slave trainers, slave dealers, slave feeders, slave disciplinarians, and slave overseers and stewards. National debt was handled expeditiously by the Macedonia government - slave markets were opened to international buyers willing to risk the consequences of illegally owning a slave outside of Macedonia. These international markets proved to be an instant success. First, it was immediately obvious that there were literally thousands and thousands of non-Macedonians willing to pay exorbitant prices for the privilege of owning another human being with no strings attached. The illegality of slavery outside Macedonian borders seemed of little consequence to these buyers who generally operated in closed cartels of secrecy anyway, completely free from the prying eyes of their governments. Within weeks, national debts had been repaid with full interest and Macedonia quickly became known for its strong economy, a country that exported more than it imported despite the cost of the war, and a country with a growing national surplus.

As national wealth steadily increased, the rich upperclass became more and more ostentatious and public displays of affluence became more common, even crass. Since slaves were the most expensive things to own, slaves themselves became the public displays, especially slaves costing extravagant amounts on the open market - those exceedingly attractive, those possessing unusual but desirable features, those having nonpareil talents and skills, and those who were the absolute epitome of gender-appropriate sexuality.

First, private banquets featuring such slaves, kept fully naked at all times to best display their charms, became fashionable. After the initial shocked reaction to seeing slaves so wantonly displayed calmed down, this was gradually followed by more public displays: e.g. being accompanied by nude slave assistants while shopping; naked chauffeurs helping you in and out of your car; nude doormen at fashionable hotels; naked barmaids at fashionable nightclubs.

Within a couple of years, certain accouterments of the Old Roman Empire, a large and influential part of Macedonian history, began to make its appearance in almost all of the slave population, e.g., slave collars, genital rings, tit rings, slave harnesses, litters and slaves trained to carry them, wagons and personal carriages drawn by slave teams, slave arm and ankle bands, chained work crews for huge plantation farms and construction sites - all became common sites in the cities and countryside of Macedonia. Slaves surrounding their owners in public (such as litter bearers, ponyboys drawing carriages and wagons, personal valets, and dining room attendants, personal secretaries, hair dressers, etc.) were carefully selected to tell the world their owners could afford the very best of slave stock. Thus, men and women slaves in these positions were exceedingly handsome or beautiful, sexually highly attractive (usually possessing excessive sexual endowments prominently displayed), and thoroughly trained to total subservience. Such slaves often possessed additional skills such as a fine singing voice, superb memory for story telling, unusual athletic prowess suitable for public display such as wrestling, highly trained sexual prowess allowing all sorts of voyeuristic entertainment, or statuesque physiques held in display tension simply pleasant to gaze upon. As in Ancient Rome, all added immeasurably to their owner's prestige and respect - the more the better. Very wealthy persons owning hundreds of slaves were viewed as surreptitious nobles often given the spurious titles of "Sir" and "Lady" identical to Ancient Rome.

It was into this society, Greek prisoners of war found themselves as slaves.

After being completely flushed three times, I was scrubbed until my skin glowed and then had a ringed butt plug inserted well up my freshly lubricated chute by the two naked slaves who seemed to be in charge of slave maintenance in the holding pens. They were so skilled in their craft it seemed hopeless to resist in any fashion. The one time I failed to response to their commands as quickly as they would like, I was promptly and unceremoniously beaten with the short rawhide whips they seemed to always carry with them. After being thrashed just once, I just passively followed every order, even submitting to having the large butt plug jammed up me once again until the huge ball-like bubble at the end popped inside me. I knew from recent experience this would prevent me from expelling it from my ass until the handy extruding ring was strongly tugged on by a handler or my owner.

I was again leashed by my neck collar behind my new owner's litter, a conveyance I had read about in ancient history books but never expected to see in my lifetime. As the litter bearers picked up their pace along the wide berm of the road, I was forced to a fast trot to keep up and realized one misstep and I would be dragged by my neck collar, probably strangling in the process. The plug within me steadily churned my insides with each step, pounding my prostate, and twisting within the constricting channel. The phenomenon was exactly like my slave handler had described: you were being fucked by each step you took and it reminded you more than anything else than you were now nothing but a slave - an object to be fucked if your owner so desired, and apparently, that's exactly what my owner desired - with the plug forced in me, I fucked myself with every step and there was nothing I could do about it.

Despite my concentration in making sure I kept proper pace despite the constantly pounding plug, I couldn't help notice the litter bearers themselves. Carefully matched by height, weight, and physique, all four of them were smooth skinned, black haired, Greek like myself, hugely muscular, obviously body shaved, and, being totally naked like myself, every one had exceptionally massive genitals that were banded to insure full display, a feature fully appreciated and commented on loudly by the Macedonian people and visiting merchants in the cars and trucks passing alongside. They were also strikingly handsome. Judging from their exceptional musculature, I suspected they were worked hard as litter bearers. Judging from their manly beauty, I suspected they were also worked hard in various beds around the estate. Would I be put into similar service of one type or another, or maybe both?

It didn't take long to get an answer. Upon arrival, my leash was handed to my new owner and I was instructed to follow behind her. She led me immediately to her private quarters and dismissed all but her slave steward whose function, I assumed from his ready slavewhip, was to make sure I obeyed my new owner in all things. She jerked on my neck leash and pointed to the floor, indicating I should kneel before her. I quickly got on my hands and knees but she jerked my head up so I was now kneeling. The steward, without prompting, helped the lady out of her clothes and then himself knelt beside the bed, his head bowed. She lowered herself onto the soft cushions of the bed and pulled me by my leash steadily into the bed beside her. As I trembled not knowing what to expect, she blatantly explored every aspect of her new purchase - my body. She ran her hand through my hair, stoked my cheeks, inserted her fingers into my mouth and ran them around my tongue, suckled for a while on my swollen nipples, and then, indicating I should spread my legs, she cupped my balls and began gently massaging them until I moaned in frustration. Laying on my back, the plug steadily worked within me with each movement.

"Patience, slave," she commanded as she squeezed my balls tightly. "You must learn to never shoot until you are ordered to do so, no matter what I do to you - do you hear, slave? "

"Yes, mistress," I answered between clenched lips. "I'll try."

"You'll do more than try, slave," she threatened as she again squeezed my balls, this time so hard I cried out, "or we'll take you back to the slave pens and get these cut off."

I shuddered in raw fear and she seemed pleased with my reaction.

"Now roll over on your stomach. I want to explore your ass."

"Yes, mistress," I replied as I complied, again feeling the huge shaft move within me as I changed positions.

"I won't be taking this out of you today, slaveboy, in that no doubt you need some serious stretching yet, but at least I can pump you a bit with the dildo to see how you take a good fucking. I couldn't see your reactions too well when they fucked you with the phallus at the auction."

She began pumping the dildo in and out of me, each time pushing it in clear to the extruding ring, eliciting a moan from me each time it rubbed my prostate and more precum oozed out of me as my penis quivered in full erection.

"On your back, boy, with your legs spread wide," she said suddenly, releasing the dildo ring. "I'm going to test you out for size."

As I again turned over on my back and the dildo again wiggled around in my ass, I spread my legs wide as commanded while she mounted me, gently lowering herself onto my shaft while resting on her knees. Inch by inch I sunk into her cavity until she was fully devouring all of my shaft and her body's weight rested on my pubic bone. She began to slowly rock up and down on my shaft as she simulataneously twisted her body. The friction, warmth, and squeezing sensation was almost more than I could bear.

"Mistress, I'm going to shoot off," I pleaded.

"Not if you know what's good for you," she snapped as she slapped me so hard across the cheek I felt my jaw had been broken. "You'll not ejaculate until I give you permission to do so," she said with a steely authority, bringing her other hand smashing against my other cheek while continuing to ride my shaft up and down with her continuing body movements.

Fortunately, the sudden shock and pain of the severe blows alleviated the immediate problem although my shaft remained rigid and I felt control over the pending orgasm return.

"Yes, mistress," I responded and humped my hips upward to indicate I would cooperate fully with her desires.

"That's more like it, slave," she said as she gentlystroked the very reddened checks she had attacked just seconds before. "Keep humping like that, why should I do all the work after paying all that money for you?"

I did as she commanded and, with considerable concentration, was able to stave off any pending eruption as she enjoyed my humping upward in coordination with her own bodily movements of pumping my shaft. She reached down and squeezed and pinched my nipples until they too were fully erect and super sensitive.

"You have large nipples for a man - I like that," she commended as she continued to play with them. "We'll get them ringed soon so they show off nice and erect all the time."

After several minutes, her breathing became noticeably erratic, her pumping motions increased to a frantic pace, and she reached down and clasped my entire pectorals in a strong squeezing motion as she finally jammed herself down as hard as possible on my shaft, stiffened her back in an arch, and shuddered with an audible gasp, her face flushed and her skin slightly sweaty. I felt her vaginal muscles convulse around my shaft and it took every drop of control I had to prevent shooting off inside her. Such control made me hold my breath and stiffen as I fiercely fought my natural reflexes.

It took a minute for both of us to resume breathing and I thought she would quickly dismount. But she again began her pumping motions and after five more minutes we repeated the whole process. Again, I thought she would dismount, but, after a longer rest, she again began pumping me, but this time reached behind me and squeezed my ass muscles as she twisted away up and down on my shaft. Finally, she shuddered for a third time and I felt her juices pouring down between my legs over my ball sac. This time, I felt I could no longer contain myself, but saved myself by shifting all thoughts to the threat of being castrated and the horrible pain that would cause. This did prevent me from ejaculating but it also caused my prick to become slightly flaccid - a failure surely to be noticed and severely punished in a slave purchased for sex.

But my mistress was beyond noticing - she was exhausted with her last orgasm and was already crawling off of me while my shaft was still fully erect and quivering in need. She flung herself down beside me on her stomach and went promptly asleep. The slave steward rose from

his knees when all the activity ceased and, grabbing my neck leash, jerked me out of the bed and on my feet, my prick now again fully erect and dripping cum.

"Welcome to the villa, stud," he said pleasantly as he led me back to the cages slaves were kept in when not on duty. "As long as you can hump like that and control shooting off, she'll probably keep you around until she tires of you. You're sure a looker, I'll grant you that, and you sure as hell are equipped for your job," he added. "But there's always another good looking, well hung bastard for sale at the market who is more than willing to warm her bed and tote her around on his big sweaty shoulders, so don't think you'll be around too long. She'll sell you off when she tires of your pretty body. So enjoy it while you can." Without further comment, he led me back to the tiny cage and locked me in for the night. I was so tired I promptly fell asleep despite the cramped position forced upon me.

The next day, I was flushed, bathed, body shaved, fed and watered and then had a new fleshly lubricated butt plug inserted before being led by my leash to the staff in charge of training new slaves to carry the estate's many litters and to pull the estate's wagons and carriages.

"Ah, the new pony," the slave trainer said as he took my leash and looked me over carefully, strangely studying my teeth for some time and then, bending me over to pump the dildo in and out of me repeatedly as he studied my reactions. He then explained my duties on the litter: how to pick it up and set in down in a smooth coordinated fashion without risking a hernia, syncopating my movements with the other bearers at all times to deliver a smooth coordinated ride for the mistresses and masters, and listening for instructions on pace and direction. He said at first I would be short of breath a good deal of the time and would probably pant a lot - I would find this so difficult I would think I was going to die of a heart attack or lung collapse many times - but with time and experience, my lungs would expand and I would grow use to the demands placed upon me. Until then, a whip would probably be needed frequently to extract my full effort - so there would be considerable pain from the whip initially. But, as my skills increased, the whip would lessen so bear that in mind before foolishly howling in anguish. On the other hand, the only extra equipment you'll need is the mandatory genital band your owner wants all bearers fitted with - shows them off better in public, if you know what I mean. Hefts your equipment right up front and handy - but it also helps prevent hernias. It's a Godsend for litter bearers - you'll learn to like it once you get used to it. A 'bearer's best friend', I call it." Without further ado, he selected a wide genital band from a large array of such bands his slave attendant was holding and first squeezed one ball, then the other through as he worked it down over my shaft until it was tightly in place and my balls and shaft protruded out definitively from my body, making them appear much larger than they actually were.

"That's some impressive equipment you've got there," he said admiringly as he squeezed my balls and stoked my shaft, now so handy to his touch. "The banding makes them show off nicely. Your owners are going to like that."

I shuddered as I felt the tight ring separating my genitals from my body by a good inch or so, forcing them to protrude outward as if they were a separate appendage floating before me. The simple appliance changed my center of gravity and I swayed slightly as I adjusted to the alteration. I remembered what the litter bearers, similarly banded, looked like yesterday and tears came to my eyes in utter shame. Just when I thought I couldn't be further humiliated. I never felt more like a slave than now with my manliness, once considered totally private and surely mine, fully and blatantly publically displayed simply by my owner's whim. I openly wept as I looked down and saw the obscene display.

"What are you crying about, slave? It's just a little genital ring after all. Seems like more and slaves are being fitted with them these days, not just the litter bearers where it makes some sense in preventing hernia. Of course, I suppose owner's what to show their boys off," he laughed. "It's being a pony that takes some getting used to," he added sagaciously. "You've got all the demands of coordination, exertion, breathing, exhaustion, and following commands of the litter bearer, but in addition you have to get used to the harness, bit and dildo-driver."

A slave attendant brought in the many fittings as he spoke. First, a wide leather belt was buckled around my waist with thin nylon straps looping down between by legs and attached to the ring extruding from my ass plug. This strap seemed to have a small pulley device attached to it somehow. Then a leather harness was very tightly buckled around my shoulders and across my chest and back, crisscrossing right below my pectorals. This had the effect of 'lifting" the pecs up much like a woman's brassiere and gave great definition to the muscular development of my chest and back. Then a plastic helmet went over my head, locked to my neck collar. This helmet had a soft plastic bit which was fitted between my teeth and then strapped tightly to the back of the helmet so it too, like the helmet, couldn't be removed. Fastened to the side of helmet were a pair of directional leashes which would lead to the carriage itself alongside a third leash which was fastened to the small pulley on the belt around me which in turn led to the ring of my ass plug. Anyone pulling on this third leash could drive the plug further up me; releasing on it allowed the plug to retract a bit.

The assistant quickly fitted me with these devices as if he'd done it a hundred times and before I knew it, I was completely harnessed and stood there in an absolute daze. I had never even thought of humans being harnessed like draft animals; to realize you were now in this category was beyond comprehension.

"How does this feel?" the handler asked as he jerked on the leash leading to the pulley on my belt and kept a steady tension on the leash..

"Uh, Uh, Augh!" I moaned as I felt the butt plug plunge ever deeper into my bowels while my back arched and my legs buckled until I was standing on my toes. The pain of the deep insertion brought tears to my eyes. I felt paralyzed in shock.

"Get's your attention, doesn't it?" he chuckled as he released the tension on the leash and I felt the huge phallus within me move out a few inches. "That's how we signal you to go faster - he more pressure, the faster you go. Less pressure and it means slow down - it's that simple. You'll learn to respond just like we want soon enough. There's no arguing with a well- fitted dildo-driver," he chuckled again. "You learn real quick to respond; otherwise the dildo- driver will just split you in half," he laughed as he again jerked on the leash to emphasize his point as I gasped at the sudden pain.

"The other two leashes just tell you where to go. If your helmet's pulled to the left, you go left; pulled to the right, you go right. Doesn't take much learning to do that, does it?" he smirked as he pulled my head right and then left with the leashes as I just stood there in utter shock. "The harder we pull, the more you turn one direction or the other. Understand, slave?"

"Yes, master," I muttered, trying to control my sobbing.

Shortly after that, another slave, similarly fitted, had his shoulder harness fastened to the left crossbar jutting out from the wagon's tongue while I was similarly fastened to the right crossbar. I couldn't help but notice the massive shoulder, chest and leg muscles of the other slave.

"Now we'll let you practice a little with 'Horse' here whose been in service for several years now. Just follow his lead and you'll learn your new duties soon enough."

Without another word, he picked up the leashes controlling the two of us and jumped up to the wagon's seat, complete with a handy 'driving' whip.

"Giddiup," he ordered with a smart crack of the whip over my butt.

The two of us lunged ahead, pulling the wagon behind us. I was surprised how easy it was not realizing what a difference bicycle tires made in rolling friction, especially coupled with a lightweight aluminum wagon specifically designed to be pulled by two slaves only. My partner reached a slow trot and then kept the pace so I did the same, trying to breathe steadily despite my tension. I felt the huge dildo working inside my chute as my ass muscles churned around it.

Suddenly, I felt the dildo plunging further up me and, without urging, increased my pace as I noticed my partner did also. Both of us simultaneously gasped at the sudden thrust up our assholes so I assumed you never really got used to the hideous control device.

"Faster, slaves," the driver said as the dildo-driver pushed deeper and deeper within me until I thought I would surely split in half. I heard my partner gasp again, but both of us picked up our pace until we were gasping for breath. The wagon was darting down the road behind us at a remarkable pace.

"Slower," the driver said as I felt some relief in my ass as the dildo-driver receded a little. We both slowed down accordingly, drawing in deep breathes whenever possible to restore our regular breathing.

"Now right," he said as I felt my head jerked to the right. "And now left," as my head was jerked in the opposite direction. "Stop," he said suddenly and I felt the bit in my mouth pulling back against the sides of my lips painfully until both of us had come to a rest, our chest heaving as our leg muscles quivered from the violent forced exercise.

"Well, that's basically it. Even slaves can get the hang of it in a few minutes. It's endurance that counts when you're a pony slave, not intelligence!" he laughed.

He took us for a couple more loops involving the basic commands of faster, slower, right, left and stop. By the third loop, I was exhausted and every muscle in my body ached. My lungs felt like they were on fire and I was sure my ass was split open and bleeding profusely. The seasoned slave beside me seemed much more relaxed and accepting of the situation, although I couldn't communicate with him in any way due to the bits in our mouths.

An attendant was waiting to unlock and remove our helmets, then unstrapped our harnesses and belts, and finally unhooked the plug from the ingenious little pulley that caused us so much agony. The helmet had been hot and left my hair plastered to my skull with sweat; the harness left marked impressions on my chest and back, and the belt around my waist had chaffed my skin in a few places as the pressure was applied by the leash. The butt plug was removed temporarily.

"No damage," the attendant announced as he examined the plug and then the insides of my ass for blood. The plug in the slave beside me was left in place but he was allowed to stretch his legs a bit as they examined me.

"Good," the slave trainer said. "He's a natural, looks like. Besides, the master may want to use him tonight - can't have him torn up with that ahead of him," he laughed as the attendant jammed the butt fully within me again.

While I pondered what that meant - I didn't even know I had a master - I thought I had a mistress - the slave beside me and myself were led over to a waiting litter where two other slaves stood in readiness. I, like the other slaves, were ordered to kneel in position at the four extremes of the litter beams and had our collars chained to the beams themselves with only a foot or so of chain.

"You stumble or fall, slave, and you'll break your own neck," he warned as he climbed into the litter and then ordered us to lift the litter together with a crack of his whip over the shoulder of the lead slave to his front right.

"Forward, right leg first, slow pace," he ordered with a crack of the whip over my shoulders this time since I was to his front left. The litter was heavy and bit into my shoulder but I concentrated on keeping in step with the others for fear of falling which, chained like I was, could in fact break my neck and, if not, would at least lead to a certain painful beating. I noted the other litter bearers' backs and butts bore considerable scars - the kind of scars that come from open wounds only severe beatings with steel-tipped whips or barbed wire produce.

"Medium pace," he ordered and the lead slave led us to a fairly slow trot instead of just walking.

"Fast pace," came another order and the lead slave led us into a fast trot that quickly became agonizing as I struggled for more and more air. Yet I dared not slow down. Surely, I thought, this is as close to hell as a living mortal can get.

"Medium pace," the trainer announced followed almost immediately by "stop and kneel." By carefully watching every movement of the lead slave, I could do this within the harmony of the litter team and never stumbled. As I knelt in the dust, my chest heaved as a struggled to fill my starved lungs with air. My agony was so complete, I completely forgot the ever-present dildo pressing up my asschute, my ringed genitals thrusting obscenely out between my legs for one and all to admire, and the sweat running in salty riverlets down my face, back and chest. It was a tremendous relief just to have the weight of the litter off my shoulders.

"We'll take a few more runs to make sure you feel comfortable on the poles," the trainer laughed and he again cracked his whip over my shoulders and ordered us to "rise and stand," then immediately commanded a fast pace, a quick stop, an immediate medium pace, another stop and kneel, and then a prolonged slow pace. At one point, he just had us stand in place with the litter on our shoulders and he scooted back and forth on the litter itself to get us used to shifting weight within the litter and then had us kneel while two attendant crowded into the litter with him and then ordered us to 'forward at slow pace." The load was unbelievable with only the four bearers and I thought surely my back would give out as we struggled to lift the huge load without stumbling, but lift it we did and somehow managed to reach the commanded slow pace as the poles bit deeper and deeper into our shoulders while our leg muscles ached from the strain. At last we were ordered to halt and kneel, all of us audibly groaning from burning lungs and aching muscles.

"Quiet," the trainer shouted as he slashed all of with his whip. "Litter bearers are to be silent at all times," he reminded us with another painful arch across our backs.

Looking at me kneeling in the dirt with my head lowered as far as the slave collar would permit, he allowed, "Not back for a beginner. You'll get used to it quick enough, especially with my whip to motivate you now and then," he laughed.

The attendants unchained us from the litter and, leading us by leashes hooked to our collars, led us back to our cages in the slave quarters.

"Is it always like this here?" I asked the slave in the cage next to me, the 'lead' litter bearer on my latest excursion. He appeared to be Greek like myself, exceedingly handsome, and the epitome of manhood in both physique, musculature, and equipment.

"Pretty much, boy," he answered without emotion.

"How long have you been here?" I asked.

"Several years, I think."

"Do you ever get used to it?" I pleaded.

"Sure - after a while you don't think at all - you just do what they say and try to avoid getting whipped and short rationed as much as possible. Generally they feed you well enough and every once in a while, if you don't mess up, they'll throw a cute girl or boy in your cage so you can get your rocks off. It's not too bad, I guess. Believe me, we're relatively well off for slaves - just pray you don't get sold. I've been around a while and know that things can always be a lot worse when you're nothing but a slave," he stated philosophically. "Now go to sleep and stop bothering me - you'll soon learn to rest up every chance you get."

With a grunt, he crunched up and promptly went to sleep within the confines of his

cage. I wasn't allowed such luxury.

"Slaveboy," one of the handlers, himself a slave, addressed me as he unlocked my cage door and snapped a leash on my collar. "Out and to the baths."

Within minutes, my butt plug was removed, I was flushed with three separate enemas, then scrubbed throughly and again body shaved. My ass was thoroughly lubricated but no plug was reinserted. I wondered why I was allowed such liberty.

"The Master wants you in his bed tonight," the attendant announced as he led me down a hall by my leash.

"Master? What master? A woman bought me," I queried the slave attendant.

"Oh, she does a lot of the buying," he laughed. "Seems to like shopping, she does. She probably bought you as a present for the master anyway, looking the way you do."

"But she bought me for herself," I protested. "Only yesterday she used me in her own bed," I blurted out and then blushed deeply as I realized how whorish that sounded.

"And she'll use you over and over, stud, if you're any good at all. But good looking well built slaves like you get used by the mistress and the master. He's interested in fucking pretty boys like yourself - just as much as the mistress I imagine. You'd be well advised to please him every way you know how, stud, or, believe me, you'll wish you had. The master doesn't take kindly to slaves who aren't devoted to pleasing him, especially those he calls to his bed."

I blushed bright red in utter humiliation as I realized I was nothing more than a good looking piece of meat to my owners - an object of pleasure - a mere animal to meet their needs.

As we neared the Master's bedroom, the attendant whispered in my ear. "Kneel at his feet when we enter and kiss his feet. Then beg him to use you in any way possible. He expects that of all his slaves. Otherwise, you'll end up in the punishment house half dead from the beatings and on short rations until you think you're going to die of starvation."

Startled by this new threat, I did as he suggested. The master, who appeared to be in his early thirties with well chiseled features and a good physique - quite handsome himself actually - casually inspected all parts of me - smiled without saying anything - and motioned me kneel right in front of him. He disrobed and then, ordering me to open my mouth fully, thrust his organ into my mouth and well down my throat as he commanded me to suckle his shaft until it was totally inside of me. Within minutes, his shaft was fully erect and inched its way down my stretched throat as I gagged and choked in my efforts to shallow the entire organ. Finally, I managed to get it clear down my throat and managed to breath through my nose as I felt my throat muscles take over and begin to massage his shaft over and above my sucking motions. But just I thought he would shoot his load down into my stomach, he quickly withdrew and ordered me to lie over the side of the couch on my stomach with my ass open and facing him. Without saying a word, he mounted me, thrust his saliva-wet swollen shaft into me with one huge lunge until he was totally inside this new bodily cavity, and began pumping in and out as his hands reached around and squeezed and pinched by nipples until they were inflamed and swollen. I grunted audibly as he fucked me but never moved other than to scoot my ass slightly to better accommodate his entire girth and length. Eventually, I felt his shaft swell ever bigger within me and begin to twitch as he shot load after load well up my stretched asshole. He rested briefly on my back, and then abruptly withdrew with a loud plop as my asshole snapped shut. I felt warm cum running down the insides of my legs.

"Clean me, slave," he snapped. "I'm surprised I have to remind you," he said slapping me harshly across my butt.

I turned around as quickly as I could, again knelt before him and took his slimy, cum slick prick into my mouth and cleaned it completely with my tongue and much suctioning until I thought it was totally devoid of all residue from his recent fucking of me.

"Get the sweat off my balls, slave," he commanded as he grabbed my hair and directed my head manually to his shrunken balls.

I licked them for all I was worth, tasting the salty sweat and remnants of his juices as I licked them clean. As I completed this task, I felt his cum spilling out of my ass in riverlets across my own balls and down my thighs.

"Stand," he ordered, "with your legs spread wide." I did as he asked, but he kicked one of my ankles and ordered "Wider, slave," so I spread them as wide apart as I could. He then clasped my full balls and squeezed them. "Nice and full, the way slaves should be at all times," he commented as he churned them in his hand. Then, he took his other hand and began stroking my erect prick, ever prominent with the newly fitted genital ring. "Good and hard, slave. Keep it that way. Slaves should always show hard when in the presence of their owners," he commented. "Understand, slave?" he squeezed my shaft tightly.

"Yes, master," I answered with my eyes lowered as he continued to play with me.

"And slaves never unload without their master's or mistress' permission. Understand, slave?" he said as he again squeezed my balls for emphasis.

"Yes, master. The mistress told me yesterday."

"I'm sure she did, slave, I'm sure she did," he laughed. "It's essential when you're studding her, slave. You can't please a woman with a limp dick," he laughed. "Remember that, slave."

"Yes, master," I answered.

He rang a bell and the slave handler entered the room, leash in hand.

"Take the slave back to his cage. He'll benefit from some additional stretching, but he's willing enough so there's no need for punishment today. Has anyone named the slave yet?" he queried.

"No, master," the attendant, still on his knees, answered.

"We'll call him PONY, since he'll be hitched up to the wagons and carriages often enough."

Reaching over and encircling my swollen shaft with his hand, he commented, " he's built like a pony anyway, so we might as well call him one," he added.

"Yes, master," the attendant replied. "We'll have his new name engraved on his collar, master."

As predicted, Lady Diana tired of me after three years and I was taken back to the very same market where she had bought me originally and sold back to the same dealer at a most handsome profit now that I was fully developed and well trained for stud duty, serving a master's pleasure, lofting a litter smoothly down the road, and pulling wagons and carriages as well as any draft animal available.

By this time I was fully acclimated to a slave's life and even the auction held no surprises for me at this point. I knew exactly what to expect and nothing took me by surprise as the potential buyers poked and prodded, squeezed and pinched the well trained flesh before them. Even being fucked by a huge dildo in full public view didn't faze me at this point after all I had been through at Lady Diana's estate. The only difference was the huge influx of foreign buyers so prevalent in the Macedonian slave markets this days.

"Sold to Sheik Amani," I heard shouted as I was pulled off the auction block by my leash and hurried to the holding pens for my new owner's arrival.

I felt the familiar feeling of semen being shot into the interior of my bowels. My new owner, Sheik Amani, had finally reached orgasm in fucking me and, as my bowels filled with his hot cum, I felt him slowly withdraw and lean up from my sweaty back.

"You fuck well, PONY," he commented as I quickly cleaned him with my ready mouth. "And you're obviously well trained for one so young. Your training here will go quick and then we'll find you a nice new home where your talents can be fully appreciated and well utilized.

"Thank you, master," PONY answered as soon as his mouth was free of his master's

shaft. "Master, may I ask a question?" PONY asked.

"If you're quick and to the point, slave. Remember your voice-training, slave," he warned.

"Yes, master. I will, master. Master, where am I?"

"You're in Muscat, Oman, PONY, thousands of miles from your homeland which you'll probably never see again. DELTA ENTERPRISES, LTD. has bought you and will train you to their exacting standards of slave perfection. As soon as you're trained to the point where DELTA can fully guarantee its product, you'll be sold to one of our highly selected clientele who are quite willing to pay premium prices for premium goods. You're a lucky slave, PONY. At the price you're going to bring once you're fully trained, you'll be so expensive you know you're going to be appreciated for the slave you are and be well cared for in the process. A slave's life, as you should know by now, is an exacting one. But for the perfect slave, it is also a rewarding one. I can think of a perfect owner for you even as we speak, slaveboy. A Mr. John Hughes will be happy to pay the one million dollars we will be asking for you when your training is complete. Mr. Hughes has bought premium stock from us for years now and all the slaves we've sold him have settled in and made themselves useful at his estate in Florida in the United States. That's clear on the other side of the ocean, PONY, but there Mr. Hughes would put your body to good use not only servicing his various customers as well as himself but working you hard around his estate on chores that will keep this beautiful body in perfect shape". He ran his hands over PONY's shoulders and pecs as if he were validating his last statement, coming to rest on the slave's tits, still virginally un-ringed, which he vigorously massaged until they were fully erect and swollen.

"He knows well how to handle slaves so you'd find a feeling of worthwhileness and contentment under his yoke." Sheik Amani patted PONY's head knowing the slave would understand the full truth of his comments.

"Thank you, master," PONY said as he risked smiling at his new owner. "I understand."

"Understanding is one thing, slave. Accepting your fate totally and completely is another, PONY."

"Master, I accept my destiny as a slave. I truly do. Long ago I learned the futility of fighting fate. After all, Master, it was the Greeks who first taught the world to accept destiny. We called it 'moira."

"I'll remember that, slave. Moira would be a good slave name, don't you think?"

"A perfect slave name, Master. Would you like to use your property again, Master?"

"You ARE a slave, PONY. Not right now. It's back to the cages for you now, boy."

"Yes, master. Thank you, master."