Conflicted

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Reason For Being

Among the Mega-yachts that ply the world’s oceans, many have luxury facilities such as wave pools, saunas, steam rooms, fully equipped work out facilities, and a real theater. These vessels enjoy a special status, not only on the high seas, but in most of the largest, busiest ports on the globe. Just as they have dining facilities for twenty or thirty or more guests, they offer plush staterooms for a similar number of visitors. The accommodations for service personnel are equally voluminous and extend from private staterooms for the privileged slaves to isolated cages and dungeon cells for those who merit such attention.

When you talk about yachts in this class, you are in the realm of a chosen few of the world’s wealthiest wealthy, The Richie Rich. These people are not accidentally wealthy. They did not scratch a five Euro Lottery card to reveal a hidden number and they didn’t win the Irish Sweepstakes. Their money comes from resources that range from oil to drugs to real estate, but they all have one thing in common: they dwell in secure and private environments and within these precious enclaves; they can do pretty much whatever they please. They live like royalty and often are in fact royalty, even in the twenty-first century! They buy, sell and keep human beings much as the rest of the society may buy or keep a pet cat.

Thus, it is not surprising that although most owners of these ships are reasonably honest and considered beyond reproach, there are some who have discovered that a huge pleasure yacht, like a castle hidden deep in the mountains, is an excellent vehicle for handling the trafficking of human slaves. After all, a pleasure craft that may be nearly the size of a commercial cruise ship has every possible facility for welcoming bidding guests, holding and maintaining a reasonable store of delectable and ready to be sold human bodies and can remain beyond the reach of nearly anyone who might be inclined to be uncomfortable with the concept of buying and selling human beings.

Below deck, anything goes. There are no limits in activities or transactions. The lives of four or five young men or women can be changed in a single poker hand or roll of the dice. No one cares. Cells with naked men and women chained to the bulkheads, their mouths stuffed and sealed with massive gags which perhaps earlier that day were used to plug their ass or p***y, are not rare. Specially equipped rooms that would astonish even the most jaded fetishists are standard accommodations for merchandise and their buyers. If you are looking for something marginally exotic, like a twenty something former housewife from Finland who has learned the essence of true slavery, look no further. The ship probably has three or four of these products available: blond, brunette, redhead or bald. Take your choice. Likewise,

on-board fitness facilities have integrated human/mechanical devices that can make working out not only productive in terms of keeping fit, but also a pleasurable experience.

Want a fully trained Asian pony girl who was once a cashier and pole dancer in a Macau casino, they’ve got one...or two on board. If you seek a six-foot tall, muscular dyke who was once a male wrestler on TV, look no further. She’s here and ready for your whip. She is most adroit of probing butts with her eight inch long tongue and licking off the residue from used organs, male or female.

Louis Barko, an Austrian Specialty Manager on one such ship was watching a group of Asian guests that seemed inattentive as Hakima spoke. To his expert eyes, this group appeared to already have made their selections from the displays on the patio. Now they were hotly debating how much they will offer for each product. They paid little attention to Hakima’s droning.

“It is important that you each understand some new rules of our operation so as not to later encounter some unpleasantness.” Hakima said gravely. “We live in a complicated time. Things that were once simple have now become complex. The true identity of a human being is no longer certain. What appears to be simple is not. To be more specific, a female slave may appear to be female but may be something else. What looks like a male may be neither gender, but something in between. Because of this, we have had to alter our marketing and sales operations extensively. A complete definition of terms is always unfinished and what applied last week may no longer be correct or relevant. Which of you buyers and traders have not, at one time or another, discovered that what you thought was male was not, or what was sold to you as female was not? For that reason, you will note that our marketing no longer states clearly the gender of the product. When possible, we will detail what we know and what we have discovered in our elaborate vetting process, but we are not always right. That little gem of a household male slave with a fine ass and exceptional t**s might turn out to still have vestiges of her previous life. A set of male gonads may still reside in her belly or her luscious t**s may turn out to be grafted with body fat. Try as we might, we cannot always discover these deceptions. Here is one interesting example”:

On Hakima’s silent cue, one of the firm’s catsuited escorts led two hooded and chained figures, obviously female to the discerning eye, onto the stage. They wore only nearly transparent shifts which covered from neck to top of thigh. One shift was yellow and one was blue. Each wore shoes with extreme heels and straps attached to chains joining their ankles. Their arms were similarly chained behind their back and they wore heavy metal collars connected to the lead chains held by the escort. They stopped next to Hakima. The taller of the two in the blue shift, turned slowly, one way and then the other, keeping the chains from becoming tangled. The one in yellow then did the same.

“Now, my friends, here is a test,” Hakima said. “Are these two figures what they appear to be? Are they both female? Or are they actually males or are they a mix of each s*x? Can you tell? Will you stake your hard-earned money or that of your clients on your decision only to discover later that you were mistaken? Ladies and gentlemen, please indicate if you think they are both females.”

Most of the guests raised a hand briefly.

“Now, who thinks they are both males,” Hakima said.

Only a few hands were tentatively raised.

“Okay,” Hakima said. “Who thinks they are a mix of genders, perhaps incomplete?”

Only three hands were raised. The audience was silent. The only sounds were of the air conditioning.

Hakima used the silence expertly. Then she said:

“In fact, my friends only three of you are even partly correct. Remove the shifts, please,” she directed. The escorts grasped the frail cotton shifts and tore both away easily. Beneath were two naked bodies. Both faced the crowd. Both wore thin gold chain belts and a crotch panel that hid the s*x organs. Both had spectacular t**s, but the taller one had ringed n*****s and some tattoos on both breasts. The waists were proportionate and the legs likewise. The crowd was quiet.

“Now, take off the hoods,” Hakima directed.

The hoods were unlocked, unzipped and removed, revealing that the taller figure was indeed a man with a light beard and short hair. The other figure had no hair, a shaved skull and a well muscled torso and biceps.

“So,” said Hakima smiling. “Who was deceived and who would have known that these are both former males who are still in the process of transiting from one gender to perhaps partly another?”

The audience was unresponsive. No hands were raised.

“Here is my point,” Hakima continued relentlessly. “If you offer for sale and misidentify your product, intentionally or not, and are discovered, you will forfeit your slaves and your rights to ever return here. In extreme cases, we will claim and take your lives as well.”

One elegantly dressed, middle-aged woman in the crowd raised her hand and asked: “That seems unfair. Maybe we really did not know.”

“I agree,” Hakima said. “But the rules will stand. Your remedy is not to bring us any uncertainties. We will deal with any deceptions we discover and you, Princessa, must deal with yours. If you identify from the beginning the hybrids and the transients, the semis and the partials, the maybes and the wannabes, we will be happy to accept them for auction, but make certain that your identification details are correct. No tricks. No subterfuge. No ‘funny photos.’