Oceanum

OCEANUM

by Bill Smith

Surprisingly, even with the most modern spy satellites, not all islands of the Pacific and Indian Oceans have been "discovered." Some lie far outside the observable "paths" of the satellites which generally cover major shipping lanes, colonial possessions, or possible threats; others, due to their lack of heat producing volcanos or man-made industry, simply aren't detectable by infrared technology.

Geoffrey Bowers was well aware of this when he deliberately purchased an out- of-the-way island in the Indian Ocean which had plenty of fresh water, fertile soil, no native population, and an obscure, totally non-strategic location that literally guaranteed the rest of the world would never notice it. After purchase, he had huge amounts of building supplies delivered along with entire electric generation and supply systems, including air conditioning, refrigeration, water desalination equipment (just in case). Since their were no deep sea docks, all this materiel had to be delivered in small tenders and simply dumped in temporary shelters on the beaches. The suppliers and carriers were paid in cash promptly and just as promptly forgot all about the place when no future orders came their way.

But other much smaller ships, no bigger than tenders really, including many a Arab-style dhow and Chinese style junk, began delivering goods there, usually in the dead of night. Again, cash changed hands quickly and the small ships disappeared as mysteriously as they had first appeared.

Within two months of these latter ship's visits, the island was completely populated. But the new population was entirely by Geoffrey Bower's own design, a scheme he had carefully planned over the years. For everyone on the island, save himself, were slaves - fully owned properties in a modern world. They had been supplied by scores of clandestine dealers operating discretely in Africa, Asia, the Middle East, Australia, Eastern Europe, and the Americas. Geoffrey Bowers had spent years getting to know these dealers personally, familiarizing himself when what they had available, gaining information on what their stock was worth in today's markets, learning the degree of training necessary to produce a good slave in today's world, and, perhaps most importantly, developing their trust in selling him "illegal" goods. He had spent as much time doing this as he had in selecting "his" island to start with for the real estate had little allure without its new population as far as Geoffrey Bower was concerned.

Now, Geoffrey Bowers owned over 14000 acres, enough equipment and supplies to build a small empire, and 650 slaves of practically every color and nationality, although his preference for well built handsome black males, based on his years spend in Brazil as an American ex-patriot where his fortune was made as well as his natural sexual proclivities, was clearly evident. The total investment was approaching one billion U.S. dollars, but no one ever claimed paradise was cheap. It was, Geoffrey Bower reflected, the best money he ever spent. He named his island home "Oceanum" in honor of its Indian Ocean locale.

As Geoffrey Bowers looked out from the veranda of his newly constructed palace, he enjoyed the view: sweeping aspects of the Indian Ocean, the white sand beaches, the swaying palm trees. But most of all he enjoyed looking at the slaves toiling everywhere he looked, their naked bodies shiny with sweat, their bright stainless steel collars, and genital bands glinting in the sun's rays on those where it clearly enhanced their natural beauty, and, on a few, the polished rings piercing their tits and nose septum where a "controlled" look seemed appropriate. Every slave had his master's tag pierced through his left ear and his master's logo burnt into his right ass check and left pectoral to indelibly remind those so marked they were their master's personal possession and simply because their owner like to see all his property properly marked. Each ear tag read "Property of Geoffrey Bowers, Oceanum Estates" and that slave's personal identification number in bar code format for easy swiping when inventory was taken, food rations determined, medical procedures or modifications employed, or disciplines recorded.

Overseers, all slaves themselves, were easily identified by their tight leather harness uplifting their muscular pecs, the thick genital bands forcing their sexual equipment into prominent display and the short-handled leather slave whips with knotted ends each carried in their right hand as a symbol of their authority. Through his binoculars, he could see slaves hitched to plows, pulling wagons, stacking bales of straw, weeding with hands and hoe, working the water wheels for irrigation, and harvesting the crops now ready. To another side, he saw buildings being constructed, the slave's naked bodies glistening in sweat as they struggled to lift the building stones and cement blocks into position or crouched on a boiling hot roof fastening shingles in place. Nearby, he saw slaves tending the palace gardens, cleaning the walkways and fountains, and polishing the exposed metal. Immediately around him, slaves stood in full display of their bodies, anticipating to do his bidding with the mere flick of their master's finger, a flick of his eye, or a barely uttered one-word command.

The only sounds were the occasional crack of the overseer's leather whips, the groans of the slaves being disciplined, the constant creaking of the carts and water wheels, the soft padding of bare feet working in the gardens and palace halls, and the quiet breathing of the slaves attending him. Even the beautiful young slave sucking him, on his knees between his master's legs, kept the slurping, gagging, and choking sounds to a minimum as he expertly swallowed his master's fully erect tool completely down his throat before massaging it with his well-trained throat muscles.

Geoffrey ran his hands through the neatly trimmed kinky black hair of the sucking slave before gripping the back of the slave's head and pulling the boy's face completely into his pubes so the slave's nose ring was pressing against his body and the slave's breathing became labored as his nostrils were covered by flesh.

"Suck, boy," Geoffrey commanded as the slave, trained to not struggle under these circumstances, intensified his efforts in working his master's prick deep down his orifice. Within seconds, the slave felt the first of several hot eruptions flow down his open throat and trickle into his stomach. Just about the time the beautiful brown slave thought he would pass out from lack of oxygen, the last of his master's cum had been sucked out and the huge tool was dislodged from his throat. He gasped for air, but quickly began licking the prick clean of all remnants of cum and saliva coating it, interspersing that task only with humbly thanking his master for choosing him for his enjoyment and suggesting his master may want to ass fuck him now if he would so enjoy.

"Not right now, Pleasure....isn't it?" Geoffrey replied.

"Yes, master," the young handsome slave replied, happy his owner recognized him by his name.

"But it's not a bad idea," his owner responded. "I'll let Priapus fuck you for my amusement."

"Priapus," he said softly to a huge muscular black standing in full display position right next to him with his arms positioned in back of his head and his feet wide spread to show off his massive equipment, "fuck this boy on the floor right in front of me with him on his back so I can enjoy the look on his face as you pound every last inch into his butthole. All the way, you hear, Priapus, and I want you pumping long and hard, but no shooting off.... I'm saving your load for my entertainment after supper. Just pump him until he shoots off this time around. Pleasure or whatever his name is can lick up his own cum off your black body for a little afternoon snack."

"Yes, master," the brown-skinned slave said as he quickly got on his back in front of his master and, spreading his legs wide before lifting them up to his shoulders, positioned himself so his master could witness every aspect of not only the entry of the huge black prick into his ass but the expressions on his face as his fellow slave's prick slid up his chute. This was followed by the "Yes, master," echoed by the huge black who quickly grabbed his organ, massaged himself into a full erection, and, within minutes mounted the brown-skinned slave's body beneath him, positioning himself to align with the proffered hole. With a quick look for approval at his master, he slowly forced his huge 12x5" erect shaft up the boy's tight chute, never once hesitating despite the boy's squeals and groans as he was skewered by the massive instrument. As soon as it was completely in, the boy beneath him gasped in pain, panting as he buckled and struggled in his attempts to find an accommodating position for the assault. But the black slave had his instructions and he followed them out precisely. Without hesitation, he began pumping his massive prick in and out of the tightly stretched chute as the slave boy beneath him whimpered and moaned.

"Open him up good, Priapus," Geoffrey Bowers commanded. "He's fairly new to his duties here and needs to learn how to take a nice big one without all that carrying on," he commented as the skewered boy's eyes bulged in agony and tears streamed down his cheeks as a reaction to all the pain and humiliation he was experiencing. But he never screamed in rebellion or shouted out his rage at being raped like this. He knew, as well as any slave at the estate, that he was here to please his owner and if this is what it took to please his master, so be it. He had no other options anyway as a slave. Besides, he reminded himself as another wave of pain threatened his consciousness, all slaves were fucked freely and openly at any and all times in today's world. It was just part of being a slave. Sobered by these thoughts, he concentrated on relaxing his anal muscles and controlling any unseemly display of his pain. He had been a slave long enough to know no one gave a shit about whether he hurt or not as a result of a routine fuck and making a big fuss about it would certainly lead to severe discipline in that it might ruin the enjoyment of his master in his ravishment. He forced himself to smile brightly, hoping it would blind his master to his tears.

"See there, Pleasure. Once you're opened up properly, you learn to enjoy a good fucking. Now let's see you shoot a nice big load so you can treat yourself to a little snack."

The brown slave was hard as a rock as the huge shaft plummeted his prostate over and over and, despite his pain, he felt his balls boiling getting ready to discharge.

"Yes, master," Pleasure gritted out between his clenched lips. "A nice.....big... load.. for you, master.." he gasped.

And within five minutes of frenzied pistoning by the huge black atop him, Pleasure did shoot load after load of steaming hot sticky cum all over the stomach, chest, and face of his sex partner.

"Ugh....Ugh.,,," he gasped as his balls emptied onto the dewy black skin atop him. When he was completely drained, Priapus, not allowed to shoot off himself, withdrew his quivering erect tool from the stretched hole and laid back for the brown slave to lick his own cum off of his muscular body, now totally wet from his own sweat. As the brown slave lifted himself up and kneeled over his body to cleanse him, the feel of his tongue on his sensitized skin made controlling his own orgasm difficult indeed, especially as the beautiful brown slave licked every last drop of the cum off of his nipples, lips, and still rampant prick.

"Master, can I shoot?" the black slave pleaded desperately, knowing in advance it would not be allowed.

"Certainly not, slave," his owner barked back, obviously irritated at this willful gesture on the part of a slave. "I told you to hold it in. I'm going to use you tonight and I want a full load out of you. So shut your mouth or I'll fit the electric shock dildo in you tonight to amuse me. I love to see you twitching and jerking around as you scream from those shocks deep in your ass."

Priapus shuttered as the remembrance of the last time his master had disciplined him in this fashion. It wasn't an experience he thought he could live through twice and he made a renewed effort to avoid shooting even though he had to clench his teeth, break out in another sex sweat, and concentrate on the electric dildo shocker before rammed up his ass to fulfill this command. "Yes, master," he said humbly through his clenched teeth.

Pleasure promptly swallowed all of his own cum he had carefully licked up, and, smacking his lips, resumed a kneeling position next to his master. Priapus, still bone hard, rose and assumed his standing display position, his sweaty body gleaning in the light.

Again, the only sounds were a few whips cracking over some slave's backs, some distant screams of torment as the knotted whips tore into the slave's backs and the rustling of the palm's leaves in the afternoon breezes.

"Yes," Geoffrey Bowers mused. "Oceanum is working out quite nicely so far."

"Pleasure" was the slave name given to MaQuille Adams shortly after he had been purchased by Geoffrey Bowers, his current owner. Right now, his ass ached from the recent fucking, but actually it had been sore since he'd first been made a slave - a phenomenon not unusual in young, good looking slave boys, he'd discovered, who rarely made it through a day without at least being fucked at least twice and often by the biggest studs around.

But he hadn't always been a slave. The first 17 years of his life had been pretty normal - hanging out with the guys (all dressed exactly like him with the kerchief cap covering his kinky hair, the low ride crew pants, the exposed chest to show off his pecs and abs), shooting basketball with his friends in the rickety old court in the project's park, 'making babies' with the cunts who always wanted to get in his pants, and selling a few drugs to keep him in beer and decent clothes and buy the 'ho's" a little gift now and then.

But suddenly that all changed. On day, right in broad day light, he was walking down a sorry looking street right next to the projects. A non-descript van pulled right beside him, a side door opened, two sets of burly arms caught him unaware and jerked him into the van. Even before they were able to close the door, the van was underway and his arms were shackled behind him as one of the thugs sat on his back while the other guy, almost as quickly, manacled his ankles and then shackled his feet together with a short chain between them.

"What the shit?" MaQuille yelled, but that was the last he said anything, because a ball gag was forced into his mouth and fastened behind his head as a pair of scissors started snipping away his clothes. Within three minutes, the van was in another part of town, MaQuille was totally naked, a heavy metal collar had been snapped around his thick neck, and, once the thug was off his back so he could turn his head, he found there were seven other blacks, as naked as he was, fitted with neck collars and short- chained to the side of the van's walls with their hands and feet shackled.

"That's a full load," one of the thugs shouted to the driver through the heavy wire mesh separating the driver from the cargo areas.

"Got cha,'" came the reply. "I'm heading for the stockyards now."

MaQuille couldn't believe what was happening. The others chained in the back of the van seemed to be as panicked as he was although their gags prevent any communication other than the frantic look in their eyes. They all seemed to be in their late teens, were all blacks with nice smooth, hairless complexions, , were all well built and muscular, and, as McQuille studied them further, they were all strikingly handsome, and, since they were all chained facing each other, he noticed they all sported long, thick pricks and baseball sized balls - the kind of tackle a lot of men could only dream about. "Well hung" didn't quite describe what he was looking at- "phenomenal" would have been more like it.

"Got some real studs this time," one of the thugs commented as he casually reached over and wrapped his hand around the prick of the boy chained nearest him.

"Yo, bro," the other thug said, smiling as the chained boy being handled struggled in his chains. "Gang done well - we're going to make some real moolah when we get these bastards broken and sold off."

"Only problem - takes a month to break them in proper to get a good price on 'em," the first thug responded.

"My favorite thing is watching the sales. It's amazing how you can turn these boys around in just a month and see them up there showing off everything they've got trying to get a buyer."

"Well, can't blame them. Anything beats staying at the stockyards for further training," the first thug laughed as he began churning the ball sac of the boy he was handling.

"Can't argue with you there, bro," the other thug chuckled. "Yessiree, can't argue with you there."

"You know, we're lucky not to as good looking as these studs," the first thug thought aloud. "Otherwise, things the way they are in the hood, we'd be too damn valuable to be let alone and we'd probably have a collar around our neck just like these boys."

"More than likely. The prices these sexy boys bring just makes it irresistible to not take advantage of the market these days - can't think of an easier way to make the big bucks. A hell of a lot more money in it than drugs these days. And, the way they run things down at the stockyard, no one - not even you and I - could hold out for more than a week or two, and after that... Well, hell.. We'd be up there on the sales stand showing off our ass and tackle just like these guys will, begging some rich dude to buy us up as his personal slaveboy."

"Or some of those super-rich white cunts you see coming to the auctions these days," the other thug added. "With their craving for black meat, those bitches probably fuck those slaveboys to death within the year," he laughed. "What a way to go - fucked to death!"

"I hear those bitches have these little private parties where they parade these handsome heavy hung boys around bare assed naked and let everyone feel them up to their heart's content before bedding them down, right in front of everyone."

"Well, they pay plenty for the privilege, as you well know. I can't get over how much these boys bring in once they're properly trained to slavehood."

"Probably just as well no one ever claimed we were good looking - just big and strong. Hell, we're so unappealing apparently no one even checks out the size of our tackle, not that I've got anything to be ashamed of."

"Yeah, bro, I'm glad I'm ugly or I'd end up being sold off myself probably. But you notice our prick's are good enough to help train the new stock," the first thug laughed as he reached down and squeezed his crotch. "Yes sir, good enough to break them in," he laughed.

The eight trussed up boys listened to every word of the ongoing conversation and stared in disbelief at what they were hearing. Three struggled in their chains, two began to sob, one looked like he was in a trance, and two, to their total embarrassment, got bone hard.

"Looks like we picked up two naturals," one of the thugs said as he pointed to the two who were showing hard. "Won't take too long to get them properly trained. They'll end up loving their new life if they get a good owner who'll actually use them often enough."

"Yeah. They'll be sold off in two weeks. The others will take a little longer, but within a month or so, they'll all be showing hard every time someone even looks at them," he laughed, "even that handsome dude shooting darts with his eyes right now. A good fucking will take some of the vinegar out of him. Looks like a real virgin, doesn't he?"

Geoffrey Bowers had heard about the gang's auction through his network of dealers and was pleased with the offerings. He bought up fifteen slaves that day, including all eight in the van that had first "caught" MaQuille Adams some eight weeks ago. All slaves offered at the auction that day were fully "broken" and trained by now so they displayed themselves well, thrusting out their dripping erect pricks on command, bending over to show their now "broken in" holes, and letting the potential buyers paw and fondle every part of their handsome muscular bodies without objection.

Geoffrey Bowers promptly gave MaQuille his new slave the name of "Pleasure" and named the heaviest hung slave that he had purchased, "Priapus." The other 13 purchases were given similarly appropriate slave names before receiving their new owner's branded logo and their identity ear tags. They were told Master Bowers would decide later as to who would be tit-ringed, nose ringed, and fitted with a genital cinch for display purposes. They were then, with the crack of a Mylar whip over their rumps, herded into cargo cages for shipment via a small chartered plane to their new owner's home, located, they were told, on a private island that wasn't even known about on the maps and was totally inescapable. Once cramped into the cages, as usual stark nude, the last thing they remembered was receiving an injection into whatever body part was jammed against the cage's bars.

Geoffrey Bowers enjoyed having a variety of different shades of Negro slaves around him and his choice at the auction that day reflected that. First there were the jet blacks ones; a mulatto or so; some "high yellers" as the quadroons were often called; and, of course, the stock-in-trade browns. Some were polished and refined; some were "wild" looking; some were already fitted; some were "au naturale." Some were clearly for work; some obviously primarily for show. Some were kept half-dressed to add a "tease" quality to their appearance; most were kept buck naked at all times. In all, the new purchases were much like his present stables of slaves.

Overall, Geoffrey tried to make sure all of his slaves "turned him on" one way or another and displayed them accordingly. After all, he had purchased them for just that purpose - that and to use them sexually whenever he had the urge, which was quite often, given the stimuli all around him in his new home. He even displayed a few slaves in bondage now and then - it was a novelty factor and some of the slaves looked especially appealing shown like that.

He had been here over three years now. In that time, his slaves had built the palace, built their own slave quarters and sanitation facilities, had put in a dock for smaller shipping vessels as well as a well hidden airstrip for supplies (including additions and replacements of his human stock) and occasional trusted and discrete guests, built him a communications and entertainment center, turned thousands of acres into arable productive land, and had even put in miles of paved road, perfect for the numerous slave-drawn wagons and his own slave-powered rickshaw that was so useful when touring the grounds.

So far, no slave had died on him, although there were a few accidents from time to time and the occasional temporary illnesses. But the stock was all young and vigorous and full of vim and vinegar so replacement would be many years down the road in all probability. He'd lucked out (or been damn good in his initial selection of the blacks) in that so far none of the slaves would have to be replaced for insolence, poor attitude, inability to do the commanded tasks, or resistance to the demands made upon the sexual use of their bodies. To the contrary, most seemed to have settled into their new lives remarkably well, taking pride in maintaining their near perfect bodies, accepting their status as naked owned livestock, finding what pleasure allowed them in the sexual use of their bodies by their owner, and seeking out what every slave ultimately finds irresistible from the master who controls every bite they eat, every drink of water, every sexual outlet, every relief from the pain of the whip - the master's approval of them as his slave. By now, every single slave at Oceanum had a single focus to his life: how could he better please his master and make his master proud of him.

By this time in their lives, it was hard for them to remember much about their "free" days before enslavement other than to recall it was a time they had to worry about where their next meal was coming from, often fear for their lives from neighboring gangs, the constant threat of being rejected by their gang, and even what to wear every day so they would appear "cool." Even their social life then was marred by constantly having to "prove their manhood" to their peers in one fashion or another, whether it was fucking a bitch, running down fags, or talking about sports that they had no interest in.. Now, none of that was any more significant in their lives than the clothes they now had no need of. Living a slave's life was certainly more honest, not to mention considerably more anxiety free. All you had to worry about was doing what you were told immediately and without question and you avoided the pain of the whip. Once you learned complete and total obedience, a slave's life was relatively smooth and trouble-free.

LeRoi Jones, as he had once been known, had been "different" from the other boys ever since he was 15 or so and it was evident he was going to have one of the biggest pricks ever fastened to a black boy - or any boy for that matter. Until he had been snatched out of the 'hood several years ago, trained at the Stockyards, and then sold off to Master Bowers, his life had been hell. For the first 15 years he felt no one gave a damn about him and essentially he was right. No father, a mother on drugs, a brood of brothers and sisters who viewed him as a pest and just another competitor for the little available food, things had really gone downhill when his oversized prick led to a lot of teasing and ridicule by all the other guys in his gang (whether through envy or just the fact he was different he never could figure out), girls taking one look and refusing to risk getting torn up with "that monster," and being nicknamed "BigDong" so everyone was kept curious and eager to see the thing for themselves. He ended up being able to only screw the old worn old whores with the huge stretched cunts who were so loose by now it felt like just dumping in a hole. After a few trysts with them, he preferred to just jerk himself off - at least wrapping his hand (which only reached partway around the shaft) gave him some pleasurable feelings before he shot out his load.

But once he got to the Stockyards and was naked all the time, he began to realize his curse was now his biggest asset according to handlers assigned to train him. During the next few weeks at the Stockyards, they taught LeRoi how to keep it at least semi-erect most of the time for a good showing, how to spread his legs and thrust his hips forward when ordered to display so that it was easily handled and given prominence over his other bodily features, how to hold still and smile when others stroked and fondled his huge shaft, how to thank them when they "milked" him to sample the amount, viscosity, color and taste of his cum, and how to indicate with his body language that he would like nothing better than being sold for their usage, no matter what they may have in mind. LeRoi knew, compared to the others, he was being trained as something "special" and it was the first time in his life he ever felt he had anything really going for him and that people actually valued him - even if was now a slave in a stockyards being prepared to be sold. It beat being neglected and ridiculed back in the 'hood. Besides, the handlers, the trainers, even all the other naked trainees constantly around him now, were in total agreement: among slaves, the bigger your equipment, the better. You sold faster, you brought a higher price, you created more market "interest," and buyers were generally more satisfied with you. All of that certainly added to a boy's self-esteem and LeRoi suddenly found himself, for the first time in his life, in a place where what he was turned out to be "best in show" as his trainers put it. LeRoi loved being a slave once he understood his new value and frankly, he would have volunteered to be a slave a lot earlier in his life if he had only known about it. The so-called "lifting" and being kidnapped to the stockyeards was, at least in his case, a stroke of unmitigated good luck.

When market day arrived, LeRoi got a lot of attention from the prospective buyers just as his trainers had told him he would. He was stroked, squeezed, fondled, and rubbed until his whole prick and balls were almost raw and certainly sore. By the time of the big auction, though, his handlers stroked him to a full, dripping erection before showing him on the block and he remembered to pose exactly as they had taught him - with his huge equipment thrust out fully between his widely spaced legs, dripping in readiness, and with a big smile on his face as he licked his lips suggestively and pleaded with his eyes. As the price soared higher and higher, it excited LeRoi all the more and by the time the price reached $500,000, a high for the day, it was dripping profusely so it was running down his thigh when he studied the looks of raw lust in the eyes of the eager bidders.

Geoffrey Bowers placed the top bid at $540,000 and LeRoi was led by his collar leash down to his new owner.

"I'm going to call you 'Priapus'," his new master said as he reached down and took the huge swollen shaft in his hand and squeezed until a few more drops of pre- cum oozed out. "Seems fitting."

"Thank you, master," LeRoi bowed his head as he had been taught. He had no idea of what or who Priapus was or meant, but he did know his new owner could call him anything he wanted. Priapus it was and he silently repeated the name to himself so he'd be sure to remember it.

"Kneel, boy," his new master ordered as he fastened the collar leash to his belt. "There's some more slaveboys I want to bid on this afternoon, but don't you play with yourself. What you've got in those balls belongs to me now, boy, so you just save all that for your new master. And I don't like to see boys playing with themselves unless I order them to do it - you understand, Priapus?"

"Yes, master," LeRoi answered. "Priapus be a good slave, master, and do just what you say."

"For $540,000, you better," Geoffrey Bowers laughed as he ran his hand through LeRoi's close cropped kinky hair as if he were petting a dog.

With that, Geoffrey Bowers bought up 12 more slaves that afternoon. One by one, they joined LeRoi kneeling on the floor by their new owner, their collar leashes fastened to their master's belt. The purchases that afternoon were all black, all built, all young, all extremely attractive, and all well hung. They were exactly what Geoffrey Bowers liked to collect.

Pleased as he was with his purchases at the Stockyards, Geoffrey Bowers visited many other slave sales around the world as he stocked his island retreat. Within three months, he had bought up hundreds of slaves similar to those he had purchased at the Stockyards, but adding specialized stock as well:

• those who had experience in slave handling and supervision who would

organize the work gangs, determine and mete out appropriate discipline,

and serve as overseers;

• slave management specialists, who would be responsible for production

of slave chow, the slave feedings, the individual slave food allocations, to

insure peak health, energy, physique, and skin tone, caging and general

hygiene in the slave barracks, bathing and enema schedules and

supervision, and proper grooming of the slaves including body shaves,

hair cuts, and the fitting of collars, rings, bands, brands, tattoo

identifications, harnesses, mouth bits, and decorations as needed for new

role assignments, special occasions, parties, or celebrations;

• specialized supervisory roles requiring unique training or experience

such as building and road construction; domestic service; production,

packaging and sales of slave sperm to various breeding operations

located in various areas of the world; operation of a fishing and fish

processing facility; operation of farming operations for vegetable and fruit

production and preservation; sales of truck farm products; sales of fish

products; electronic specialists for installation and maintenance of

satellite dishes, computers, and electronic data banks; air and sea port

installation and maintenance; and setting up and supervising the bottling

of "cum" (over and beyond the sperm sales division) for the health tonic,

condiment, breakfast food, and cosmetic skin cream markets.

This buying spree had paid off. The island was now fully stocked with all the human resources it needed to be highly profitable with high quality products to sell to a world market, most pleasant to live in, fully self-sustaining, and a wonderful place to entertain others either out of hospitality or with a profit in mind. Within six months, Geoffrey Bowers was selling all he could produce at very high profits.

Over 50 of Geoffrey's purchases had come from a dealer in the Middle East who had a huge selection of black slaves. That dealer was now on the phone calling as a 'follow-up' to Geoffrey's recent purchases.

"How are they working out, Geoffrey? I thought I'd wait a month or so to call so you could see how the stock you bought from me was settling in," the dealer explained, "I'm not bullshitting you, Geoffrey, but you bought some of the best blacks I have seen in several years."

"They're working out quite well I suppose. At least, I haven't heard a word of complaint from any of the supervisors of those assigned outside the house, and those here in the house have met all my expectations so far," Geoffrey responded, adding "that means, Jamil my friend, they're taking all 12 inches without groaning too loudly."

The dealer laughed heartily. "I'm glad to hear my dildo training paid off."

"Shit. The only dildo training those slaves got was you fucking them silly every day with your own huge tool," Geoffrey laughed. "At any rate, they seem to know how to take a good fucking without much fuss. As to those I bought for outdoor assignments, you might not recognize them now. They've all put on some real muscle, their color has evened up since they're out in the sun a lot, and they've learned to work under the whip fairly quickly so they're not dumb by any means. I've been watching them a lot with my binoculars and you can practically see them growing muscle under the whip's discipline. The overseers like the looks of them - at least, they seem to the way they keep fucking them throughout the day. The know, Jamil, you sold me some of those overseers - how in the hell do they get it up seven or eight times a day to fuck those slaves under them? Did you give them a Viagra implant or what?"

Jamil chuckled, happy to hear a satisfied customer report on his stock in trade. "Oh, Geoffrey, if you were out in the fields or barns or construction sites with nothing to do all day but look at the rumps of good looking slave boys, what do you think you'd do? Especially knowing a good fucking is essential in maintaining a proper overseer/slave relationship anyway?"

"I suppose I'd fuck slaves seven or eight times a day," Geoffrey laughed. "It would break the boredom."

"Exactly," Jamil laughed. "Geoffrey, if you run across some friends looking for some fresh stock, I'd appreciate your mentioning me to them, " Jamil said seriously. "In this business, we can't exactly advertise except by word of mouth."

"Be happy to, Jamil. That's exactly how I heard about you - from a friend of mine and I'm grateful to him for mentioning you."

"That's what I like to hear," Jamil cooed. "Say, Geoffrey, any chance of ever waggling an invitation to see your operation? I think if I actually saw it first hand I would be in a better position to fulfill any future needs you might have," he suggested tactfully.

"You're just nosy, Jamil," Geoffrey replied, "and, besides, you like to look at good looking slave meat any chance you get. You don't fool me. You think I didn't notice your hard-on the entire time you were showing me your stock."

"I was too polite to mention yours," Jamil chortled, "charming as it was. But that's what told me you'd offer a fine home for any stock you purchased - you appreciate good looking slave meat and respond appropriately."

"Well, I admit to that. Back to your begging to take a look-see, I was thinking about it anyway. How about next Friday for the weekend. I think I'll invite a few other dealers I have purchased from while I'm at it if they're free then. That way, you can swap notes with each other about the market in general, and I hope be willing to offer some suggestions to improve things around here. And your point about furnishing any new stock requirements without my having to pick them out myself isn't a bad one, although, Jamil, I enjoy looking prospective stock over, as you just mentioned. You apparently study your customer's crotches when they're shopping."

"We Arab traders aren't stupid, Geoffrey. But we do study your eyes too - not just your crotches. Pupils wide open - you want that slave; pupils constricted - no sale. Crotch swollen - you're interested; crotch normal - no sale probably. We call it the wisdom of the East, Geoffrey," Jamil laughed. "At least I'm still in business."

"I was thinking of inviting a dealer from New York over, the owner of a breeding farm in Mississippi, also in the States, a dealer in Nigeria, and a dealer in Kiev who specializes in Slavs."

"Sounds real interesting. I'd especially like to met the breeder and that dealer in blonds. If the breeder is from Mississippi, he probably turns out many a black for the market, but why the Ukrainian dealer, Geoffrey? I thought you just bought blacks. Does he offer blacks way up in Kiev?"

"Not many, I imagine," Geoffrey laughed. "But I was thinking of adding a few blond boys here and there for variety. Besides, have you ever seen a black slave offered a blond boy to fuck. They go crazy trying to get to them. I don't know what it is - just something different or some inborn desire to try out a white or what. One of my supervisors claims "Once you've fucked a whitey, there's no going back" as if he is stating some great universal truth handed down from generation to generation. When I asked the stud if he had ever actually poked a white, he admitted he hadn't, but still insisted it was true because "everyone said so." where he came from.

"Where did the supervisor slave come from?" Jamil queried. "America?"

"Hell no, he was from deepest Africa and had never even seen a white until he laid his eyes on the likes of me," Geoffrey burst into guffaws of laugher. "Do you think he was just saying he'd like to fuck me?"

"Well, you are damn attractive," Jamil ventured. "Geoffrey, on the auction block, I wouldn't consider a bid under $1 million for you."

"You must assess every damn body you look at, Jamil! But I admit you're quite a flatterer even if remarks like that make me feel like some damn slave in one of your holding cells. But I don't plan to be on your auction block anytime soon so forget it. Besides, where you live, how many whites are offered?"

"More than you seem to realize, Geoffrey. We were hugely overstocked with blacks when you were there. But normally, it's about 40% white, 30% Asian, and about 30% blacks."

"Where do you get them?"

"All over Europe, the U.S., Canada, Australia, even the Ukraine as you just mentioned. Where there are people, there are slaves, Geoffrey. One way or another."

"Well, that's obvious," Geoffrey admitted, looking at the hundreds in plain site as he was speaking on the phone.

"Count me in for the weekend visit, Geoffrey, but how in the hell do I get there?"

"I'll fax you the coordinates for the autopilots. The only way here is by a small private airplane or a yacht. I assume you have both? From where you're at, it will take about two hours by jet; three hours by turboprop; a good 24 hours by yacht. The small airstrip is hidden, but has marker lights which I will turn on if I know precisely when to expect you. The same with the docks. Hidden, but I can turn on the marker lights. And, Jamil, no guests but you. Sorry, but that's a condition I have to insist on for both your security as well as mine. We've both in illegal activities as far as a good part of the world thinks, in case you've forgotten in that slave-friendly environment you're in where my guess is most people close their eyes to your little goings on with a little money across their palm. They don't see it as a moral issue like so many do in some other priggish parts of the world today."

"I'm going by boat, Geoffrey. I can pilot the thing myself easily enough with the autopilot and I enjoy being out in the Ocean. All this sand all the time makes me long for the water, I guess. And, Geoffrey, I trust no one in the business I'm in - no one. Just my customers who are in this as deep as I am. So, don't worry, I'm going all by my lonesome. And the other dealers will too - believe me. We've all had a scape or two along the way - an escaped slave before it was fully trained, a nosy family member, a distraught parent, a hypocritical politician looking to grab some cheap votes at election time (but who can close his eyes to the trade once the vote is in and his palm has been. greased). Yes, we've all learned to be careful - we have to."

"Even the breeders?" Geoffrey asked, thinking of his potential Mississippi guest.

"Yes, even the breeders, Geoffrey," Jamil answered. "There are plenty of people around who think it is immoral to breed humans like other livestock. They understand it can be done easily enough - they just don't like it to be done because it scares them. The end product is a whole race of people bigger, stronger, better looking, sexier, more virile, better equipped, healthier, and more disease resistant than they are and they can't stand the idea of that. It's a threat to their own puny little dicks, their pathetic musculature, their chronic health problems, their obesity, their need for drugs to even get it up - those bred slaves show them up each and every time and they're not going to stand for it. I know - I'm in the breeding business myself on a small scale and even in my enlightened country, I've run across the religious fanatics who claim I'm working against God's divine plan. I can imagine what it's like in Mississippi with that bunch of crackerjacks."

"I'll fax the position to you, Jamil. See you Friday," Geoffrey ended the conversation. He had to get on with his invitation to the other four guests he had in mind for the weekend.

All of the other four invitations were readily accepted. Three were coming by private jet, the Nigerian decided to come by yacht. Geoffrey decided to let each guest pick a "personal attendant" out of his bevy of indoor slaves to serve him during the day and a couple of other slaves of his choice each evening so he would have three slaves to entertain or service him during the night. Each guest would have their own private suite overlooking the Ocean. During the day, he planned to take them on a tour of his slave chow production facilities, his fishery, his farming operations, his sperm packaging facility, and the milking barn for his cum bottling plant. That's about all the time they would have, he figured, if he was to allow enough leisure time for casual dining and good conversation among people with similar interests. Toward that end, he ordered six rickshaws to be made ready with steads selected and harnessed, the menus for the weekend prepared in advance, and scheduled all indoor slaves to be bathed, body shaved, and oiled daily, given a complete set of enemas every morning and evening followed by a good lubing, and, to insure the slaves were properly motivated to offer themselves enthusiastically to his guests with no reservations, he suggested that slaves not chosen by his guests for usage would face appropriate discipline as soon as they departed.

Unbeknownst to each other, each of the guests brought a 'house gift' with them. Jamil, remembering Geoffrey's mentioning of some light skinned slaves for a change of pace, had a Greek slave in tow - bright eyed, so beautiful he was almost feminine, but decidedly all man with his heavy equipment and massive musculature - as his gift. The Greek boy had been flushed out, oiled, shaved, and then crammed into a tight little cage for the trip, but he didn't stay there long. Once the autopilot was set and the yacht was underway, Jamil fastened a leash to the Greek's collar and first had the slave suck him slow and deep until he deposited a full load in the slave's stomach. An hour later, the slave was placed on back with his legs over his shoulders and fucked for another hour. By the time the yacht was nearing the designated position, the Greek had drained Jamil five times: two loads were now in his stomach; three loads were oozing out of his ass. Jamil ordered the slave to shave and then clean himself inside and out, oiled and lubed him, and then fastened a big red velvet bow around the boy's very ample genitals before recaging him.

The New York dealer brought another black stud from the Stockyards - this one relatively short, but with an impressive physique, startling good looks, a cute rounded butt, and turgid sexual apparatus that seemed to remain hard all the time.

The Nigerian brought a jet-black boy no more than 17 who looked fresh and unused - he was tall, well built, ruggedly handsome, and well equipped. He was so black he appeared blue in strong light but his eyes were his best feature: they were a startling bright green! His skin, when polished with a good coat of oil, looked like liquid coal. The dealer had seen fit to equip him with a heavy tall collar, a heavy thick band around his genitals, two large tit rings, and a large nose ring hanging down over his upper lip - all in the exact green of his eyes! The overall effect was splendiferous.

The Mississippi breeder brought a sample of his latest product which would be marketed in about two more years on the open market. The near 18-year-old prototype of the new breed (to be marketed internationally within weeks) was a mustee, to be marketed as a 'white nigger,' who had all the best features of blacks (the big muscular physiques, the disease resistance, the endurance and strength, the early maturation rates, the nice big sexual equipment and the strong sexual drives) with the more refined features of whites (the fine textured silky hair, the light colored eyes and hair, the thin lips and noses, the milky skin). Now fully mature at 18, the slave displayed all the features of the new breed and, being a bred slave, had been trained since birth.

The dealer from Kiev brought his speciality: a round-faced sturdily built brownish blond male with good musculature, massive pecs, outlined abs highlighting a very small waist, a muscled bubble butt above massive thighs, a long, thick circumcised penis, and bright blue eyes. His slave was well into his twenties and was fully mature, had a back and rump noticeably scarred from rigorous training sessions indicating he had been hard to break, and was fitted with several 'control' devices: a large ring through his left tit, a leash ring fitted around his balls, a heavy thick iron collar, and, even more prominent than his deeply burnt brands on his right pec and left butt, a thick 3" nose leash ring fitted through his septum. The slave's face featured high cheek bones, thin lips and thick, heavy eye lashes. Other than the beautiful, shiny hair on his head, he seemed to be naturally hairless save a small wisp under each arm and an even smaller wisp right above his genitals. He was kept well oiled, so his golden skin simply glowed under the light.

All five guests arrived as scheduled late Friday afternoon, each with their house gift uncaged and walking behind them leashed. Each had been decorated for the event: Jamil's blond wore the red velvet bow around his genitals; the black stud from New York had a "Thank You" card attached to his slave collar just as the Nigerian's gift had a similar card attached to his nose ring. The bred slave from Mississippi was presented singing a charming ditty "Welcome to my body," which was cute and clever. The blond slave from Kiev bowed upon presentation and handed the end of his genital leash to his master's host, Geoffrey Bowers.

"You didn't need to bring any house gifts," Geoffrey protested. "They're all splendid specimens, but really.... .no gifts were expected or needed."

"Nonsense," the Nigerian dealer said. "It's customary in the trade to always give a small sample of your wares to a good customer."

"Indeed," the Mississippi breeder added. "For every 10 we sell, we give one away now and then. Helps the business in the long run. People don't buy unless they have some idea of what they're going to get for the big bucks."

"Well, you embarrass me with your generosity, guys. But, I guess I'm forced to give you my parting gifts now in this case. I was going to give them to you when you left Sunday, but I think I'll do it now. Don't worry, I'll put them back into their holding cages until you're ready to leave." With that, Geoffrey, issued an order to his slave steward who appeared within 90 seconds with five gorgeous black slaves - all naked save their slave collars; all beautifully built; all exceptionally handsome; and all magnificently equipped. They were all primed to show hard and once into the room, bowed to their master, and then immediately went into a 'display' position with pelvis thrust out, legs wide spread, and hands behind their head. Remarkably, they were all within five pounds of each other and were exactly the same height and general build. Even their penises and balls seemed identical in size and structure.

"I was going to have you pick from my stock for your gift, but decided it was more polite to pick them myself. Therefore, they're all practically alike as you can see and all are trained to perfection so I doubt you'll be disappointed with them either in or out of bed. My steward has the transfer of ownership papers all prepared with your names all filled in. Once you've looked your little farewell gift over, the steward will take them to your suite for the duration of your visit, or place them in their holding cell again - whichever you want."

The guests looked their gifts over carefully, all being experienced at assessing human flesh, and then announced, almost in unison, "Great gift, Geoffrey, but like you said, hardly necessary. But since you've obviously planned this out, long in advance, place them in our rooms. We'll pack them up when we leave. It will give us something to remember our visit."

"Indeed," Geoffrey said. "Steward, deliver these slaves to the appropriate suites." Turning to the newly gifted slaves, he admonished them "Make sure you make my guests as happy as they've ever been. Although you belong to them now, I surely don't intend for you to embarrass my hospitality in any way."

"Yes, master," the five slaves said, their eyes submissively to the ground, not yielding to the temptation to study their new owners at this point.

"Steward," Geoffrey continued as he turned to the five slaves just given to him as house gifts, "take these new slaves up to my own quarters and make them ready for my use tonight when I retire. By morning, I should be able to report to my guests as to their performance."

"Yes, master," the steward said humbly as he quickly gathered up the gift slave's leashes and jerked them away along with the five his master had given to the weekend guests. All ten slaves and the steward padded silently out of the room.

"Dinner at 8 after you've had a chance to freshen up. Each of your suites is equipped with two body slaves as well as the slave I just gave you and all of them are fully trained to offer you the pleasures of their bodies after such a long and tiring trip. Dress is casual here - wear anything you like or nothing if you prefer. Doesn't matter, but it's always wise to wear at least a little something so no one confuses you with the slaves who I keep butt naked all the time save for their collars and body fittings. Dinner will be served, of course, but you'll have a variety of choices, so don't feel you have to eat anything not to your exact liking. Dinner will give us a chance to relax and get to know each other a little better."

At that time, 10 very good looking naked slaves edged into the room, each with a suite number attached to their collar. "Pick a number and the slaves will show you to your suite. The suites are all alike so just pick one. The steward will make arrangements for any luggage you brought to be delivered to your room if he hasn't done so already.. The pool is right outside your suite if you would like to take a little dip. If you have any questions, the body slaves assigned to your suite can answer any questions, I'm sure, as well as provide any refreshments or services you might prefer at this time. See you at dinner, gentlemen, 8 o'clock sharp."

All five slaves just given as housegifts to Geoffrey Bowers were now in their new master's own suite, each fastened by their leashes to the convenient wall hooks located throughout the apartment. They welcomed the rest since during the trip here, their former masters had used them practically non-stop. Each slave's ass was sore as well as their jaws and throat - both parts of their body had been stretched repeatedly during the journey to this island retreat. But now, of course, they had been flushed out and relubed so they suspected it wouldn't be long until their new master had a go at them.

"Never been just given away as a gift," the Greek slave initiated conversation with the other leashed slaves. "Always been sold off at auction before and," he paused, "always brought a damn good price if I do say so myself."

"We're mighty lavish gifts," the Nigerian slave responded. "My former master, the dealer that brought me here, paid $400,000 for this slave's body. That's some gift if anyone asks me!"

"Well, no one asking a slave anything, I imagine," the blond Slav laughed, "but that's the same price I brought at the Kiev auction. If we're all worth about the same, and from the looks of things I would say that's about right since we're all what the dealers call 'prime meat,' there's over $2 million dollars worth of slave leashed to the wall here. That's one hell of a gift. Who is our new master anyway? Must be someone awfully important to warrant gifts like that."

"Yeah, but did you get a look at those slaves he gave them?" the New York black slave asked. "Each one I saw looked like they'd price out as high as us - maybe even higher. Looks to me our previous masters got back about as good as they gave." Looking around at the three light colored slaves, he added, "At least if you like black slaves."

"Big market in blacks," the Mississippi boy said. "The farm I'm at - that's about all they produce."

The blond Slav laughed. "Blacks in Kiev are a sensation. They sell as fast as they arrive and usually bring in a good $100,000 to $200,000 surcharge over we white boys. I don't know why - we Slavs are just as well built from what I've seen. I suppose it the novelty of a body covered in black hide and those big thick lips that are good for sucking, maybe. I'm surprised they haven't tried to dye some of us Slavs black to get the premium price."

The Greek slave interjected. "Well, we weren't given away to just look pretty I bet. My guess is we're going to have to prove our worth before the night is over although my ass is sore as hell just from the trip here."

The Nigerian looked down at the band around his balls his leash was attached to. "That dealer that brought me played with my balls all the way here and they're sore as hell. I just hope my new master decides to play with some other part of me - even playing with my nose ring would be a relief at this point."

The black slave from New York asked the slave from Mississippi, "Are you really a black boy like they claimed - just made to look white?"

"They're going to sell us as 'white niggers' but one of the breeders told me we weren't anything really but a bunch of 'octoroons.' I didn't know what that was, but I heard another breeder tell some potential buyer that an 'octoroon' was 1/8th black and 7/8ths white. Of course, we're special bred to retain some of the dominant black traits buyers prefer like muscular physiques and big dicks."

"Any of you born free?" the blond Slav asked, "or you bred for the market like me?"

"I was free once," the New York black responded. "Up until about a year ago when I was taken off the streets and sent to this place called the Stockyards that trained me to be a slave."

"Me too," the Nigerian black said. "I was kidnapped from my home village about six months ago and sold to the dealer for training. Happens all the time in my country. Hard to stay free if you're worth anything on the open market. Dealer told me, if it wasn't for the slave exports, my country would be in bad shape economically."

"I think it's easier to be a slave if you were just born into it," the New York black ventured. "We free-born slaves have a hard time adjusting to slavery and it involves a lot of punishment before we get broken to it. You bred slaves never have to be broken - you never thought of yourselves as anything but slaves from day one. Makes it a lot easier I'd think. I bet you don't have to be beaten half to death before you accept what you are."

"We're got the advantage there," the Greek slave said. "You won't see any scars on my back and rump from being broken," he laughed. "I was broken the day I was born, I guess."

All conversation stopped as their new master arrived along with two strikingly handsome body slaves. The new slaves jerked into display positions as was appropriate when in the presence of their master.

"I'm going to rest a while and won't be sampling what you have to offer me until after dinner tonight. But while I'm resting, it won't hurt for you to offer a little demonstration of your talent with each other while my body slaves are bathing and massaging me. Black and white will be the theme so I want to see the Ukrainian boy fucked by the black from New York; the white nigger fucked by the Nigerian, and you, Greek boy, will be fucked by my black body slave here that isn't massaging me at the moment. Boys," he addressed his body slaves, "get these new slaves unleashed and down on their hands and knees where I can see them fucking."

With that command, the five new slaves were unleashed and properly positioned and, for the next half hour, along with one of the black body slaves, put on a show for their new master's amusement. Those being fucked squirmed and groaned as their sore asses were once again invaded but their moans were quickly matched by the panting of those fucking them. After the black slaves had emptied their loads into the quivering white asses beneath them, the couples were ordered to reverse their positions and the whole procedure started off again, this time whites pistoning sore black asses until they too collapsed on their partners back, spent after a complete discharge well up the black's chutes.

"Nice show," their new master said as he turned to his primary body slave. "Leash them back to the wall for now, but after you've bathed and dressed me and I'm at dinner, bathe the lot of them inside and out and give them a good lubing. I want them fresh for my bed tonight."

"Yes, master," both black body slaves said in genuflexion before their master with their foreheads touching the floor, the new slave gifts aptly impressed by this novel symbol of total submission to their current owner.

Geoffrey and his guests enjoyed the dinner that night at the Oceanum estate. It was served by a corp of beautiful naked blacks who never spilled a drop, were always instantaneously attentive to the guest's needs, and presented themselves provocatively so that the guests knew they could use their bodies at any time if they so desired. The food was exquisite in both taste and presentation.

"Don't be shy in using the waiters for your enjoyment," Geoffrey urged, reaching out and grabbing a nearby waiter's dripping erect shaft and stroking it suggestively. They enjoy sucking or taking a good fuck. Or perhaps you'd enjoy having the waiters provide a little warm sauce to go with your meal," as he wiped a drop of pre-cum off the end of the waiter's now quivering shaft. "Some of us like fresh cum as a condiment with our meat and vegetables." That said, he demonstrated with the waiter in hand and, within a minute, had a large amount of steaming fresh cum on his plate right next to some jumbo shrimp. "Perfect as a cocktail sauce," he said as he dipped one of the shrimp into the frothy white cum and the drained waiter, head bowed appropriately, stepped back behind his owner.

With that encouragement, all of the guests took the black waiter standing beside them and milked out some sauce for their plate as the donating slaves arched their backs and moaned in the throes of orgasm. But none of the guests used any of the waiters to suck them or ordered the waiters into a position to be fucked.

"Why not fuck some of my slaves? If you don't like the looks of this batch, there are plenty more, perhaps more to your liking," Geoffrey pleaded.

"It's those damn autopilots, Geoffrey," the dealer from New York blurted out laughing.

"I beg your pardon, Sidney," Geoffrey arched his eyebrows. "Did you say autopilots?"

"Autopilots," the dealer said again. "With a modern autopilot on our planes and boats, we're free to use the stock we brought with us. Personally, I'm completely fucked out after the long trip and I imagine that gift I just gave you is mighty sore in the ass," he laughed.

"Yes," the Nigerian dealer added, "we never claimed the gifts were virginal. The boy I gave you could hardly walk off the boat by the time we got here."

"Nor mine," the Ukrainian dealer laughed.

"I tested out the stamina of the new white nigger line myself," the Mississippi breeder laughed. "I'm well satisfied in that their stamina is better than mine although," looking at the other dealers, "his ass is mighty sore as well as his throat."

"Perhaps you'll recover enough to enjoy my gifts to you after dinner," Geoffrey suggested.

"Not a chance, Geoffrey," the Ukrainian dealer responded. "None of us, I would guess, will get around to that until tomorrow night at best, but my best guess is that we won't really try them out until on the trip home. It will give us something to thank you for on the way home."

"Well, just as well, I suppose. But in this recovery period of yours, please feel free to sample anything that strikes your fancy. They're all available to you as my guests at any time."

"That's what I call real hospitality, Geoffrey," the Nigerian dealer exclaimed. "Staying here could spoil me."

"That's what Oceanum is all about - spoiling you," Geoffrey laughed.

As each of the guests began enjoying the new condiment with their shrimp, the conversation slowed down until each was completely full on the delicacies offered flavored with the delicious cum sauce. Twice the cum sauce had to be replenished, but the attending slaves seemed to be unperturbed as additional loads were pumped out of them.

But eventually the talk turned to their main enterprise - the slave trade - and before the evening was over, Geoffrey had a clear idea of types of slaves available, the current prices, future supplies, and how the trade was rapidly expanding due to ever increasing demand. It was clear he wasn't the only person around with the means and inclination to enjoy the availability of slaves in today's world.

As the guests began stirring in preparation to leave to their individual suites, Geoffrey outlined the next day's tentative schedule. "Tomorrow, assuming you'll all be getting up rather late, we can enjoy a leisurely brunch at this same spot and then I'd like to invite you to see some of the operations here if you're interested."

They all nodded they would be and that the schedule sounded fine so far.

"I thought we could have a drive-by through the farming and fishing operations in my slave-powered rickshaws which are a lot of fun and then have a look-see of the sperm packaging operation that has turned out to be so profitable, my own slave chow production facility manned entirely by slave labor, and, finally, the cum sauce canning operation being marketed under the "Oceanum" label. By the time that's over, it will be time to dine again, and by then, I figure you'll be eager to try out those attendants assigned to your suites. On Sunday, another late brunch, a showing of all my stock so you can get some idea of future needs here, and then I'd like to pump your brains about buying some white slaves if you don't mind. Then we'll get you off in plenty of time with your slave gifts all cleansed, shaved, and lubed for your use on the long trip home and a nice little picnic lunch packed on their back if you happen to get hungry. "

"Perfect," the five guests clapped their hands in unison. "Sounds perfect."

With that, each guest went to their own suite, and Geoffrey began the evening by unleashing the Nigerian boy just given him and taking the black boy to his bed for a thorough fucking with the boy on his back and his legs up over his shoulders. After playing with his tits extensively as he shot a big load up the boy's stretched chute, he then drifted off into a deep sleep as his hands massaged the black slave's big heavily banded balls. The other 'gifts' slept on the floor still chained to the wall by their leashes knowing their time would come.

Brunch went extremely well and all the guests looked refreshed from their night's sleep. As they finished eating, a fleet of six rickshaws appeared at the side entrance to the dining hall, each powered by a massively muscled black slave with a bright gold ring in his nose outfitted in full leather harnesses across his chest, his wrist bands locked to the pull stalks of the rickshaw, his huge genitals tightly banded to not only project them outward but prevent them from flopping around between his legs, and an eager look on his smiling face. Each rickshaw was brightly colored with a leather upholstered seat and a matching leather slave whip in a holder to one side.

"We'll use these rickshaws to get us around the estate," Geoffrey explained. "The slaves won't mind a little encouragement at times," Geoffrey laughed as he took one of the whips out of its holder and slashed it through the air. "In fact, they sort of expect it," he added as he lashed the rump of the first harnessed slave in line who yelped from the pain but never moved an inch. "Hear the pony whinny?" he asked as he again lashed the slave and again the slave yelped which did, in fact, resemble the whinny of a horse.

Geoffrey led the way to the first destination, the sperm production and packaging facility since the morning production schedule was underway at that time enabling the visitors to see the operation first hand. Once there, Geoffrey explained the operation to a most interested audience.

"The Black Impregnator" packets of fresh frozen sperm were a big hit from the very beginning, probably due to their clever packaging in their large plastic disposable dildos with a plunger at the end. The dildos are 8x3 so most slave women can handle them easily but still got a kick out of their insertion; they are molded to exactly resembly a big black circumcised penis in full erection; they are preloaded with enough fresh frozen semen to insure a good impregnation' and theycome complete with a plunger at the end which made sure all that semen is shot well up into the receptive vagina. Instructions with each pack include directions on exactly when to insert the dildo based on time of month, body temperature, hormonal readings; how to pump the dildo into the slave woman to stimulate her ovaries; exactly when to hit the plunger based on the woman's clitoral and vaginal lip swelling as well as her breathing rate, and how to test for success after 24 hours. Each kit includes a "reload" package in case the first administration has been unsuccessful or the timing hadn't been right. The kit even includes a coupon for a another free packet if all instructions had been followed to the letter and no pregnancy had occurred in a slave woman who has been proven fertile, has been administered the kit at just the right time, has produced at least one child prior to this administration; is in excellent health, and is in the 18 to 26 age range considered prime for breeding. The "Black Impregnator"'s warranty is seldom invoked, and ever increasing sales indicate it works. Breeding slaves like the product is they're not going to be allowed to fuck a real life in-house stud, and the sperm itself is highly desirable - most owners want a big, handsome, strong, well equipped, and sturdy slave to market in 16 or 17 years down the line regardless of their sex or exact color. A lot of breeders, it seems, want slaves these days to have at least some black blood in them, but the biggest market for "The Black Impregnator" kits are the huge Saudi Arabian breeding farms. They never quibble as to the price of the kits and have a standing order for at least 80% of the current production. It is, they claim, much cheaper than keeping studs in residence and offers them a greater variety of genes. As you are probably aware, my friends, Saudi breeders have experienced many problems with inbreeding their slaves in the past where brothers were paired with sisters, sons with mothers, etc., through poor record keeping and sloppy management. The results have been too many cases of poor product quality. The imported "Black Impregnator" kits, drawn from the output of thousands of slaves from around the world, has eliminated that problem entirely as well as practically insured bettering the breed in terms of size, stamina, and appearance over the years. Now, every 'outdoor' slave on the island here is jerked off morning and evening by a fellow slave (Oceanum slaves aren't allowed to touch themselves) into the small plastic tubes that are quickly inserted into the dildos and then instantly flash-frozen for preservation. The slaves you see here being milked love it - it's their only sexual outlet usually so they really look forward to their twice a day milking. My 'indoor' slaves aren't milked for this operation. I want them hard up and dripping in need at all times for a good showing around the manor house and, if I or my guests don't drain them, eventually we use them for the cum sauce production which is done at another separate facility right in the basement of the manor house. The "Black Impregnator" is providing a good steady income now, gentlemen.

"How big, Geoffrey?" the Mississippi breeder asked, "if I may ask?"

"Four to five million a year in sales," Geoffrey replied with a big smile. "You think, in a typical prison, more than that goes down the drain every week. And how much of that precious seed do you dealers see spilled on the floor every time you're showing off your stock to prospective buyers?" The secret is to get it packaged and on the market."

"You're right, Geoffrey. In the Ukraine, we tend to pen our stock together in big holding cages and every night the dealers there encourage the stock to play around with each other to keep them calm and manageable. Imagine what we could get if we harvested that crop of seed each night instead of watching them fuck and suck each other? We could probably up our profits 10 to 20 percent."

"Probably," Geoffrey conceded, "although I'm not sure about the market for the seed out of white slaves."

"I'm not either, Geoffrey, but you know damn well some breeder somewhere would pay a good price for it if he wanted light-skinned outputs. Up until now, I think they just buy a white stud and put him to it round the clock. But all that does is produce a bunch of half brothers and sisters and eventually, you're going to run into genetic problems. I'm going to look into it when I get home. No use in all those Slavic slaves thinking they can just shoot off any time they damn please every night in the pens. Might as well turn that to my profit."

"That's my point," Geoffrey said, smiling.

The slaves pulling the rickshaws were scheduled to be milked by sperm packaging plant attendants while they were standing shackled to their conveyances and this was now in progress as the guests returned. They watched the huge blacks buck and heave in their shackles as the sperm was pumped out of them by the well trained hands of the attendants.

"Ever have a slave balk at being milked like this?" the New York dealer asked.

"No. They look forward to it. It's their only way to unload so they're always eager to get milked," Geoffrey replied. "Besides, black male slaves basically see themselves as sperm machines anyway."

The enormous blacks were flaccid by the time the guests again climbed in and lashed the slaves across the rump to get them started. After the slaves had been brought up to a brisk pace, they broke into a heavy, but becoming sweat throughout their body, and their breathing turned into a rhythmic panting. The guests went through miles of farming and construction sites fairly quickly at this pace, witnessing hundreds of naked slaves working in gangs under the heavy lash of an overseer. They marveled at the universal display of magnificent musculature, splendid shiny black physiques, and unresisting cooperation with their overseers in working to the utmost of their capacity under the motivation of the ever present whip biting into their backs and rumps. Although milked just a few a short time before, most sported hard-ons sporadically as they built up another huge load in their balls for the evening milking. Most of the slaves, overseers and workers alike, smiled and waved as the entourage went zooming by in their slave-powered rickshaws.

When they circled for a rest stop, Geoffrey explained the farming operations carefully and pointed out that production was fully self-sustaining, about 98% going into the production of slave chow (all that was needed for Oceanum plus plenty left over for a most profitable export) and 2% of the highest quality reserved for use in the manor house. The fishery was even more profitable in that only 15% of the worst quality was needed for local consumption (it was the main protein ingredient of the slave chow produced) with the remainder all frozen and sold in European markets. The exceptional catch was reserved for the manor house. Slaves and their overseers working in the fishery usually stunk to high heaven but it didn't matter even to them in that they soon got used to it and didn't even smell each other in that they were kept segregated most of the time, even the times they were milked for their sperm. Geoffrey pointed out that slaves were ideally suited to working in fisheries or other situations where smell was a real problem, like tanneries, chemical factories, or garbage dumps, in that, first, they had no choice in the matter of where they worked; second, they could not quit like so often happened in the free world; and third, their naked bodies could easily be washed off as necessary. They did have to be well fed with slave chow, though, if you didn't want them sneaking off and eating part of the catch. Geoffrey related a tale of where an owner thought it unnecessary to feed slaves working in a fishery in that they could just eat what was left over from the canning operations, i.e., the entrails, heads, tails, etc. The slaves, once hungry enough, did eat all the scrap as was expected, but soon developed all sorts of skin and disease problems. Turns out the diet was so unbalanced the slaves all died off within the year and he had to replace them with a whole new batch. He didn't change his ways until eight batches of slaves later when a visitor suggested their diet might have something to do with their short life span rather than their natural obstinance or the lack of enough lashes with the bull whip.

"Live and learn," the Ukrainian dealer laughed. "I wouldn't of thought of it myself."

"Yes," the Nigerian dealer said, "I admit I usually turn to the whip when I encounter problems with slaves. It usually is the answer, of course, but in this case, you've made your point, Geoffrey."

"Oh, I don't discredit the essential usefulness of a strong whip," Geoffrey laughed.

"I didn't think so, going by what we just witnessed in your farming and construction operations," the New York dealer chuckled. "Those overseers must go through a whip a day at the rate they were going, and those slave's hides must be more leather than skin anymore to take the whip as well as they do."

"With the new Mylar whips, you don't have to worry about tearing up their backs and rumps like you used to," the Ukrainian added helpfully. "Nowadays, you can whip the hell out of them and hardly ever break the hide. But it hurts even worse, I understand, so the work output goes up. A wonderful invention."

"We use nothing but Mylar anymore here at Oceanum," Geoffrey said proudly. "Except when we want to hear the sound of a good bull whip in action. Nothing like it, really, Mylar or not. The sound alone is instructive with some stock, I've found, when you're breaking them."

"Well, breaking them is one thing. Motivating them to work harder is something else, and there, Mylar is the clear winner," the Nigerian dealer said. "But like you, Geoffrey, we still like the bullwhip, judiciously used, for the initial breaking of a new boy into his slavehood. Like you say, it's the sound that stays with them forever, not just the terrible pain."

The slave bearers were all breathing normally again, so the six continued their tour of the estate in their rickshaws. Every aspect of the fishing and fish packaging operations were viewed directly from the rickshaws where they could position themselves upwind to avoid the smell. Again the slaves and their overseers took a moment to smile and wave at the infrequent sight of visitors breaking the routine of their work. As usual, the guests marveled at the magnificent specimens of naked manhood paraded in front of them in their backbreaking tasks. They noted that despite the stench and smell, the slaves all, to a man, looked exceptionally healthy and happy.

The next stop was only a short distance away - the slave chow factory. There about 30 naked slaves under the watchful eye of whip-yielding overseers were busily making the island's main food supply. An assortment of vegetables and fish stock was being fed into huge grinders powered by slaves chained directly to a grind wheel with whips constantly urging them on to greater efforts. Coming out of the other end was a thick paste like substance to which other slaves were adding liquid vitamins, a low grade antibiotic, and herbal supplements. After a thorough stirring by yet other slaves, the stinking substance was spread out onto huge metal sheets and placed in a large continuous oven by a team of sweating slaves where it was baked hard within 10 minutes in the intense heat. As soon as it emerged from the hot ovens, the smell had been baked away, and another group of slaves cut the meal into bite sized chucks before it was packaged into 100 pound bags by yet another team. As the group watched, many of the slaves doing the mixing wretched from the horrible smell before it was baked, but their vomit just became part of the mixture. And one of the slaves, placed in the back breaking task of pulling the grinding wheels, collapsed in a pool of vomit despite the rain of cutting whips on his back and had to be temporarily replaced.

"What's your output, Geoffrey?" the Ukrainian dealer asked.

"About five times as much as we consume. We make some money off exporting the product, although slave chow, as you know, has a pretty low markup. It's so cheap now, you really can't charge much for it, but it sure keeps slave maintenance costs down."

"I'm always amazed that it smells so god awful until its baked. But using fish waste as the source of protein really makes it stink. I see some of the slaves can't stand it no matter how long they've been assigned here. I thought they'd get use to it after a while, but it doesn't look that way," the Mississippian laughed.

"We rotate the slaves around from job to job so they only have to work at the stinking jobs about a third of the time. Otherwise, we'd lose them to malnutrition - slaves don't eat when they're vomiting from the stench," he smiled. "So you mix it for a few hours, then you help bake it, then back to the grinding wheel for a while, then you are packaging it. That way you're only sick part of each day and can eat up your own product the rest of the time."

"Clever, Geoffrey. They all look as healthy as a horse. Of course, I notice it takes a steady whip to keep them focused on their work and their backs look pretty sore. Thank God for those Mylar whips once again of those boys backs would be in shreds. All that screaming from the whips does break up the monotony of the noise of the grinding wheels though."

"Your chow seems to work well enough. All of your stock practically glows with good health, Geoffrey," the Nigerian said. "Of course, slave chow formulae are pretty standardized by now - its hard to go wrong with most any brand as long as they don't skimp on the protein base. Biggest problem I see with slave's I get in is where their previous owners have fed them table scraps or just make them swill on garbage. That's a quick road to skin troubles and ultimately damaging diseases. False economy. Especially with good quality slave chow as cheap as it is. Of course, slaves always want table scraps for the taste. But why should owners cater to their need for something with a little taste. They're just livestock, after all! Some owners forget that because slaves look like free men that doesn't mean they should eat like them."

"Exactly," the New York dealer chimed in. "I feed nothing but name-brand slave chow to my stock and strongly recommend it to my customers. Feeding them anything else just leads to a lot of trouble down the line and spoils them in the process."

"Well, the formula we make here works well for us, but, frankly, it's the same formula used world wide," Geoffrey said. "Let's get on with our tour in that slave chow production isn't the most exciting thing to look at and I'd hate for us to get downwind from the smell. It would ruin our lunch."

The rickshaws now began the long haul to the manor house and before long, the guests were speeding along the smooth road at a remarkable pace considering they were drawn by just one slave each, powerful and sturdy as he was. The route took them along the seashore and the smooth white sands, wavering palms, and blue green water was breathtakingly beautiful, especially collimated with the human beauty of the shiny black skin of their handsome bearers, slick with sweat and with muscles bulging in their efforts. Within 40 minutes, they were back at the slave quarters adjoining the Manor house and were quickly led down into a large lower level where scores of naked slaves were masturbating into small sealable plastic cups.

"The house slaves, unlike the field slaves we just visited earlier, are allowed to jerk themselves off when given permission so they don't have to pair up for a milking. What we do here is take the slaves that, for one reason or another, haven't been drained for at least 12 hours and have them deposit a load of fresh cum for our condiment and sauce production facility here. Once their full output is in the little sterile plastic container you see them holding in front of the shaft they're pumping, it is irradiated to insure freshness, vacuum sealed, labeled "Oceanum Special Sauce" and then shipped out all over the world. It's marketed now in a lot of gourmet shops around the world as well as available through the internet and is used by a number of the best five-star restaurants in the world as a condiment. It sells for $30 a packet so the price is about in line with Russian caviar, but we have no trouble marketing it at that price. It has a shelf life of over three years once it's irradiated, and most people who use the product don't have the slightest idea of what it is or where it comes from. All they know is it is different, delicious, slightly salty, has a tangy, undefinable taste, and it is expensive and hard to find. That's all it takes to create a fad, and right now, the special sauce is a real fad and I imagine we could get twice what we charge if we wanted to. With the house slaves, about a fourth of them get drained through other usage at least once a day, but three-fourths of them don't and from them, we're getting a clear $60 a day output just from their balls alone. If we didn't milk them down here regularly, we'd lose all that extra profit. Of course, now, every time I see a slave shoot off from playing with him upstairs in the manor, I think of that $30 we're losing by not packaging it, but, what the hell, you can't always think of profit or you wouldn't have paid so much for all those gorgeous bodies to start with. You could have bought up slaves costing half as much if all you wanted was to get some work done economically."

The guests watched the assembled slaves shooting off into the small white plastic cups one by one, to be quickly replaced by yet another batch of slaves already stroking their pricks into full erection for the upcoming orgasm.

"They don't seem to mind contributing to the cause," the Ukrainian dealer said, "anymore than I find slaves seem to mind much being jerked off by prospective buyers. I suppose slaves appreciate the chance to unload, no matter whether it's into a customer's hands or those little plastic cups."

"You wouldn't mind either if that's the only way you could get off," Geoffrey laughed. "Around here, it is. Unless, of course, you're lucky enough to get chosen to please your master or one of his guests, and the odds of that, with all the slaves I have in the manor house, is about one in twenty, I imagine, even if I'm horny as hell and the house if full of guests equally horny."

"I'm sure they appreciate the opportunity," the Mississippi breeder said. "At my place, some of the studs aren't allowed to unload for months at a time and go around hard and dripping constantly with need written on their faces around the clock. Kind of pitiful, really, but you've got to let stud slaves know you're in control at all times. Essential in the breeding business you know."

Jamil added, "I'm finding that in my small breeding operation getting the studs under control is most of my problem. The brood slaves don't' seem to mind who they're mated with or how often they're mated. It's the studs that get to thinking they're running the show - like a rooster in with a bunch of chickens. I've been letting them jerk off when I can't put them with a brood every day, but, from what you say, that's a mistake. Just make them hold it in, no matter how often they're put to stud, and it shows them who's running the show? Is that what you're saying?"

"Precisely. Never let a stud do anything but stud. If you don't have a brood for him, tough shit. He'll just wait until you do, even if it's next year. That's your prerogative as his owner and don't let him forget it. He's your property to do with as you see fit, after all," the Mississippi breeder said sternly. "Otherwise, you'll soon have a strutting popinjay on your hands that thinks he's entitled to unload whenever he wants."

"This visit is proving most informative, Geoffrey," he smiled, "just as you predicted."

"I want each of you to grab two or three of those little white containers all sealed up as a souvenir you can throw in your suitcase. You won't need it for supper tonight. We'll have plenty of studs on hand to furnish it to us fresh."

"I'm about ready for a little nap," the Nigerian ventured.

"I wasn't thinking of napping so much as fucking," the Mississippi breeder laughed. "Those attendants you have provided in our suites are irresistable."

"And I was thinking a while ago of how good it would feel to have a pair of soft black lips wrapped around my own shaft," the Ukrainian smiled.

"Well, then," Geoffrey said. "I'll see you a dinner around 8 tonight. Dress any way you want, of course, and I'll make sure we have some interesting waiters on hand. See you then," as he led them out of the cum packaging facility and up to the entrance of the main manor house and their own suites. Each of the guests had two or three little white plastic containers in the palm of their hands, each marked "Oceanum's Special Sauce." They obviously loved the idea of a novel souvenir of their visit in addition, of course, to the handsome living and breathing naked black slave they would be taking back with them.

Dinner that night was a repeat of the night before, except the naked waiters were, as promised, different. But different only in small details. Their main features were identical: splendid bodies, handsome good looks, exceptional genitals, and a willingness to please that was unparalleled. Despite the heavy action in the guests' suites that afternoon, three of the waiters were fucked, other waiters sucked two more of the guests off, and almost every slave in the dining room was fondled and played with throughout the meal until their balls and tits were swollen and sore. At one point, Geoffrey ordered five of the slaves to fuck another five standing in attendance, and this led to bets being placed on "first to orgasm" and "slowest to shoot off" among those order to fuck, and "first to get an erection" and "first to shoot off" among those being fucked. Following this, they had a fresh batch of slaves suck each other off and then had them reverse roles, but only after measuring the exact length of erect pricks and careful weighing of balls fully aroused. By the time of the dessert course, Geoffrey served cum-flavored ice cream, a house speciality, topped with, you guessed it - hot cum sauce directly from the ever eager waiters who hadn't been used up to that point.

"Thirty bucks a topping," Jamil exclaimed as he took his first spoonful. "Makes it taste all the better."

"Well, Jamil," Geoffrey said as he ordered another fresh black slave over next to him. "My sundae going up to $60," as he motioned for the young slave to start pumping his shaft to deliver a fresh load of hot cum onto his ice cream.

Everyone laughed, but followed his example, and soon five more slaves were pumping a fresh load out of their balls to add another layer of hot cum to the sundaes.

After dinner, all retired to their suites and again, the furnished slave attendants were pressed into full action to please their master's guests. Within two hours, every slave in a suite had been fucked in his ass or his mouth (usually both), and most had been so stimulated they had emptied their own balls in the process.

At the Sunday morning late brunch, Geoffrey had arranged for a full viewing of his slave stock as the guests enjoyed their meal. Arranged in cadres of 20 slaves each, the overseers marched them group by group by the diners, each group chained together by their neck collars and prancing in full display position under the direction of the swishing Mylar whips of the overseers who themselves preened and displayed themselves in the procession. The hundreds and hundreds of smiling black slaves, each freshly body shaved, coated with oil, and shining in the sun, made an impressive sight with their magnificent muscular physiques, their handsome good looks, and their semi-erect massive sexual organs dripping with pre-cum since their milking had been delayed until after the display. It was obvious to everyone present that Geoffrey Bowers was an excellent judge of slave flesh, especially black animals, and that he could afford to buy up the best of the lot.

When the parade was over and the slaves had gone back to their regular work assignments, Geoffrey solicited his guests' reflections on where the slave trade was headed and any advice they might have on the purchase of white slaves. He urged them to play with the naked attending waiters while doing so.

"White slave are basically no different than black slaves," the New York dealer started out. "It's the training they've had; not their color. I do think, Geoffrey, that blacks have nicer complexions overall, but it's a bunch of crap about blacks being hung heavier or being better built. Whites on a carefully controlled diet shape up just as well in the physique department and there are plenty of heavy hung whites in the markets. On the other hand, as you can see for yourself all around you here, blacks have nice rounded butts on the whole and generally have good lips for sucking. But if you want some blond or red hair, blue or green eyes - you're generally going to have to go for white slaves. As far as sexual drive, that's all a matter of training. Bred slaves are generally better at getting it up and being totally uninhibited in bed. They've never been exposed to all that sexual guilt and inhibitions that free men stick to. You ever see a bred slave try to cover himself? Of course not! It never occurs to them they have any privacy. But you have to break a free man of that nasty little habit when they're first enslaved. Case in point!"

"If you want some white stock around for variety, Geoffrey," the Ukrainian dealer advised, "pick bred stock like the boy I just gave you. White slaves like that won't disappoint you no matter what you ask of them. A broken slave - well - there's always the chance they might start thinking about when they were free and making choices of their own. That's when the resentment starts and pretty soon no whip on earth is going to get them back to where they should be. Stick with the bred whites unless you like to court trouble."

"Oh, I've had plenty of free born whites that never caused me a bit of trouble," Jamil said. "You've just got to let them know you own them now and that once a slave, always a slave. Once they understand who is master and that being a slave is a permanent thing, they're fine. It's all a matter of letting them know they're no longer in charge of anything - least of all their own destiny. That slave I gave you is a case in point - he was free born but that's all past history as far as he's concerned. He'll do anything to please you as his new master - anything at all without a moment's thought. Once broken - always broken if it's done right to start with."

"As far as the market goes," the Mississippi breeder broke in, "any color of slave is selling briskly these days. No matter how much we increase the supply it never quite keeps up with the demand and that keeps the prices high, but basically steady. I know we're breeding five times what we were 20 years ago and we still can sell every product we can turn out. Of course, each batch just keeps getting better and better as we learn how to breed a better product and the market appreciates that."

"More and more people are becoming aware that slaves are available if you have the money it takes to buy one, and those same people are becoming more aware of all the things slaves can do to make your life more pleasant," the Mississippi breeder continued. "Of course, the big appeal of slaves is the ready availability of their bodies to pleasure their owners, so there's more and more demand for good looking, sexually appealing slaves. The ugly work slaves of the past are actually going down in price although there is still plenty of them available. But we large-scale breeders are concentrating on producing good looking well equipped slaves that are good in bed as well as doing the jobs nobody else wants to do, so that's where the market is headed - hard working slaves who'll do any job but who are also appealing as a willing and eager bed partner. Breeders all over the world know that now and that's where they're headed - so, black, white, yellow, or purple, slaves coming to the markets in the near future will be big, muscular, strikingly good looking, hung like horses, and lusty as all get out. That's the big ticket items of the future. The color of their hide is strictly a matter of personal taste."

"Your slaves here are prototypes of the future market except they're all black," the Nigerian dealer interjected. "You could sell some of your stock off as breeders right now at a big profit, although milking them for their sperm is probably even a better idea. And selling their cum as a speciality sauce is pure genius," he laughed.

"Geoffrey, I must say I think you've covered all the bases. I really don't have much advice to give you," Jamil said. "If you want some white slaves for variety like the boy I just gave you, give me a call and I'll fix you up."

"Me too," the Ukrainian dealer added. "Like Jamil, I'm into breeding my own now so I can control the quality."

"Great advice, fellows, " Geoffrey said. "But its' getting late and all good things must come to an end if you're going to get out of here when I promised. My steward has already transferred your luggage to your conveyances along with the black slave I gave you whose already been flushed out, lubed, and properly caged. How about making this a monthly occurrence. I really enjoy your company as well as the good conversation."

"You mean it?" the New York dealer gushed. "I don't know about the others, but I'd love it. I think we've all learned a lot from each other."

"A great idea," the Nigerian dealer chimed in, "and yes, you do learn a lot.".

"Count me in," both Jamil and the Ukrainian added.

"Me too," the Mississippian said. "But may I make a suggestion if we all agree to meet again in a month with our wonderful host Geoffrey. Let's all bring him a nice white slave as a gift next time around if it's variety he wants and," he winked, "Geoffrey, I expect another one of your blacks in exchange."

"You're on!" Geoffrey exclaimed. "Any special requests?"

"Speaking for all of us," Jamil joked, "I would suggest a good looking, muscular, well built, heavy hung black with a perfect build whose hard and dripping all the time. Similar to every single slave on this place that I've seen."

"You'll get one - as long as you bring me a good looking, muscular, well built, heavy hung white with a perfect build whose hard and dripping all the time," Geoffrey laughed.

The six men parted company, already looking forward to their next visit to Oceanum.

THE END