SURPLUS SALES VI: TAKING CARE OF THE INCIDENTALS
by Bill Smith
SIX MONTHS LATER:
I had completely lost track of all of my former friends as well as the five bred slaves we had once owned by this time. Now, of course, we were all slaves in one capacity or another. >From overhearing my mistress' conversations with her friends from time to time, and occasionally getting to glimpse a TV or catch a newspaper headline when she was out shopping, I was aware of the major changes in the our nation's society. As you are no doubt aware, slaves are never allowed material to read or to watch TV or radio in that there was no need for them to be informed, but, nevertheless, occasionally, I pick up on a few things now and then.
First, I was aware most slaves from the breeding farms were being exported in exchange for oil imports and I assumed that was the fate of the five slaves my friends and I had once owned. Second, I knew the vast majority of those newly enslaved since enactment of the penury laws were now owned by the big agribusinesses or corporate manufacturing industries. Only the best looking (and I suppose the luckiest) who were very well equipped and easy to train to domestic service ended up like I did, 'display studs,' brothel slaves, and gentlemen's bed-bucks, generically referred to at the slave markets as 'sex slaves' no matter what exact duties we were put to or with whom. Third, I knew that using slave labor to produce most products nowadays had made our nation's products extremely competitive in world markets, had solved our balance of payments problems, and, as a bonus, practically eliminated any welfare program costs as well as eliminated the national debt through the gains made from the sales of millions of newly made slaves. Fourth, I knew the country's breeding farms were exceeding production quotas and were churning out more new slaves than ever, each new batch genetically improved through selective breeding, and so there seemed to be no supply problem of slaves now or in the foreseeable future, each new batch on the average bigger, stronger and more muscular, more disease resistant, more enduring, better looking, and better equipped sexually. In the next generation, about 50% of the bred slaves would be exported; the other 50% would be replacement stock for the nation's corporate needs, replacing the large numbers of people who had been enslaved initially due to the penury laws but who were now getting rather scarce.
All of this didn't effect me directly, of course, in that I was consumed with the demands of my current mistress, fulfilling her seemingly insatiable sexual needs, being displayed in all my glory in her daily shopping and social expeditions, being loaned out to her friends for their amusement, and, not infrequently, being sent to her husband's bed which generally turned into 'all-nighters' leaving me exhausted, sore and aching the next morning. But it was the public outings by my mistress where I picked up most information about what was going on in the world at large.
I had always wondered what happened to my friend George's old slave, a real hunk who was young, hung, eager and as black as his owner. When we had shared our slaves between friends in the old days, I always enjoyed drawing the straw where he was mine for the night. He was always cooperative, eager, and inventive, even though he wasn't my slave and had simply been loaned to me for the night, and he always did what I wanted without a hint of protest, whether it was the hours on his knees between my knees sucking me off, or bending over the bed taking my prick up his ass for even more hours. He was the first black I had ever fucked and I found the experience exotic in that the blacks marketed for personal use, even then, were considered premium goods due to their smooth blemish-free hides, their bubble-butts, their pretty eyelashes and handsome faces, as well as their muscular physiques and invariably ample equipment.
Being a bred slave originally, was he now in some foreign land satisfying some strange foreign master or mistress? Or had he ended up in a chain gang on some farm enterprise in this country? Or was he toiling away in some factory, chained to a work station with a ball shocker strapped on?
One day, when being towed by my leash behind my mistress at a nearby shopping mall, I got my answer. There, on a huge billboard, was George's old slave with an appealing smile on his face, a fancy helmet on his head, a tight very thick gold-colored collar welded around his neck, and the rest of him covered completely with a skin tight football outfit of gold-colored spandex that highlighted every feature of his suburb muscular body. Emblazoned across the front and back of his uniform was "DETROIT TIGERS" in black with his team number and team nickname "THE CRUSHER" directly below that. On both exposed arms, right below his shoulder pads, was the Detroit Tigers' logo brand (an stylistic "DT") which also had been burnt into his right cheek. His thick collar had been engraved "Property of the Detroit Tigers." His helmet, in team colors, simply said "THE CRUSHER" across the top, front, and back. The uniform itself, thin, slick, and close to transparent, displayed every aspect of his super-muscular build of muscle piled on top of muscle, huge pectorals with prominent tits practically sticking through the material, row after row of perfectly defined abs, a huge bulge over a prominent, very large protective cup over his genitals, and every curve and indentation of his perfectly shaped butt and thighs. The uniform protected his hide from the cuts and scrapes of the game, made him hard to hold on to if tackled, and yet hid nothing of the hyper-masculinity of his body and the pleasures that body could offer once it was stripped from his body. At first, I thought it was some slave just reminding me of George's old slave, but, upon closer inspection, I knew it was him. After all, I had been over him, in him, behind him, and beside him many a night and had studied his face carefully as he had sucked me off or I stared into it as I fucked him when I took him on his back. No, it was him all right. I chuckled at how he was now named "Crusher," something I had done to him often enough when I fucked him back in the olden days when I was a poor, but free master and he was a naive new product just hitting the market straight off the breeding farm serving his first master, my old friend George, the struggling black law student who sexually trained new slaves in his spare-time job.
'Crusher' was being featured in an advertisement for a forthcoming Detroit Tigers game. He was, apparently, a star tackle, and was being hyped based on his past game performance as well as his stellar good looks and handsome body.
Up until just a few years ago, athletes were free men who demanded exorbitant contracts in the millions of dollars to don their designated uniforms and grace the field usually with displays of hot tempers, a put-upon attitude, and numerous missed practices and even games. Their off-duty behavior was even more scandalous filled with arrests for disorderly conduct, public drunkenness, driving while drunk, drug-taking, trashing hotels, and beating up the whores they seem to prefer for sexual companionship. The salaries they were paid had jacked ticket prices into the ozone layer and attendance at major sporting events was waning in protest to the high ticket fees. Football, soccer, baseball, and basketball all were threatened with falling profits and eventually a lot of red ink if something wasn't done to correct the situation immediately. When the athletes went on strike for a demanded 20% more on top of the millions they were being paid each year, the corporate owners had had enough and switched to slave-athletes almost overnight who could be bought at almost any good slave market and trained to a much higher level of athleticism with no more pay than a good whip, an electric prod, and careful control of the food, drink and sleep available for the well-developed, very muscular and handsome super-masculine bodies they favored buying. Ironically, most of the former highly paid athletes, uneducated and having no other skills, squandered their fortunes quickly and often found themselves in the slave markets themselves within a year or to due to the penury laws. Indeed, a good 40% of current athletic teams were now composed of slaves who had once been professional free athletes and required little additional training, but a heck of a lot of stern slave discipline before they met their new owner's demands.
Slave-athletes had tremendous advantages over and above not having to pay them. First, they could be trained to levels thought unbelievable until their coaches realized they could do anything to slaves to achieve better performance - there were no restrictions now, no player's unions to contend with, no holds barred. All that was necessary was to protect the owner's investment if possible and, if a few were lost in the process of the severe training imposed, the loss was negligible when a replacement didn't cost all that much. Second, the rules of the game itself could be changed in that most of them had been designed to protect the players - that was no longer necessary when the players were expendable if the game was improved. Third, athlete-slaves could be marketed way beyond their performance in the game itself - if you owned a player, he was yours to market both on and off the field, impossible in the old days when free players were only duty-bound during the games and practices they had contracted to perform. Thus, star players now were rented out as sexual playmates to interested women and men most nights when they weren't scheduled to pay the next day; were leased to professional slave breeders when it was time to make a new generation of slave athletes; had their sperm sold by slave hawkers in small cups at the very games where they were performing as an expensive souvenir for the spectators interested in literally having a 'taste of their favorite athlete'; were often sold as sex performers for wealthy clientele hosting a memorable party; and frequently called upon to 'entertain' corporate owners and shareholders who enjoyed nothing better than fully exploring all the attributes and goodies the athletes had to offer once they were stripped down completely, flushed out, body shaved, and had their hides oiled in the privacy of their own homes.
In fact, 'off-duty' performances were often as valuable and prized as 'on-field' performance and athlete-slaves were trained accordingly. This meant they were taught to use their bodies to bring utmost pleasure to both genders in whatever was called for; were taught to costume themselves in a variety of form-fitting but attractive outfits way beyond their uniforms including no costume or uniform at all in many cases; were taught to exhibit themselves to best display their masculine attributes at any and all times; and to accommodate their milking whenever indicated in that their sperm sold for big prices in the stands at the games, at sport shops in frozen format, or canned where it was frequently used to mix into a drink or a hot cup of cocoa or even flavor a roast for devoted sports fans. Truck stops always featured small cubes of frozen sperm, available right out of the case by favorite team and player, complete with an enclosed card with all the stats and a picture of your favorite sports star in four poses: naked front and back, a close-up of his erect shaft and balls; and another close-up of his exposed hole, stretched and lubed.
Slave-athletes, like George's old slave, generally didn't have to worry about old-age. Players were severely punished for not winning at any cost. This meant players usually suffered a lot of broken bones over the years, torn muscles, and ugly scars where their hides had been torn open by bare teeth and sharpened fingernails. Once a player was injured to the point where simple rehabilitation couldn't get him back on the field along with the heavy use of a bullwhip and electric prods, he was generally just sold off for body parts still functioning, such as his kidneys, balls, lungs, heart, etc.., or if those were valueless as well, he was simply sold off to a good rendering plant who salvaged his hide generally if it wasn't too scarred up for potential souvenir sales (hides featuring the team's logo branded into it were particularly prized) and the rest of him turned into - well, you don't want to know although rumor had it most fertilizers for the home garden had a lot of slave in it. There was a dark rumor on the internet that the new higher-cost 'high-protein' slave chow being marketed was primarily being produced by rendering plants, but a government investigation seemed to downplay that notion claiming "there were much cheaper ways to obtain high-protein ingredients for slave chow than reprocessing dead slaves which would require considerable energy to transform the raw meat into a dry food product. Furthermore, that whole process would involve considerable danger of used putrid meat if it wasn't done quickly. This is not to say that the product under investigation may not be used for fertilizer or pet foods dependent on market conditions."
But even while a slave-athlete was a full member of a team, he was exposed to a lot of discipline. Coaches now routinely used the bullwhip and electric prod as coaching tools and several teams were experimenting with the ball shockers used widely with manufacturing slaves although they tendered to temporary immobilize a player for too long a period to make their practical at this point. Every team had a whipping rack right next to the sidelines where a player's mistake or a player thought to not be putting forth his best effort was reminded of his obligations in one bloody display after another (which a lot of the fans thought was worth the price of the ticket alone). And coach's assistants usually had some red-hot branding irons quickly available on the sidelines if a player had made a really serious error on the field. Huge dildos were frequently rammed up the asses of slaves needing motivation to play harder and with more aggression, held firmly in place by specially designed jock straps. Playing a hard game with a thick 12" dildo driven far up your rectum did indeed make a player more aggressive, especially when he had typically been injected full of testosterone just minutes before the game which keep him on edge the entire game and throughout the long locker- room visitation period afterward when he was stripped down and being viewed in the buff by anyone willing to pay the $3 fee charged for admission along with the right to feel any part of him they wished as long as they didn't bring him off.
The end result of these methods were slave-athletes who had hides torn up with bull whips, scarred with the burns of electric prods and branding irons, chafed from the fondling of the locker room fans, and bones and muscles suffering constant bruising, minor tears, and dislocations. Add to that the 'off-game' demands of being frequently milked until their balls were dry, being fucked until they could barely walk the next day, and serving stud until their thighs and ass muscles ached, their bodies went fast despite the special high-nourishment high-protein diets (usually supplemented with lots of red meat obtained cheaply at road-kill collection centers) and wonderful medical care and personal hygiene they received. An athlete-player's career generally lasted around five years, although a few, through pure luck, lasted six or seven, while others, usually through injury, lasted only a few months. George's old slave seemed to be a survivor from looking at his billboard.
My mistress saw me staring at the billboard and put two and two together.
"Do you know that slave" she asked, "or are you showing hard because you want to fuck something like that?"
"He once belonged to a friend of mine back before I was a slave, mistress," I responded, instantly putting my eyes down to the ground.
"I suppose you were fucking him, then, if your friend was generous with his slave," she inquired.
"Yes, mistress. We used to share our slaves with each other, mistress."
"As we all do now and then," she purred, referring to the many times she had loaned me out to friends, both female and male.
"Well, judging from your hard-on, I take it he was a good fuck or are you just turned on by any black buck?" she laughed.
"Yes, mistress. He was a bred slave and had been well trained in that area, mistress," I replied, ignoring the second part of her question.
"Well, he is handsome in that Tigers uniform, I must admit, and it's reassuring to know he's well trained for bed duties. Perhaps I'll go see the game if any of my friends are interested," she added, tugging on the leash attached to my genital band to indicate I had stood staring at the poster long enough, pulled me rather harshly into the next shop she wanted to browse in and where my naked body could be admired by a new audience.
Two of her friends did accompany her to the game the next day where each of the threesome took their display studs with them. I had never been to a football game before or after my enslavement due to the high costs and found the experience exhilarating despite the fact I was there as a naked sexual object on full display in front of thousands of sports fans, all of whom, it seemed, enjoyed ogling and fondling the likes of us as much as they liked seeing the game itself. The three of us 'display studs' had to stand the entire time beside our mistresses who were seated in a box for four, but our owners still had to pay the half-price slave fee for our admission so I was most fortunate in being there at all. By this time, of course, all three of us slaves were used to being displayed, even with dripping hard-ons, and the box kept most onlookers from handling us much, although our mistresses made up for that throughout the game. One of my mistress' friends owned a light brown17-year-old Puerto Rican 'display stud' who was almost delicate in his build although having the prerequisite huge, always erect circumcised prick 'display slaves' were selected for. Nevertheless, he seemed incredibly naive - although I realize it is hard to construe of a 'display slave' as being naive. Her other friend's slave was an older man who was as muscular as any athlete on the field in front of us - a huge black with monstrous organs who had been one mistress or another's sex object since he had first been enslaved, like me, around the age of 21. Over the years he had seen it all - including serving stud in a rutting shed at one of the breeding farms a short stint in his mid-20s and an even briefer stint as an athlete-slave until he was slightly injured during his first game - not enough to get snuffed, but enough to get resold as a 'display slave.'
The game in front of us was so brutal and violent it was beyond belief to anything I had seen in more innocent times. There was blood everywhere with the sound of bones being crushed and skulls cracked drifting clear up into the stands. Attendant slaves were kept busy carting injured slaves off of the field - on stretchers if they could be repaired; just dragging them off the field as they screamed in agony if they couldn't or were too far gone to scream anymore. The bullwhips were in constant action on the sidelines of both sides, as was the sizzle of electric prods and hot irons bearing into slave's exposed hide, now quickly stripped of their uniforms so their bodies were not protected. Several times, one player or another got their teeth into another's leg or cheek or neck and wouldn't let loose until a piece of flesh had been torn off those attacked or the aggressor had been knocked unconscious. One tactic was to stomp on the big protective cups placed over an athlete's genitals until they cracked and the slave's balls could then be crushed with either a bare hand of their attacker squeezing them as hard as he could or using his knee to grind them into pulp while the slave screamed until he generally passed out. By the end of the first quarter, five percent of the players on the field had been eliminated through injury or death. By the end of the game, only 80% were left intact and alive. The survivors weren't through, however. They now had to strip completely, shower, and let anyone with $3 in their hand grope and fondle them for the next two hours when they would be fed, douched, lubed and then sent to their evening's assignment where someone had bought the complete use of their body for a night's enjoyment or they were scheduled for a 'performance' at a company party, a corporate reception, or a 'motivational' dinner sponsored by a corporate sponsor.
George's former slave played admirably, survived the game, and, as he was headed for the locker rooms spotted me standing in the box seats near the team's exit corridor. A smile lit his face as he saw a face he knew in the crowd and laughed as he saw I was now a slave myself obviously being used sexually judging from my obscene naked display enhanced by my mistress' stoking my shaft vigorously with one hand and massaging one of my swollen ringed tits with the other. He winked lewdly at me as a comrade in service knowing both of us would be in someone's bed being used in whatever fashion someone, mistress or master, wanted. Soon his body would be fondled just like mine was being right now and before the night was over both of us would have sore asses or be totally drained or probably both.
He was right. My mistress and her friends each paid the $3 for the locker room grope and close-up inspection of the Detroit Tigers entire team while I and the other two 'display studs' were leashed out right outside where visitors seemed to think we were there for exactly the same reason without the $3 charge. But eventually, the three of them returned to retrieve their properties, but not before my mistress had paid the considerable fee to have "Crusher" for her own use that night. As soon as we got back to her home and said farewell to her friends and their slaves, "Crusher" was delivered back in his tight revealing Detroit Tigers uniform. Once in the house, he was ordered to strip out of that and there I saw for the first time the many whip scars, burn marks, and healed skin wounds that covered his body only adding to the raw masculine look he projected with his hypermuscularity. I was ordered down on my hands and knees with my legs spread wide while "Crusher" was ordered to fuck me as "turn about fair play" as my Mistress giggled, referring to the many times I had fucked "Crusher" back when he was George's slave and now he was, at last, able to fuck me. That he did under her constant direction which urged forceful entry, powerful plunging all the way in, and an unrelenting performance until she tired of the scene and I had plenty well collapsed down to my elbows and shoulders from being fucked so hard. Then, she had him mount her for the slow, lingering fucking she preferred that went on for hours and hours since "Crusher" was forbidden to have an organism while fucking either one of us while I wiped the sweat off his body and arranged the pillows around my mistress so she was always comfortable. My mistress certainly got her money out renting him that night. By morning she was satiated but still had him fuck me one more time since "he probably enjoys fucking a former master." Just when he had plummeted me thoroughly, again with me on my hands and knees, since my mistress had decreed "animals like it better that way," the delivery van arrived to pick "Crusher" up and take him back to the Detroit Tigers kennel for caging. It was the last I saw of him myself.
But that athlete-slave turned out to be a phenomenon. He played for the Detroit Tigers for three more years before, finally, fate caught up with him and he died on the field of a brain concussion pitted against the New York Jets who featured an all-black team. By that time, he was a legend and his hide was turned into over a dozen wallets, each selling for over $500 as valuable mementos of one of the greatest slave-athletes to ever play for the Detroit Tigers. The tanner had made sure each wallet featured the brand of the Tigers and at least one scar from a field injury or a touch of the coach's own whip.
Two other enterprises had experienced similar problems to professional athletics in that the players were paid too much and proved hard to control. One was the movie-TV industry; the other was musicians. Both of these problem areas were handled the same way that had proven so successful in sports - the free players were brusquely replaced with slaves who had the necessary qualifications. Movie stars were the easiest to replace. All you needed was a slave looking like the role to be filled; some acting lessons taught with a heavy whip, an electric dildo harnessed up their ass, and a food supply given spoonful by spoonful dependent on their successful completion of a given scene in front of the cameras. A busy hype department created "stars" just like before, but sexual liaisons, drug taking, drunkenness, and punching out photographers and overzealous fans could now be easily controlled. And the usual benefits of slavery were even more apropos in this area: "stars" could be rented out for sexual use; production schedules could be considerably accelerated; and the infamous casting couch seemed quaint when any slave was there for the taking without a lot of subterfuge. The only problem was making sure the raw fear of severe punishment didn't show up on the silver screen or the TV screen. Some slaves whose acting coaches used a bit too much of the whips, dildos and prods available produced an actor who trembled too much when he spotted the everpresent whips right beside the cameras, whose lips quivered whenever a new direction was given by his coach/director; or when the electric dildo frequently buried invisibly in them when the camera was on moved a little due to his movements and he overreacted to the internal stimulus even though the shock apparatus within it had been turned off for the screening. Some slave actors, once making a successful movie or TV show, found themselves acclaimed wherever they went and were beseeched with screaming fans who pawed at their bodies and groped them unmercifully since, as slaves, they were fair game until the company body guards shooed them away if it looked like they might damage the property. But popularity on the screen meant heightened appeal to a public intent on getting bragging rights they had fucked "so and so," their favorite star, or been sucked off by yet another of their favorites. They could do this, of course, if they were willing to pay the steep prices asked by the studios for such a privilege. It was surprising just how many came up with the price and most slave actors were kept as busy in fan's boudoirs as they were in front of the studios cameras. In fact, studios soon found that with successful marketing, the slave actors made more money as whores than they reaped in as actors. Nothing new about whoredom in Hollywood, of course, but now all of it was channeled directly into the studios pockets. From the slaves' perspective, it guaranteed they were well fed, well rested, given the best medical care, and kept in excellent physical condition. They had decent caging when they weren't being used, keep on a busy, but limited sexual usage schedule to insure longevity and maintenance of their youthful looks, and given plastic surgery as necessary to maintain "the look" that had been marketed to the public. Some slave-actors played the roles of young men well into their mid-40s and then glided into player older roles without too much trouble while still being able to be sold sexually, albeit to an older clientele. By their sixties, many slave- actors became acting coaches for new slaves and thus maintained their worth to the studios. It was only when their health failed that they hung it up - literally at a rendering plant, but, in exceptional cases of stardom, stuffed and displayed at the Hollywood Museum.
Musicians were also primarily slaves nowadays - everything from screaming rock performers dressed in nothing but some body adornments to opera stars outfitted in the costumes of their operatic roles to country singers fitted out in tight blue jeans, cowboy boots, and hat, and, anymore, bare-chested to best show off their pecs and abs, honed to perfection by their managers. Each slave demonstrating perfect pitch, a melodic full ranged voice, a good musical memory, and an appealing appearance could be trained for whatever was needed by market conditions whether it was a classical tenor, a nasal sounding country singer, or a screaming rock performer. Costuming was a good part of the performance and great attention was paid to how slaves were presented to their public. Opera singers were trained to be dignified and refined in public, always polite but never brassy. Country singers were trained to be exuberant and enthusiastic in public, almost overly personal, and suggestive that they wouldn't mind being fucked by whoever their audience was. Rock singers were trained to be totally uninhibited, unabashed by their constant nudity, exhibitionistic, and showy with ringed tits, rings in their noses, and tattoos all over their bodies. Most were taught to show hard the entire time they were on stage, ejaculate at least two or three times during a given show, and pitched their off-show availability at a sizeable fee that went to their owner between every song.
A nice benefit to the public was a drastic lowering of concert prices so everyone could afford most any performance they wanted to attend; an increase in cultural events in that community orchestras and choirs were so affordable most any town had one now; and no argued that cultural standards had taken a definite upward swing. No one had to been envious of the Europeans anymore in that area. Furthermore, bought slaves under the whip were a hell of a lot easier to handle than the temperamental divas managers had had to contend with before slaves were utilized. The country singers and rock stars brought in a pretty penny being rented out for sexual use by devoted fans and, surprisingly, even opera fans were willing to fork out quite a bit once they realized opera singers could have good looking bodies, handsome faces, and appealing sexuality in addition to a great voice. The only losers were those who had once been free agents in the music industry before slaves took over the market. Most of them had been quickly reduced to poverty as soon as the jobs dried up and it was only a matter of time until they were before a judge for penury, sold into slavery, and often found themselves again playing their old violin, singing that same aria, pelting out that same rock classic, or whining away at the same old country tune they had done for thousands of dollars in a different time. This time, though, they had a collar around their neck, a whip over their head, and often were in a cage rather than their old apartment when the performance was over unless, of course, someone had bought them for an evening's fun and games.
Agriculture, manufacturing, entertainment, culture, sports, export and import commodities, barters for oil, adjustments to the balance of payments, reductions for the national debt, elimination of the tax-sucking poverty-ridden lower classes and all their costs in social services, alleviation of sexual frustration for almost all free citizens - you name it, slavery had solved it. They had even brought the price of a good movie down to $1.50, the price of a rock concert or an operate to $5.00 and one could now see a Broadway musical for $15.00 tops.
There would never be a surplus of slaves, bred or otherwise. The country had found a use for every single slave up for sale and every one in the future that could be produced by the breeding farms going 24 hours a day or the courts working around the clock enforcing the penury laws. The idea of having a sale of "surplus slaves" seemed quaint, even archaic, now that the country had found its proper direction.
THE END
[I appreciate feedback on these tales. Please contact me at anonymous4371@juno.com and let me know what you thought. Thanks. Bill Smith]