THE BAZAAR
by Bill Smith (anonymous4371@juno.com)
Chapter 17
THE BUYERS FROM MALAYSIA AND ARGENTINA
The two men first met in the lobby of one of The Bazaar's luxury hotels surrounding the perimeter of the huge complex of sales venues operating around the clock. As potential buyers of thousands of slaves each, the two warranted the V.I.P. treatment The Bazaar had honed to perfection. First, three-room suites were the norm. Second, each suite was provided with "personal staff" carefully researched to match the preferences of the guests. And, third, every whim and inclination of a guest was satisfied or the hotel manager would soon be hauled up in front of The Bazaar's top management.
Yu-Long Ping from Kuala Lumpur was the buying agent for Malaysia's state-owned auto manufacturing firm - huge, but still only one of a handful in the Pacific Rim. Malaysia had discovered years ago that it could produce autos for national consumption much cheaper than importing than from China, Japan, or Korea and of at least equal quality. The secret for successful auto production had been borrowed unashamedly from their Asian car producing neighbors: (1) limiting model changes to when a number of improvements could be made at once rather than yearly; (2) limiting the body styles to mass appeal only, leaving the speciality markets for costly imports; (3) eliminate automation as much as possible in that the equipment was expensive, cantankerous, costly to maintain, and expensive to reprogram and substitute high quality hand labor where craftsmen could be held accountable for the quality and quantity of what they were producing; and (4) use only slave labor with the exception of top management, design engineers, and distribution specialists. Even slave overseers would be slaves themselves as well as the handlers working under them. Mr. Ping's responsibility was to make sure slave labor was provided as needed at the lowest cost possible.
He was looking for slaves who were young enough to last through years of hard labor, were strong and disease-resistant, and trained to full acceptance of their slave status (meaning total compliance to their overseers and handlers). With female slaves, he added the criteria of broad hips for easy child-bearing in that most female slaves were kept pregnant a good deal of the time to add to the profits. With neither gender were looks or sexual attributes important. These slaves were bought to work, not service their betters. He was accompanied by his first born 20-year-old son, Xi, who was in training to succeed his father.
Juan Peron (a very distant third cousin of the late President) held a similar position with Peron Agriculture, only one of the many Peron enterprises. Peron Agriculture provided most of the vegetables and fruit consumed by the citizenry of large Argentine cities. The produce was raised on huge farms and orchards some distance from the cities where land was cheap and security could be maintained. Every aspect of Peron Agriculture was manned by slaves with the exception of management, planners, and sales agents in that slave labor was the only way food prices could be made affordable to the average city dweller these days.
Like Mr. Ping, Juan Peron was looking for long-term work animals, not pretty adornments for the parlor. Hence, his selection criteria and Mr. Ping's were practically identical.
It was only natural then, that they became friends the minute they met at the reception desk of the hotel and Mr. Peron had forgotten to put his credit card back in his wallet.
"Did you forget your credit card?" Mr. Ping quickly asked the stranger just leaving the desk after checking in.
"Oh! Yes. Thank you, sir," Mr. Peron replied as he quickly grabbed the waylaid card and put it safely in his wallet. "You have me at a disadvantage, sir. I'm Juan Peron, from Argentina - Peron Industries."
"Yu-Long Ping, Mr. Peron, representing Malaysia's state-owned car industry. I suppose you're here at The Bazaar for the same reason I am - buying up slaves," Mr. Ping said pleasantly as the hotel slaves collected the two men's luggage to take to their rooms. "Is this your first trip to The Bazaar, Mr. Peron?"
"No, I'm afraid due to the demands of the agribusiness I represent I'm required to fly all the way over here two or three times a year. Of course, that's my job," Mr. Peron chuckled. "And you? First time here, Mr. Ping?"
"No, like you, Mr. Peron, the hotel clerks here practically know me by name by now. It's wearisome after the initial excitement wears off, but my son here - it's his first trip to The Bazaar and he's in absolute wonder. I remember when I made my first trip here and found it - well - unbelievable. But The Bazaar has made my life much easier, I must say. One-stop shopping is the best idea yet."
"I can appreciate your son's excitement being here. I too remember my first trip here - for people in my position, being responsible for keeping Peron Agriculture's slave cages full at all times, it was a dream come true. I've never shopped anywhere else since that first trip, Mr. Ping."
"Nor have I, Mr. Peron. It makes other procurement trips seem like a waste of time. Oh, occasionally I run across some piece of flesh that's worth my time and effort, but that's the exception compared to what's available here. My son is to take up my position when I retire in a few years. I hope he learns all he needs to know - that's why I insisted the company send him with me this time - he needs to learn the ropes."
"How nice to have your own flesh and blood replace you in your important task, Mr. Ping. I'm too young to think about retirement for a while yet, and, unfortunately, have no sons to replace me, but my daughter has shown considerable interest. It's hard for the company to think of a female buying agent, but times are changing. Like your son, she's going to join me for the actual buying this time, but at her own expense. Since she decided to come at the last minute, she couldn't get a first-class ticket on the same plane with me, but will be coming in on the next flight over from Argentina."
"I'll be delighted to met her, Mr. Peron," Mr. Ping said genuinely. "It isn't often you see women representing corporate buyers here. Although, as you know, there are plenty of women buying slaves for their own household each and every day."
"Especially handsome male slaves with big dicks," Mr. Peron chuckled as he winked knowingly to his new acquaintance. "Mr. Ping, my daughter is like that herself. She wanted to bring her latest stud with her on this trip, I'm ashamed to say, until I convinced her the hotel would provide her a slave just as satisfactory and at no extra charge. I gave her the stud, a big Guyanese black, for her 23rd birthday little knowing she would become infatuated with the big lummox. As far as I can ascertain, he's dumb as an turtle, built like an ox, but handsome as they come. But it's what between his legs that has bewitched by daughter and that beast knows how to use it to bring the utmost pleasure from what I can ascertain. Imagine, shipping a big black animal all the way from Argentina to Alexandria for just a couple of romps in the bed. Believe me, if that black is ever shipped here, it will be for a profitable sale, not as a traveling courtesan," Mr. Peron chuckled, sharing his problems with the fellow agent from Malaysia.
"You're not the only one with having offspring getting beguiled with a nice looking piece of slave flesh. My eldest son prefers females for his bed but hasn't taken a wife yet to continue the lineage. Instead, in the folly of youth, he has bought himself a pretty little slave girl to fulfill his needs and has stopped dating eligible women who would make a suitable wife and mother. At this rate, I will never know the joys of grandchildren even though he has impregnated several slave women with his seed, who, of course, will be slaves themselves. Even making the arrangements to accompany me on this buying trip, he was careful to make sure the hotel knew of his bed preferences. Maybe you can talk some sense into him, Mr. Peron. If he got married and started siring legitimate children of his own, he'd forget about chasing slave pussy and learn how uncomplicated a handsome male slave for the bed can be and usually just as satisfying, if not more so," Mr. Ping added with a wink to Mr. Peron.
"Could my son and I impose and ask you to join us for dinner, Mr. Peron," Mr. Ping added. "I suppose you planned to look over the offerings in the pens in the morning before the auction tomorrow afternoon. I know that's what I intend to do, so the dinner imposition won't be too long."
"That's kind of you and I accept," Mr. Peron said promptly. "And, yes, that's exactly what I intend to do in the morning. Like you, I wanted to get back to my room fairly early so I can enjoy the personal slaves I'm sure the hotel has put into our suites.
"Exactly! It's uncanny how they always find some slave or another I find almost irresistible and it's so relaxing right before all the decisions to be made tomorrow," Mr. Ping added.
"Their strategy is to sell the slaves to you for your own use back at home, you know," Mr. Peron chuckled. "I imagine the scheme works often enough in that the slaves seem to almost expect to take on a new owner with each new guest."
With that, the time was set for the dinner together and both men, room keys in hand, went to their hotel suites. Mr. Ping's son, Xi-Long, practically ran to the room, eager to see what the hotel would provide him. He was surprised, but not disappointed. Inside was an white slave looking to be about his age who had long flowing blond hair, chalky white skin, bright green eyes, and a voluptuous naked body. She was British, judging by her accent, and lascivious. Mr. Ping had been provided a white, also - in his case a well hung boy of 18 with light brown hair, striking good looks highlighted by flashing blue eyes, and also a Brit. Both, it turned out, had been enslaved not more than two years ago by British courts, and promptly shipped off to The Bazaar who had spent months and months training them to perfection for just what they were now doing - pleasing patrons of a classy hotel. The two slaves looked so much alike they could be brother and sister which wasn't surprising in that was exactly what they were. Both had been involved in the same crime and had been sentenced to slavery together, sold together to The Bazaar's agents, and, later, trained together at the Bazaar.
Mr. Peron found two slaves in his suite as well: both were males in their late teens. One was a medium brown with creamy skin, a handsome face, a nice musculature, and nicely endowed, his prick neatly circumcised. His hair was cut short with only tight black curls left on his scalp highlighted by a pencil-line beard outlining his square jaw. The other was a dark coal black with black eyes and black hair. He was tall, extremely muscular, brutally handsome with huge pecs, a smallish waist, and a butt that was prominent. His prick was disproportionate even to his huge body - 12'" long erect (as he was displaying himself) with huge balls pushed up behind his prick by his wide genital band.
Pointing to the medium brown slave, Mr. Peron said, "I suppose you're for me; and this black giant is for my daughter when she arrives, reaching down to grip both of their penises, and quickly massaged the brown boy's prick into an erection like his fellow slave's.
"Yes, master," the huge black answered in a basso voice. "I'm specifically trained to please mistresses in all ways possible. Although, you can use me any way you want, of course, master."
When Juan Peron gave the huge black a quizzical look, the slave, with head lowered as far as his tall neck collar would allow, said humbly, "Most masters have found me most satisfactory in pleasing them, if I am not being too bold, master."
"And with a mistress?" Juan Peron pressed the slave.
"Master, almost all request my usage again," the slave said so humbly it was almost as if he was apologizing although his huge penis remained totally hard as he spoke.
"Perfect! Absolutely perfect for my daughter arriving in the morning. She'll give you a work-out, I guarantee you, slave," Juan Peron said as he reached forward and stroked the massive black prick a few times to see if it were actually real.
Turning to the brown slave, he said, "We'll start with you sucking me and when you've got me all ready to go, I'll fuck this big black before my daughter wears him out completely. Then, when I've recovered sufficiently, I want to fuck that nice butt of yours so make sure you're well lubed by that time, slave."
The brown slave dropped to his knees promptly in front of his assigned hotel guest and quickly extracted Juan Peron's organ. In seconds, he had suctioned it all the way to its root and churned it with his tongue until he felt the organ within his mouth and throat swell to its full circumference. He then sucked for all he was worth as his throat muscles pumped Juan's organ expertly. Juan gasped and groaned as he felt his load slowly rising and then, suddenly, quickly withdrew from the suctioning mouth.
"You're almost too good with your mouth action, slave," he said excitedly as he ran his hand through the brown slave's tight black curls. "You'll get a chance to taste a load out of me before the nights over," Juan promised. "Another second and you would have drained me instead of allowing me to pump my load into the black slave's ass."
Hearing his cue, the black slave queried his new master. "On all fours, on my back with my legs up, or on my side, master, with my hole opened?"
"Well, for starters, on all fours so I can reach around those muscles of yours and pay with your tits, slave, while I fuck you."
"Yes, master," the black said quietly as he quickly assumed a position on the floor on his hands and knees, both widely spread to both open his hole fully and allow easy assess to his tits.
"Cleaned out and lubed properly?" Juan asked the black slave.
"Yes, master," the black replied as he lowered himself down to his elbows to place his ass in the most convenient position for a proper fucking.
With no further preliminaries, Juan jammed his prick all the way up the black boy, kept it there a moment to enjoy the muffled gasp of the impaled slave, and then started pumping vigorously as his hands found the large tits mounted atop the slave's massive pectorals. The tit massage led to some more muffled groans while the ass pounding led to some twisting around, some gasps, and even a little drooling as the slave's prostate was massaged by the Argentine prick within him. Juan let one hand leave one of the tits and reach down to check out the slave's organ. Sure enough, it was hard and dripping copiously, a sure sign the boy was well trained in how to not just accept willingly, but to actually enjoy being fucked. It added to Juan's pleasure and, soon after, the slave's ass muscles beneath him began churning around his embedded prick, literally milking him to a full discharge deep into the black's tight ass. Upon the initiation of his discharge, Juan howled in delight and then gasped as he shot the first of seven volleys as far up the black's ass as he could manage. Finally, he fell onto the big black's back and just lay there recovering his breath, continuing to knead the big tits in his hands, now erect and throbbing themselves. Finally, with a final pinch to the tits, he withdrew quickly and stood up rather wobbly, studying the flow of his own creamy white cum out of the slave's hole, easily visible on the coal black hide of the slave.
"Thank you, master," the black slave gasped out, still swaying a bit on his knees and elbows from the heavy usage as he turned to clean his master's organ. "Did the master find me pleasing?"
"With an ass as tight as that, you can't lose, slaveboy," Juan said as the slave wrapped his mouth around Juan's organ and swallowed it completely down to clean it with his tongue.
Cleaned, Juan instructed the brown slave to join him in the bed and used his taut stomach as a pillow as he fell into a deep sleep. When he awoke hours later, that slave was promptly ordered onto his back with his legs up over his shoulders and was fucked leisurely by his assigned guest over the next hour or so until both parties were sweaty with animal heat and the room smelled of sex sweat and hot juices, both penile and anal. Finally, Juan blasted into the brown slave who himself begged permission to shoot off as Juan's cum was filling him. Juan, ever generous, granted permission and the brown slave shot a huge load between their bodies, providing a soft, sliding cushion as the final thrusts were made into the slave's body. As soon as the brown slave had cleaned all the cum and lube off of his master's organ with his tongue and then licked his own cum off of his master's body as well as his own, the slave was pushed out of the bed and both slept the rest of the night away - the master in the bed; the slave on a rug near the bed. The black slave snored softly away nearby on another rug, never awakened by the fucking of the brown slave just several feel away. The black's huge prick, at last flaccid, lay invitingly across his thigh, its size as impressive in sleep as awake.
Meanwhile, Mr. Ping and his son Xi-Long had finished the initial exploration of their own suite's provided slaves. The two British slaves, a brother-sister pair, had been enthusiastically used by Mr. Ping and his son.
Yu-Long enjoyed the young 18-year-old British boy by fucking the slave three times in rapid succession - first on his hands and knees with his ass thrust up for a convenient fucking position; second on his back with his legs wrapped around the aging man's waist as Mr. Ping's prick found its way clear up his anal chute vigorously pumping in and out; and third with the boy on his back with his legs clear up over his own shoulders to position his hole for a deep penetration. Finally, Mr. Ping was exhausted and slumped down to go into a deep contented sleep. The British slave boy, never allowed to empty his own balls, lay on the bed with a stiff prick, swollen balls, and sweat all over his body. He dared not move, knowing the hotel guest would probably want to use him again the moment he awoke. And he dared not try to relieve his own great need, knowing to do so without a master's permission would lead to unforgettable punishments. So he just lay there, wondering what this strange oriental- looking master would want him to do once he awoke: suck him, fuck him again, have him fuck his sister for his amusement, or take a good fucking from his young son, who, even now, was busily fucking his sister for the third time.
She looked stoic as she was again taking a good fucking from the Oriental youth and gave every impression she viewed this as part of her life as a slave - hence, no objections, no resistance, no rebellion as the Malaysian boy-master plunged in and out of her vagina, but, on the other hand, no screaming in ecstacy, no moans of passion, etc. She was doing her duty and accepting her destiny. As she looked over at her fellow slave, her own brother, she did smile, as if to indicate she wished it was him fucking her instead of this other strange youth. Indeed, her handsome slave brother had fucked her on several previous occasions simply to please the suite's guests of the evening and she had found his long thick prick, his chalky white skin, and his zeal in coupling with a slave from his own land an absolute delight, even if it was his own sister. In a different world, she would have been appalled at even being nude in front of her brother, let alone fucking him in public. Her brother would have shared that shame. But, as slaves, they did what they were told and both slaves in Mr. Ping's suite understood that completely - slaves have no family and therefore the taboos of their past didn't apply now.
Before morning arrived, Mr. Ping had enjoyed the British male slave's body every way the young slave had imagined. The British female slave had been fucked thrice in her vagina, sucked him off twice, and been fucked up the ass once by the randy young man from Malaysia. Very pleasing to Mr. Ping, his son had fucked the young British male twice and had the slave suck him off once after he had finished with the female. This was, as far as Mr. Ping knew, the first time his son had ventured into the delights offered by use of a male slave's body and he was happy to see his son expand his horizons since male slaves as well as female slaves were always available for his use. For the 18-year-old British male slave being utilized, it was a long, long night of almost constant use and when morning came, he was so sore he could barely walk and his stomach seemed filled to overflowing with cum, albeit Oriental cum, a new taste to him, bitter-sweet and exotic.
With morning, both Mr. Ping, his son, and Mr. Peron were ready to do business, totally relaxed and tension-free. The suite slaves were soon cleaned out inside and out, had their bodies shaved and oiled, and were lubed for future hotel guests that might want to use them during the day. Mr. Peron's daughter arrived as scheduled, but her arrival at the hotel was a little delayed in that she had used the hotel chauffeur enroute who had picked her up at the airport, a well-built, very handsome, well-equipped naked Kurdish slave who had a reputation for pleasing his limousine's customers. When she saw the coal black slave assigned to her suite, she lost all interest in visiting the Bazaar that day and, putting her finger through the black slave's tit ring, literally drug him into her bedroom where the two remained the next 24 hours in a maelstrom of heaving, sweating, howling, groaning, and purring while smells of body lubricants, sex sweat, and heavy breathing filled the room like a haze.
Mr. Peron and Mr. Ping went to the holding pens together, being limousine chauffeured by a stunningly handsome Canadian slave of prodigious endowment. The chauffeur offered himself for their pleasure, of course, as part of his service, but both men were too tuckered out to be interested.
"Perhaps on the return trip?" the slave practically pleaded, worried that his rations that night would be cut if he didn't meet his quota of satisfactorily servicing passengers.
"Perhaps," both men muttered as they mentally reviewed the purchases they were commissioned to make that day at The Bazaar: bulk lots of slaves for auto manufacturing plants for Mr. Ping; bulk lots of slaves for agriculture for Mr. Peron.
Within minutes, the chauffeur was kneeling beside the opened back door of the limousine, his humongous circumcised prick well displayed due to his tight-fitting genital band.
"Pick us up at 3 P.M. sharp, driver," Mr. Ping ordered. "Both of us should have our business completed by then."
"Yes, master," the Canadian slave replied, his eyes staring downward at the pavement. He ventured to add, "Perhaps then you will want to use my body for your pleasure?"
"Yes, yes, perhaps," Juan Peron said with some irritation in his voice. Turning to Mr. Ping, he commented, "It seems that's all these Bazaar slaves are interested in - peddling their pretty bodies."
"Well, that's how they earn their keep, Juan," Mr. Ping chuckled. "Can't blame them for that."
The Bazaar's holding pens for labor slaves were so vast a directory was outside every warehouse showing the direction to which warehouse penned what type of labor slaves: whites, mixed bloods, blacks, older used slaves, newly released bred slaves, with these categories divided into every nationality and/or ethnic group known, etc., and then each of these categories divided into male and female offerings. In all, there were over 100 warehouses full of labor slaves alone, each holding a different category. Both the customers were handed a map upon entering the area - necessary so they didn't get lost and essential to keep from spending days at their buying assignments.
The map brochure also included the various discounts available for bulk lot buying; the various options of making up your bulk lots; and a review of body fitting options (at extra cost), and the free shipping to the buyer's destination at no extra cost, as well as payment options (everything from credit-card to bank drafts to electronic fund transfers to installment buying).
Since the skills and training requirements needed in car manufacturing and agribusiness were little different outside of one was mainly indoors and the other mainly outdoors, the two buyers decided to stay together during their shopping. Both jobs demanded 12-18 hour work days seven days a week, two feeding times scheduled each day, domiciled in lock-down barracks or pens at night; working under the steady whip of slave handlers; and both had similar incentives (extra food or sex rewards) and punishments (food or sleep deprivation, denial of any sex relief, extra whippings, electric shocks, and, in extreme cases, castration). Individuals in both groups would sometimes be force-mated with a female for breeding purposes if they had genetic traits worth transmitting; all slaves in both groups would be used by their overseers and might be used by corporation visitors sexually; both groups would include enough sturdy females who could work while pregnant to insure the breeding program was maintained. Outside of that simple criteria, both buyers were looking for the same thing: young, big, sturdy bodies that would endure hard toil for years and years; disease-resistant stock that would withstand close proximity with others the rest of their lives without getting sick; stock that was already broken to the whip and their status as work animals without rebellion or resistance; and, for females, either a proven ability to reproduce without difficulty or a body that looked like it was suited for continual breeding. Outside of that, nothing much else mattered: whether they were handsome or ugly; how big their genitals were; how much hair they had on their bodies; how many scars they had accumulated already on their hides; or even whether they frowned or smiled.
With such easy criteria, both men had quickly selected 20 tons of slave flesh in the next three hours. All that was required was a quick examination of their musculature, a look into their mouths to see if they had all their teeth, a check of their feet to make sure they weren't damaged in any way, a quick check of their back and butt to see if they had any infected whip welts, a quick weighing of their balls and prick to see first if they resisted such an inspection and second to see how long it took them to gain an erection, and finally a quick insertion of their rubber-gloved fingers into the slave's hole to see how he reacted and if he had already been fucked so much that he was too loose to hold his own shit in. Those selected were marked with a grease pencil as to their lot number, their buyer, and their destination.
With 20 tons of flesh, the top discounts were easily achieved, and both buyers realized they had unwittingly selected white, yellow, black, and brown slaves, males with everything from gigantic sex organs to those almost child-like; slaves both tall and short; slaves both hairy and smooth; and slaves both ugly as sin and handsome as a pleasure slave. They represented practically all countries of the world - although some were home-grown bred slaves. Mr. Ping's lots leaned a little heavier toward Asian origins; Mr. Peron's lots were considerably more European, Russian and American in origin. But both groups had about 20% blacks despite their origins (many were bred slaves) and about 30% female slaves (to insure a steady crop of bred slaves of their own in the future). Both men had successfully selected slaves who had accepted their slave status fully; were trained to the point that, as work animals, they responded quickly to supervisor's commands without resistance or open resentment; and, most important, saw themselves as little more than what they were: draft animals for sale to the highest bidder, no different than cows, horses, and oxen.
Mission accomplished, both buyers (and Mr. Ping's trainee son Xi-Long) returned to the hotel to rest up before their return flights scheduled for the next afternoon. For Mr. Ping and Xi-Long, it meant a good 22 hours of enjoying the suite's slaves before leaving. For Mr. Peron, the same was true except he knew the coal-black slave would no longer be available with the arrival of his lusty daughter. He had arranged for a tour of The Bazaar for her early the next morning before their flight back if he could pry her away from the huge prick of the black slave. If so, her trip over from Argentina hadn't been just to get a good fucking from a most talented slaveboy. She might actually learn something about the biggest slave operation in the world before she got back on the plane. If so, he would get another round with the big black himself before he left.
The brother and sister pair of British slaves in Mr. Ping's suites never rested until the suite's guests finally left the next afternoon. Fortunately, they utilized the time while the Ping's were out shopping to rest up for what they knew was coming.
Mr. Peron's plans for his daughter materialized after all. Even she had her fill of the huge black slave by the time Juan returned to the suite and, although the black was so exhausted he could do nothing but fall to the floor into a deep sleep when she was finally through having him fuck her over and over and over, he was fit enough the next morning when she left for her tour of The Bazaar where she could ogle and fondle all the heavy hung handsome males she wanted in the pens. As Juan had predicted, she choose to take the tour focusing on pleasure slaves rather than the draft slaves her father had been commissioned to purchase, but she certainly enjoyed it. All the slaves there were properly wanton in displaying their considerable charms and all were erect at all times so she didn't have to wonder what their true size was. The only difficulty she had was she didn't have the funds to buy two or three that really turned her on right then and there. But The Bazaar was most lenient in letting a lady try out any slave that took their fancy and she could see where two or three years of training a boy in pleasing an owner sexually certainly paid off. By the time she left the pleasure slave area, six slaves had their balls emptied, and two of them were used so much they were chafed and sore.
While his daughter was gone to the pens, Mr. Peron spent the entire morning enjoying the two slaves available to him, knowing it would be a long flight back. By the time his daughter returned, both she and him were pretty well satiated and concentrated on packing up for the first class flight home. Juan noted his daughter was in a particularly good mood upon her return and she commented that she was going to start saving up, now knowing what was available for a price, and not rely so much on birthday presents with a small wink to her loving father. She added she was surprised how reasonably priced really good bed bucks were now here at the Bazaar.
"Well, The Bazaar is essentially a wholesaler. They can beat most anyone's prices anywhere in the world. Take that black buck you enjoyed last night. He's a Bazaar slave as you know since The Bazaar owns this hotel. A slave like that back in a Buenos Aires market, even if you could find anything that good, would cost you three times what you could buy him here for."
That afternoon, Mr. Ping and his son flew back to Kuala Lumpur knowing their trip had been successful.
That same afternoon, Mr. Peron and his daughter flew back to Argentina.
"Daddy, thanks for taking me to The Bazaar. You were right. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it for myself."
"You're more than welcome. But I did buy a little souvenir for us to remember our visit to The Bazaar."
"What, daddy?" the daughter asked impishly.
"Well, I liked to fuck that big black stud at the hotel about as well as you liked him fucking you. So I bought him. He'll be shipped over with the other stock and should arrive on a cargo freighter in a day or two."
"Daddy, you're the best father a girl ever had," she cooed. "And I promise I'll share him with you. Anytime you want him, you let me know, Daddy."
"Oh! I thought it would be the other way around. But, that's OK. You're younger than I am and have greater needs. I just want him one or twice a night."
"And I'll use him all day long, Daddy. See, I knew it would work out fine."
"What are you going to do with your current bed buck?"
"He's about worn out if the truth were known, Daddy. I'll give him back to you for work in the fields. He'd like being outdoors picking peaches or whatever your slaves do to earn their feed."
Juan Peron smiled at his beloved daughter. He'd have one more draft slave than he figured on. Knowing his daughter, that slave would probably be relieved to never have to perform sexually again the rest of his life, but he was sure the slave's new overseer wouldn't see it that way. As he remembered, he was quite good looking - just the type the overseers like to take to their own beds at the end of a long day.
"Daddy," Juan's daughter said as an afterthought. "That big black stud you bought hinted around he wanted me to buy him when he had me all worked up. I never dreamed YOU would actually buy him."
Well, he gave the same hint to me when I was fucking him," Juan Peron laughed. "All those hotel slaves do that - that's why The Bazaar puts them there - to audition their bodies to hotel guests for a quick sale. In fact, if they don't sell themselves in 60 days, they are usually sold off as draft slaves - you know - for the mines, the sewage plants, places like that. That turns them into the best salesmen on earth. Pretty clever of The Bazar, don't you think?"
"Oh," Juan's daughter sounded a little disappointed. "I thought he wanted me to buy him because I was the best women he'd ever had."
"That too, daughter, that too. But that means I gave him the best fucking he'd ever had."
With that, the two had a good laugh and ordered pre-dinner drinks from the first-class steward on duty - a most handsome Ecuadoran slave with strong Incan features wearing nothing but a jeweled collar, a very wide matching genital band, and a beautiful smile. He was totally hairless below his neck and was sparkling clean. Around his neck was draped a small metal sign: "Sexual service not available while serving meals."
Juan read the sign centered between the two prominent pecs on the attractive slave and smiled at his daughter. "Too bad it's meal time."
Writers appreciate and need feedback. Please forward your comments to Bill Smith (anonymous4371@juno.com). I'm thinking of adding a chapter on The Bazaar's specialty transport slaves. Any interest?