SURPLUS SALES V: The Fallout
by Bill Smith
My other friends, Jacob, George, and Jeff, found somewhat different lives as slaves.
Jacob, just we had predicted, fell into his slavery with ease, actually preferring a life where someone else made all the decisions, where his magnificent body and superb sexual equipment were constantly on full display and well appreciated, and where his toil was directed to those things he knew best and was comfortable with: bricklaying and sex. Just as we had forecast, his old construction firm made sure they had the highest bid when he was auctioned off in that the firm needed a good, reliable bricklayer they didn't have to train and a slave who had already demonstrated he could get along with others in his work crew.
For Jacob, there weren't too many adjustments from his old life as a free man. Now he worked totally naked at all times, clad only in a heavy slave collar around his neck and a large band fitted around his genitals to make sure he never forgot he was now a slave for life and the company's property. Now he was equal to the others on his work crew since all workers at the firm were now slaves and, as such, he could relate with them better since there was no social distance or envy between them. Now his co-workers could fuck him if they wanted instead of always the other way around, a change that made it easier to relate with each other since no games of dominance and power were involved - a change Jacob didn't mind since he often enjoyed a good fucking himself if his partner knew what he was doing. Now, he was subject to a slave's discipline, so he felt the tip of a whip often enough when he slowed down in the afternoons or went he put a brick in wrong, but he wasn't whipped or prodded more than any of the others. Now he was branded to prove he was company property, but it somehow told him he belonged now and established someone else was responsible for him. And now he was open game for the sexual advances of the overseers who utilized their advantage over the slaves whenever they got horny, but like the whips, it was no more than the others had to put up with and some of the overseers were downright appreciative if you took care of them properly with a ready hole or an eager mouth. In fact, cooperating in that area with a smile on your face pretty well guaranteed you got fed all you wanted; got some special treats now and then, and even a little extra rest period when you looked a little worn down.
Overall, Jacob had few complaints about the direction his life had taken. He had always wanted a legitimate excuse to display his body and his ample equipment - now it was routine and expected - and he enjoyed the envious stares and looks of lust he often got from people just walking down the street as he worked. In fact, some of them just stopped and enjoyed the sight of his beautiful body in strained motion with the rivulets of sweat highlighting his masculine beauty while his big prick, forced into prominent protrusion by his tight fitting genital band, flopped around semi-erect in front of him. Just seeing them staring at him gave him a full hard-on, and if they kept staring very long with the right kind of look in their eyes, he started dripping as well, much to their excitement. He was even more popular and well-liked by his fellow workers than when he was free because now he really was one of them and they didn't have to beg him to fuck them or trade their bodies for the little treats he gave them now and then. Now they could just ask to be fucked or to fuck him - all was equal among slaves. Somehow, just as his friends of long ago had claimed, he was happier as a slave than he had ever been struggling along as a free man. It just suited him better.
George, the black law student, was also bought up by his former employer, the slave training center located near the law school he had once attended. In that job, he had 'broken' new slaves to their sexual responsibilities, which translated into teaching them now to take a thorough fucking without complaint, now to suck properly on demand, and to stretch their holes to where it was reasonably comfortable for them to do so. At least to the point where they no longer screamed in protest at every dick sliding up their backside or choking and gagging at every shaft jammed down their throat. George had been a natural for the job with his huge, thick prick, his ability to keep a hard-on for hours on end, and a well-formed musculature that allowed him to fuck slaves for hours on end without tiring. Besides, being black, he was useful to acclimate new white, Latino, and Asian slaves to serving black masters if that's who ended up buying them. The training center paid a hefty price to obtain George, but his price was little more than the wages they had previously paid him over the past couple of years so, all in all, he was a good bargain even though they did have to feed him now, but slave chow was relatively cheap and clothing cost nothing at all since he was kept naked at all times. The only other cost was his shiny new slave collar, his tit rings for ease in leashing him as needed, and the fitted nose ring that denoted his trainer status at the center. No genital band was installed in that the center didn't want anything getting in the way of full insertion when he fucked the new trainees and his equipment was so huge he hardly needed to have it highlighted by a genital ring anyway.
George would never become a lawyer now, of course, but, as his owner commented when he bought him, "he'll still be putting the screws to his clients, don't you worry." George did exactly that over the next decade, over and over and over, heaving bodies struggling beneath him and trying to mute their screams as his huge organ "opened them up" and "broke them" one after another as the new slaves were trained in what was expected of them. George himself couldn't instruct the new slaves in how best to accommodate him, however. The judge's advice when he was sentenced had been taken and acted upon: he had been silenced almost immediately after enslavement with one simple snip far down his throat as his vocal cords were severed forever. So with only some grunts and hand signals was he able to communicate to all those sweating bodies placed beneath him. As the years passed, his virility remained remarkably stable and seldom was his prick not hard and rigid as yet another new body was placed under him to be "broken." But the nose ring was no symbol of status to him no matter what the training center thought. It was continually bothersome and really irritating when an overseer used a short leash to hook his nose ring to the rutting bench so his movements were limited even as he was fucking away. The advantage was no one needed to worry he would stray from the task at hand; the disadvantage was he felt like a prize bull chained in a studding station which of course had a semblance of truth to it.
By the age of 43, he just couldn't get it up and hold it like he used to and was transferred to the position of general house-slave trainer equipped with a whip, electric prod, and a whole series of control leashes to teach new slaves to instantly response to an owner's request, how to present and position themselves in an owner's presence, how to administer enemas to themselves as well as body shave themselves, how to serve a master or mistress at the dinner table, how to clean an owner's house, how to do their laundry, how to dress and bathe a mistress or master, and a myriad other duties expected of house slaves. He was good at this despite being mute and generally enjoyed the position of authority he had been given, discovering that punishing the slaves under his whip was a reasonable substitute for sex if you really got into it. This made him a most efficient trainer, if not an unusually harsh one, but no one minded as long as the slaves under him weren't permanently damaged, their sales value was maintained, and the training was thorough enough to last a lifetime. By 60, he was recognized as the best house slave trainer in the center. George enjoyed the recognition and respect he got from his owners for this although he knew the slaves under his charge hated him, then feared him, and finally, viewed him as an unstoppable force they totally acquiesced their body and soul to. It was then they became a good well trained slave ready for the marketplace. George lived to 62 when a stroke felled him and even now, a picture of him graces the training center's hall of fame, the first black to obtain such an honor. How many lawyers do you know who are featured in a hall of fame?
Jeff, the city's old municipal construction slave supervisor was never noted for his brains, but had proven to be reliable and loyal when he was free. His big frame and sturdy physique stood him in good stead and, as soon as he had finished his basic slave training, he was sold to an auto assembly plant where he installed headlights on new trucks coming down the line. The job didn't call for brains, but did require long hours of work bent over at a very rapid pace as a new truck came down the line every 45 seconds. In that short time, he had to install both headlights carefully, adjust them for the proper height, and get two more headlights in his hand from the bin for the next truck. Any mistakes, falterings, slowdowns, or breakage were dealt with swiftly: a severe jolt was administered to his balls via the battery- operated electronic shock band welded around his genitals. During the typical 14 hour work day, Jeff had his balls fried briefly about eight times on a good day, and up to 20 on a really bad day. He was leashed to his work area by a chain attached to an ankle band, was forced to take his water (and urinate) in place at his work station since there were no rest breaks where he was unchained, and was only fed before and after his work when, now leashed by his neck collar, he was allowed to eat, drink, shit, and shower before being caged for the night, usually with seven others just like him who used each other for their only sex life. His work schedule was 14 hours on; 10 off 365 days a year. Once Jeff got used to the work day, he found the work boring and would have liked to daydream a bit but he could never let up for even a little bit for fear of having his balls shocked once again. A few of the brainier slaves went berserk occasionally, but in every case, the ball shocker got them back in control of themselves and hustling away like never before. About the only relief was playing with the other slaves in the shower room where a few liberties were allowed as long as you were quiet about it and enjoying each others bodies in the cages at night where most anything went as long as you didn't make too much noise and got enough rest to work efficiently and steadily the next day. Jeff, like the others, soon discovered that sexual relief found early in the evening allowed him to sleep soundly the rest of the night, so the minute he was caged, he paired up with whoever was willing and drained his usually sore balls the best way he could. Assembly line slaves generally didn't last too long, usually being sent to the rendering plants by their mid thirties. But Jeff was a tough old goat and he wasn't carted off until he was a little over 40. By then, his balls were black from being burnt so often, his prick had shriveled up considerably from its youthful glory, and his frame looked wasted from overwork. But, for what he had cost originally, and considering how little it took to maintain him, the car company had certainly gotten his cost back many times over. Although car companies, like all the others, could only compete in world markets using slave labor, Jeff had been way above average in offering good value for the capital invested. If all industrial slaves like him lasted as long as he had, the productivity charts were go ever higher and cars would be even cheaper than they were.
The most profitable fallout of the enslavement of the poor, however, was in agriculture where food was now produced at highly competitive world market prices. The nation had lower labor costs now than almost any nation on earth and could sell food abroad cheaper than most countries could produce it themselves. Even countries where the cheapest starvation wages were being paid to the free peasants working their farms and even with the added costs of transporting the food long distances there, our country it cheaper using slave labor. It was only a matter of time until all nations would have no choice but go to unpaid labor if they were to survive, at least in food production.
Strangely, the Italian slave owned at one time by my old friend Jeff who always kept him in harness for some strange reason, had ended up at one of the Western agribusiness farms rather than being exported like most bred slaves. The confusion may have come from that darn harness that his master Jeff had welded on him so he couldn't wiggle out of it ever. Just seeing him, you would assume he was some sort of industrial or farm slave and that's where those charged with classifying slaves for the market put him up for sale. Rhinds Agribusiness picked him up in a lot of 500, stripped him of that stupid harness, branded him with their logo, re-collared him with their signature slave collar where he could easily be chain ganged, and, before he knew it, he was in California harvesting artichokes by the ton working in a chain-gang of 100 under an overseer that made sure that gang met their production quotas each and every day or everyone in the gang was short-rationed as well as beat until their backs were red with blood. If one in the gang stumbled, ruined an artichoke, by squeezing it too hard or dropping it, ate an artichoke in his hunger, or malingered in any way, the entire gang was punished with the electric prod or hot irons or the mylar whip. But if the offense was particularly bad, like grumbling or giving an overseer a rebellious look or hesitating in fulfilling an order even briefly, a bullwhipping to all was administered that left their backs scarred for life and pain that made sure no one in that gang ever pulled a stunt like that again.
The Italian slave, used mainly for sex and housework until this, was in shock the first day on the gang with his neck chained to the others, but when he couldn't keep up the pace and his entire gang was punished for it, he knew he would face hell in the gang's cage that night. Hell didn't describe what all the gang did to him that night, but the next day he made sure, no matter how much he ached or how tired he was, that he kept up with the others and didn't do anything that would get the gang in trouble. That night, no one was beat with the bullwhip but the beetles forced down his ears which had caused indescribable pain had hurt his hearing forever and the live sewer rat forced up his asshole had died fairly quickly but not before it tore a hole in his rectal lining which was still bleeding and would no doubt hurt for weeks, especially when he took a shit. With no tools other than their hands, his crew mates were ingenious in how to discipline one of their own when their own welfare was at stake.
Seldom did the Italian mess up after that, but still there was the constant whip, the backbreaking work that left you totally exhausted long before the day was over, the chronic feeling of never feeling full, and the knowledge you would be too tired to ever enjoy sex again, filled him with a feeling of remorse for his previous life where all he had to do was keep his master happy and sexually satisfied at all times. But he realized this life was the life of millions of other slaves - they survived - so could he. He also realized he wasn't given a choice in what life he led - no slave did. Rhinds Agribusiness was prospering however, who bragged their food products could compete anyplace in the world. After all, they had received the nation's top award for productivity only last year and were honored by the President himself for contributing to keeping the nation's trade balance on the plus side. Who could argue with such success?
The fallout from the major changes in our nation's laws could not be clearly seen when they were first enacted. But the politicians had been right. The nation, beset with problems, had tackled them head on and won. The fallout had all been positive as far as anyone who mattered could see. As for the slaves - well, no one asked them about national policy.
*************************************************************************** [Your comments on this tale are always appreciated. Please forward them to anonymous4371@juno.com. Thanks. Bill Smith]