FULFILLING THE FANTASY XI
By Bill Smith (anonymous4371@juno.com)
Barisal was one of those obscure, steamy foreign ports that movie makers love: this one swarmed with people so it resembled a human ant hill, the humid heat was visible in rising waves from the green, brackish waters of the port, and tiny little sampans surrounded our ship as it maneuvered into dock. From the decks of the Fantasia it was easy to ascertain the main industry of this Bangladeshi city: the slave trade. Everywhere one looked, you saw long lines of fresh slaves chained together by their neck collars being marched from one place to another, slaves being washed and scrubbed and lubricated in assembly-line fashion before being shipped out to the sales barns, slaves being auctioned off in huge outside arenas while customers avidly bid against each other for their flesh, and slaves chained to display stands outside numerous dealerships stoically enduring endless bodily examinations by potential purchasers. Even from the decks, you heard a din of whips cracking across bare flesh, the clanking of chains, the occasional renting scream of a slave newly learning the torment of the slaver's whip, the low moans of those who had learned that torment years ago, and the shocked sheiks of the newly enslaved having their most private parts callously but throughly examined for the first time. The place looked like, smelt like, and sounded like just what it was purported to be: an epicenter of slavery.
Mark and John joined their fellow passengers in taking in the intoxicating scene and felt the excitement rush through them.
"There's a nice coffle of slaves - all big and muscular," one of the guests pointed to a long line of at least 500 slaves chained together by their slave collars being led along the pier to the cargo door of a rundown tramp steamer. "From the looks of that broken down boat they're being loaded onto, they're probably headed for some rubber or tea plantation not too far upriver."
"A good overseer should be able to wrest at least 20, even 25 good years of hard work out of them if he's not afraid of using the whip," another guest commented. "That's the advantage of buying them young like that."
"Look over there at those slaves on display stands," another guest exclaimed, pointing to some pedestals located no more than 100 yards from the ship, each holding a naked slave with his wide spread feet close-chained to the edges of the pedestal and with his wrists spangled together in back of him. Each male's genitals had a thick silk tie wrapped around the base of their ballsac and encompassing the base of the shaft so that his entire package was lifted up by the support for full display and convenience in examining him. Female slaves were displayed with light clips on their nipples to keep them erect and dildos with extended handles inserted into their vaginas to demonstrate not only their tightness but also their easy usability. It was clear dealers here understood slaves weren't always bought just for their work potential. "Some of those on display look to be prime grade, even from this distance," the guest opined, obviously pleased with what he was seeing. "I'm glad I held off buying in Kiribati - the stock here seems much higher grade."
"I expected all the stock here to be small, brown Bangladeshi but obviously I was wrong in my assumption. From the looks of those display stands, a person can find most anything they're looking for here. There's every color in the rainbow on display out there both in terms of hair and hide."
"And it looks like I even see quite a few blue and green eyed available," another dealer chimed in as he pointed from one display stand to another. "My God, there's a copper-haired boy with skin like alabaster and a cock like a damn horse on him. Now where in the hell did he come from in this port from nowhere. If we were in Ireland, I would believe it, but here?" he exclaimed. "If that boy is half as good in inspection as he looks from here, I intend to have him."
"You'll have to outbid me, you old bastard, if you do" another passenger blurted out, obviously a close friend. "I love red-heads, especially red-heads hung like that on a body built like that, but I never expected to find one in Bangladesh," he laughed delightedly. "Jesus, I get a hard-on just looking at him."
"I don't think you're alone in that," another passenger laughed, rubbing his obvious hard-on through his pants. "Do you think they have many like that one? If so, we're going to have every cage in this ship's hold filled before we even leave port."
"My God, there's a blond boy that looks like a Viking - blue eyes, big muscles, huge cock and everything," still another passenger interjected. "Now just where did these slavers find him, do you suppose? Either he was shipped here from 5000 miles away or he's been bred just for the market here. You can't tell me there's stock like that running around loose in Bangladesh ready for the taking. If Bangladesh has a need for foreign cash, it looks to me like they're going to get it with no trouble marketing stuff like this. Most of what I'm looking at cost big time."
"Maybe the prices are lower than it seems it should be," another passenger ventured. "After all, we are in Bangladesh - a country terribly overpopulated, not exactly noted for affluence, and desperate for something to export of value. But what I see, they've certainly focused on the most salable thing yet - a good selection of premium-grade human animals. But I suspect they're breeding them to get quality like this. Look at the dealers and the hired hands serving as overseers - they look to be native Bangladeshi. Look closely. Not one of them would bring much of a price up on the auction block. No, most of this stock must be bred somewhere back in farms not too far from here."
"Don't jump to conclusions," another passenger joined the conversation. "The dealers here at Barisal are into the international markets in a big way I've heard. They could easily trade a lot of 50 or 100 of the common brown Bangladeshi stock for one or two of these beauties from all over the world. It's obvious from the way those boys display themselves, though, that they're either well trained and completely broken to slavery, or that they know nothing else, i.e., they're home grown on some breeding farm somewhere." The speaker paused, stared closely at one of the slaves being displayed and then exclaimed, "Look at that customer down there examining that red head - he's jerking him off to a full eruption into that little glass he's got in his hand. Probably looking for a fine- looking milk stud."
"I've heard red-heads have the best milk," someone in the back of the crowd ventured. "Is that true?"
"Just a myth," another guest snorted. "A slaveboy's milk is determined by three things: (1) good diet; (2) an age between 17 and 24; and (3) good overall health. Given those three qualities, you can get good tasting thick milk, and lots of it, out of any slave with big balls where you keep him from ejaculating any other time but when he's being milked."
"How do you know so much about milking studs?" his questioner asked.
"I don't. But I have a friend who runs a man-milk dairy. Milks hundreds of studs around the clock and sells their output in little cups to those too poor to own a good stud of their own but like cum as a breakfast drink or as a condiment on their food. He ought to know and that's what he told me."
"Makes sense," the original questioner conceded. "You learn something everyday on this cruise. I never knew there were man-milk dairies around."
"Lots of them - there's a big market for fresh stud cream out there."
"Might be profitable to go into that business, but you apparently can only use the studs for six or seven years before their cum starts souring. Makes it kind of expensive."
"Not really. When it comes time to stop milking them, you can still sell them off at a good price. After all, being milked all that much doesn't keep them from being a good slave doing a thousands other things."
"You're right again. I think I will look into it. Do you think there would be a good market in Springdale, Arkansas for man-milk? That's where I'm from. There is a steady market in slaves there, of course, which I have found to be most profitable over the past few years or I wouldn't be on this cruise, but I never thought of a man-milk dairy and then selling the studs off once they got up in their twenties."
"Nothing ventured, nothing gained, but you should sure try it - you don't have much to loose. If a solid market for man-milk doesn't develop with some good advertising, just sell the studs off - surely you have some divorcees and widows who are willing to pay top dollar for a young buck to warm their bed, even down in Arkansas." This brought numerous guffaws and ribald jokes out of the group of dealers assembled on the deck, all of whom had sold many a handsome, well hung slave for that very purpose as well as to a smaller, but more discriminating group of male purchasers.
Just then the all-clear announcement was made that disembarkment would commence on deck number 4, the deck immediately below the large group assembled for the conversation. Immediately they headed for the stairs to the deck below and the waiting open gangplank to the piers of Barisal. Within five minutes, the entire roster of passengers were already looking over the display slaves for themselves and then drifting either into the local dealerships or toward the nearby sales barns or the most distant auction arenas. The excitement ran so high that few if any noticed the uncomfortable heat and humidity which tended to hold the smell of human sweat and semen ever present. Dealers themselves for the main part, the ship's passengers felt perfectly at home in this faraway foreign market. Slaves were slaves and, like other commodities sold in the world market, didn't really recognize political entities, citizenship and passport claims, foreign borders, or strange currency.
Mark and John loved the place. Here slaves of every description, size, and shape were either on full display or we waiting in some line to be auctioned or were penned in some cage at one dealer or another awaiting their sale. John looked over at least 100 slaves before he made any decisions about buying. Even Mark examined at least 30 different slaves, caught up in the ambiance of so much handsome and appealing flesh available at prices that, back home, seemed ridiculously cheap.
Other dealers were just as avid in examining the slaves being marketed. The man on board thinking of starting a man-milk dairy in Arkansas was busily milking one huge stud after another into glass cups, carefully measuring their output and limiting himself to those in the 17-24 age range recommended. We noticed all the studs he milked sported huge balls, but had widely differing hair colors, so apparently he had carefully listened to the advice reported by the man who had a friend running such an operation. The studs being milked, most of whom had been drawn from holding cages in the back, stood stoically with their legs far apart and with their pelvises thrust forward. As they were stroked to full discharge into the glass cup, none of them registered the slightest hint of any protest or concern - obviously well trained stock who realized slaves were there to be used for whatever purpose a potential owner decided. If some of them ended up in Springdale, Arkansas being milked around the clock, that's just the way it was going to be. They long ago, apparently, realized they had no input into their destiny once they were slaves.
"Those studs he's milking are sure good looking," Mark commented as yet another of the studs being milked started shooting gob after gob of thick cream into the glass cup. "Seems a shame to have them hidden back in some milking shed for the next seven years before they're marketed again."
"Most dairies milk them chained right out in front with the stock for sale. That way their good looks can at least be used as a drawing card for the other stock up for sale. Besides, a lot of people enjoy watching a well hung stud being drained, especially if they're good looking besides like those studs getting milked over there," John added.
"I'm kind of tempted to buy a few milk studs myself," Mark mused as he studied the milking scene in front of him. "You're right, John. It does turn you on just watching the studs having the last drop pumped out of those big balls."
"Yes, but that wouldn't prevent you from fucking those good looking bodies also. Being milked doesn't preclude being fucked you know," John laughed. "Why not buy up a few that appeal to you. If you get bored with the dairy notion, you can always add them to the fucking stable. Besides, some slave or another has to provide you your little morning cocktail of hot cum. Might as well be one of those well-hung beauties. If they were just milked once a day, imagine how much cum they could produce for your breakfast - more than that little glass cup he's holding, I'd wager," John chuckled.
"Good idea, John," Mark answered and, while the man from Arkansas kept milking more and more studs without ever making up his mind whether he was really going to start a dairy or not, Mark quickly bought up four of them, already drained by the Arkansan dealer, who most appealed to him: one huge muscular black with blue eyes; a big well-built white with blond hair and blue eyes and beautiful facial features; a magnificent Oriental stud with golden skin, black doe-like eyes, and a thick 12" dick; and a light brown native Bangladeshi who was unusually big for his nationality with a fine musculature, a handsome face, and oversized organs. All were excited at actually being bought, expressing that excitement in grateful looks toward their new owner as well as growing erections despite the recent draining. They look relieved that the endless routine, day after day, of being kept in the small sales cages only to be hauled out over and over each day to have every part of their body fondled, stroked, poked, and usually milked, as well as having all sorts of things shoved up their ass to ascertain their fucking capacity, was coming to an end. No matter what this new owner wanted them to do, it couldn't possibly be as demanding as the time spent in the sales barn where, in essence, you had as many masters as people that walked through the dealer's door.
John, caught up in Mark's enthusiasm, bought up the remaining slaves the Arkansan had milked - 17 more to be exact. They, like Mark's purchases, were all very good looking, extremely well built, and perfectly equipped for their role as a stud with large, easily aroused shafts, big swollen balls, and a cooperative, willing attitude.
"Hey," the Arkansan dealer pouted as he saw his entire dairy herd being sold out from under him. "How am I going to get enough studs to start my dairy if you keep buying them up?"
"Easy," John replied. "Just buy them instead of being so indecisive. There's no reason my friend Mark and I should wait around for your rejects if you can't make up your mind anyway."
"Well," the Arkansas whined, "I suppose you're right."
"Hell," John laughed, "it's not like these are they only milk studs in town. Look around at the other dealers. I've seen hundreds today that could serve the purpose just as well as these boys and just as well equipped. There's enough big juicy cum-packed balls for sale at this place you could set up a thousand dairies if you wanted to."
With that, the Arkansas smiled and quickly left for the next dealership where, we assumed, he would start pumping more slave meat with a little glass cup.
"Well, we've made a start," John said. "It's time to get into some serious meat buying now."
"Right on!" Mark agreed. "You know, a guy could get 'slave fever' in this place."
Both Mark and John watched as the passenger who had first spotted the red-headed slave being milked on the display stand was now busily going over every aspect of that slave's beautiful body, including running his finger up his hole as far as it would go. Satisfied that the slave in front of him was as good as he appeared from the ship's deck while he was being milked, the passenger nodded to the red-head's dealer he would buy him on the spot. Just then, his friend saw what was happening.
"You bastard," he yelled. "You've bought that red-head before I even had a chance."
"Yeah," his friend said with great satisfaction. "He's all mine now," he added as he hefted the slave's big balls and began roughly massaging them as if to confirm his ownership. "But, don't worry, I'll let you bed him down any time you want until we get back to New York. This slaveboy can handle both of us poking him, I'm sure," he smiled as he turned the slave around and again poked a couple of fingers up the slave's hole as a little demonstration.
Mark's comment about 'slave fever' seemed to be contagious. All of the ship's passengers spent the entire day buying, buying, and buying. John ended up buying 20 more slaves in addition to the 17 milk studs he had already purchased. He carefully choose variety in his new purchases: 8 were sleek, muscular, and well hung Bangladeshi (and incredibly cheap); 4 were lithe handsome Keralans from South India; 2 were big muscular Chinese fellows with beautiful appealing bodies; and the remaining 6 were Eurasians, hybrids with spectacular bodies, massive equipment, and striking good looks. Only the Bangladeshis were bred stock - all the others, though, were extremely well trained, having been in slavery since their early teen aged years and had obviously adapted quite well, judging by their reaction to being examined thoroughly and their eagerness to be sold to the young new master.
Mark too went for variety in his additional four purchases. One was a bred Bangladeshi with huge black eyes highlighted by long thick black lashes, milk smooth yellow brown skin, a Grecian nose and thin lips, massive pectorals well defined above a very thin waist, and a long thick organ that responded instantly to his touch. When Mark began stroking his erect prick in exploration, the slave responded by beginning to buck in his hand and promptly spurted out a huge mass of steaming hot cum after only two or three strokes much to Mark's amazement.
"Eager little bastard, isn't he," Mark laughed as he had the slave lick the thick cum off of his hand, noting the slave seemed to relish eating his own cum since he made every effort to savor and then swallow every drop, finally smacking his lips in appreciation of this afternoon snack.
Mark's second purchase was a Chinese slave who had been specially trained in anal satisfactions almost from the day he was first enslaved at the age of 15. At the dealer's invitation, Mark did take the slave over to a small cubical provided for testing purposes and quickly had the slave drape himself over the provided padded sawhorse with his hole fully exposed. The slave was indeed skilled: he seemed to swallow Mark's organ from the moment it gained entry into his hole and then, having drawn Mark's shaft all the way into him, proceeded to milk the shaft with his well trained ass muscles until Mark felt himself quickly and completely discharging deep into the slave's anus. As soon as he withdrew, the Chinese slave leaped to the task of cleaning his user, allowing Mark to see the slave himself sported a huge dripping boner just from being fucked - a sure sign of a well- trained slave who had learned to enjoy being fucked as much as his users enjoyed fucking him. Fortunately, the slave was also extremely good looking with a nice body - his anal skills were an extraordinary bonus.
Mark's last two purchases were both mixed-bloods. One was obviously a Eurasian mixture of Chinese and European; the other was obviously an Afro-Asian. Both were trim and muscular, somewhat short (around 5' 5"), had hairless bodies, were well defined, and were beautifully equipped with massive organs that were well shaped and smooth. Although enslaved for only three years now, according to the dealer, they were obviously very well trained and eagerly stood in full display for Mark's inspection with a come-hither look in their eyes which pleaded "Buy Me." When Mark asked if they would like to be purchased by him, both broke into tears of happiness, and, thrusting their huge erect organs into his open hand (rubbing them in his palm as an open invitation to use them), promised their potential purchaser that they would do anything possible to please him and he would never ever be disappointed in buying them, no matter how much they cost. When Mark announced to the dealer he was going to do just that, the two slaves both spurted off in his hand they were so elated.
"You're going to have learn better control than that, slaves," Mark laughed as both slaves instantly apologized for their behavior and began licking their new owner's hand clean of their residue.
"We learn to control ourselves good, master," one slave promised in his broken English.
"Yes, master, we spurt off only when you say, Master," the other purchased slave added. "We just got too excited at being sold to a young, good looking owner like you, Master. It's every slave's dream, master."
Somehow, the extreme sincerity in the slaves' tone and the manner in which both slaves stated it made the statements totally believable to both Mark and his friend John, highly experienced in sorting out slave's ingratiating babble from humble sincerity. John assured Mark both slaves seemed to be well trained, despite the fact neither one had been born into slavery.
"Yes, they are," the seller assured them. "One thing we dealers here in Barisal take pride in is marketing well-trained slaves. Oh, some of them are bred, of course, so you expect good behavior in those slaves. But most aren't that are marketed here and have had to be carefully trained. By the time we market them, they've all fully accepted their new status and have stopped thinking of themselves as anything but human animals, mere commodities, whose only purpose is to bring satisfaction to their new owners no matter what their new masters may desire. After all, we have our good reputation to maintain!"
We weren't the only ones buying up big. Most of the ship's passengers were buying up one after another all around us, taking plenty of time to thoroughly inspect and check out the stock before purchasing it, making a lot of comparisons side-by-side in sexual response as those being inspected and sold jumped through their hoops, and bargaining with the dealers to obtain the lowest possible price for these quality goods. It was obvious that many empty cages waiting for the new purchases in the Fantasia's hold would be filled by nightfall.
Most of the ship's passengers were buying in the same patterns as John and Mark. Many Bangladeshi were being purchased (mostly bred in nearby slave farms) but a lot of mixed-bloods, so plentiful in the markets here, were also being snapped up. In addition, some very appealing whites and blacks, obtained from some far away lands in international trade, were purchased at reasonable prices considering the quality of the merchandise. By sunset of the busy day in the Barisal markets, long lines of naked slaves, all chained together by their collars, were ten abreast awaiting transfer to the ship's hold. They must have been close to a 1000 of them at least. The Bangladeshi slave merchants had just experienced one of their biggest sales days in decades and an air of exhilaration was evident throughout the city where slaves were the one and only big crop.
It was two in the morning before the last of the chained slaves could be transferred to the ship and caged. The slave handlers in the hold were exhausted, too tired to even put much muscle behind the whips that were in constant motion. When the last newly purchased slave was finally stuffed into his cage and the cage door securely locked, the handlers sighed with relief and slipped back to their own quarters for a well-earned rest. The slaves had not been cleansed inside and out yet, had not been recollared, and had not been fed the evening portions of slave chow yet, but they knew no slave ever died from missing a meal now and then. In fact, missing a meal generally kept them on their toes a little better and certainly made them more responsive to the handler's commands. "Never bit the hand that feeds you" was more true with slaves than any other animals, probably because slaves had better brains. And the handlers knew all of the other tasks of cleansing, collaring, etc., could all be done over the next few days without serious harm to the new stock. But, as they looked the stock over while caging them, it was obvious Barisal was a great place to buy slaves apparently - almost all the animals caged were good looking, well built, well-hung, and obviously well trained to slavery. As the handlers sunk into sleep, they wondered how cheap they actually were. Perhaps, when they retired, they should look into investing in a slave or two from Barisal. After all, once they were no longer working on the ship, they wouldn't have an endless supply of slave flesh around to amuse themselves with and bed down at a whim.
Meanwhile, upstairs, the ship's passengers still hadn't gone to bed, so excited were they over the day's activities. In the bars, they were swapping notes on what they paid for such and such a slave, how many they had bought, what types they had purchased and what markets they could foresee for resale, etc. By the time they finally wore down around 4 A.M. and returned to their rooms, only the room stewards and most of the bar slaves were all that was needed to satiate the sexual needs of the fatigued purchasers. By 6 A.M., even fucking those slaves was all but over and the entire ship was strangely quiet as everyone was sound asleep. The stock in the hold purchased prior to this latest stop wondered where their handlers and morning rations were as they tried to twist around in their cramped little cages, the baggage slaves enjoyed getting to sleep later than usual, and the dining room slaves stood idly around empty breakfast tables, enjoying not having to serve the meal along with the usual delights of their naked bodies.
Bangladesh was not a tourist's delight outside of this major slave market, so the Fantasia had quietly slipped out of harbor just as soon as the last new purchase had been brought onto the ship around 2 A.M. Already they were well out at sea in the Indian Ocean, headed for their next stop many days away - the mysteries of Oman and the swarthy Arab slave traders!
TO BE CONTINUED
Comments always appreciated. Bill Smith (anonymous4371@juno.com)