Date: Fri, 25 Feb 2005 05:57:23 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Spoils Of War, Part 10

THE SPOILS OF WAR  by Pete Brown.  petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

Read all of Pete's stories in
groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories

Part 10

That subdued mood was still around the next morning,
and it was almost silent in the showers.  We exercised
and breakfasted as usual, then, as I'd fought the
night before, I didn't have a fighting practice that
day - instead I had to take gym classes and was also
allowed some time in the pool to keep up my fitness
generally.

Before I jogged off to the gym, though, I saw Lewis
standing there, looking at me.  Something was wrong, I
could tell, so not being one who avoids things, I went
up to him and asked him what the fuck was going on -
why had everyone been so quiet since last night?

"Spike, it's not your problem, really - you can't help
it.  But it's just that when we see it, we're all a
bit shocked."

"See what, sarge?"

"The way you beat up that guy yesterday."

"But isn't that what I'm supposed to do?  That's what
this fucking place is for, isn't it?"

"Yes, Spike.  And that's what you're trained to do,
what we're all trained to do.  But, well, it's
difficult to put this into words.... It's just that
when the rest of us are doing it, we're doing it
because we have to, because it's our job, because
we're ordered to do it.  And we do it coldly,
professionally.  But you - well, you started off like
that, for the first minute, but then something
happened.  Something took over.  You weren't in
control, you didn't know what you were doing - your
body was fighting just as if it was possessed,
possessed by a force you couldn't control.  It happens
sometimes, and we've all seen fighters like you - it's
rare, relatively, but it's scary."

"Scary?"

"Hey, Spike, we're gladiators, right?  And we have to
fight.  We have to fight whoever they match us
against.  And if we're matched against you, we'll have
to fight you, we've got no choice.  We none of us like
fighting, really, but that's what we do - rather like
in the Corps, when you didn't want to go out and kill
other people, but that's your duty.  But you - well,
you like fighting... And that makes it different."

"No, I don't, sarge, I don't want to be in that
fucking arena...."

"You may say that, Spike, but your whole way of doing
it says different.  You probably don't even know
you're doing it - there are some guys like you, born
fighters, where the need to win and dominate is so
strong that once you've started, 'something' takes
over, something clicks in your brain, and then you're
totally out of your own conscious control, you're just
fighting because you're compelled to, something deep
down in your brain is driving you, something
primitive, something from the dawn of man, where it
was kill or be killed...."

"So?"

"So, Spike, we're all a bit scared of you.  Look, at
the end of the day, however hard you're fighting
another guy, there's always a point at which it's
over, or you've gone far enough to beat a surrender
out of him.  But with you, that probably won't happen
- you're incapable of stopping yourself until it's
really over, until your opponent is completely out of
it.  And that's scary, Spike, really scary, for all
the rest of us."

"Mind you", he went on, "It's probably OK for you.
You don't know you're doing it, and it makes you a
really awesome fighter.  You'll probably win ever
fight as a novice and will be an 'expert' after the
statutory four bouts.  And then, with that body of
yours, I expect they'll get you a slot on the second
channel almost immediately... And then you'll be
making real money for the Colonel...."

"So is that all I've got to look forward to?
Fighting, when I don't know what I'm doing?  Maybe
seriously injuring other guys who are just like me,
slaves?  Will I ever be out of here, free, living a
proper life?"

"I don't know, Spike!  This slavery thing hasn't been
going long enough for anyone to know.  And look at
what happened last time - it was years and years
before they finally understood that it wasn't the
right thing to do:  I can't see it happening on our
lifetime:  the South has 'won' this war, but at a
pretty high price:  a lot of the infrastructure was
wrecked and has to be repaired, and I expect they owe
those Arabs a lot, for agreeing to cut off the North's
oil.  I shouldn't think there's any enthusiasm or
interest for bothering about the lives of slaves at
the moment - and you know how it is:  the victors like
to enjoy the spoils of war, at least for a generation,
until guilt sets in.  And we're part of those
'spoils', and they need the muscle of slaves to help
in the reconstruction.  The same thing happened at the
end of World War II - a lot of German prisoners in
England weren't sent home right away - they were made
to stay there for about three years, to 'help in the
reconstruction':  building houses and roads and stuff.
 They were virtual slaves, and I guess these days
everything is jut a whole lot more sophisticated."

"So I'm stuck, then.  I'm a slave down here in the
South for ever."

"Well, if you're lucky!  I've heard some stories -
rumours, really - that some men are being bought up at
the auctions, by dealers who are acting more or less
secretly and who seem to have tons of cash to outbid
everyone else for the 'right' slave.  It's said
they're acting for the government, who then ship the
slaves off to the Arabs, to help pay off the war debt
- and I guess being a slave over there would be one
whole lot worse than being a slave here."

"Surely they wouldn't do that do that?  Shipping US
men out to the Gulf?  I mean, it's bad enough being a
slave here, in the USA, but if we were sent there,
where they treat their own folk like dirt....  No,
that must be wrong:  the government wouldn't ship real
American guys abroad as slaves."

"Why not,  Spike?   We're not citizens any more,
remember?  We're slaves, owned pieces of property, by
whoever pays the price.  And they'd ship a prize steer
abroad, wouldn't they, and no one would think it was
wrong?  Livestock exports have been going on for
generations.  Well, I guess it's like that with slaves
- you want to ship them to another country, for a good
price, then go ahead and do so."

Even I got subdued for the rest of the day after
hearing this - I mean, it was bad enough being a slave
down here in the South, but at least the other folks
around were Americans, like me.  And there was always
some hope that I could escape, cross that magic line,
and be back in the North, back as a free man, back
able to see my folks.  But if I was packed into a
crate and shipped off to some fucking Arab country,
there's be no hope, would there?  I mean, they don't
even treat their own people properly, so what would it
like to be a slave there?

Still, I can't be down in the dumps for long.  And I
tend not to worry too much about what might, or might
not happen - live each day as it comes, is my general
philosophy.   And to cheer myself up that night I went
and queued up to use one of the women they provided
for us.   I hadn't done this before, as it wasn't the
"fashion" in our room to do so, but I'd heard other
guys from other rooms in the showers talking about how
they'd just come from a good fuck, and I wanted to get
away from my companions for a bit, to let them cool
off.

It seems that the Colonel believed that sex was good
for gladiators - it helps keep the body healthy, as
fucking is such good exercise.  And it was also said
that if the guys were not frustrated and more
contented, they'd be easier to train, and less likely
to cause problems.  So the Colonel had some sort of
contract with a local brothel, and every night there
were four women available for us guys to use - you
went to an area at the back of the gym, and waited in
line for one to become free, then you just went in and
fucked her.  It seemed odd that first time - sitting
there on a bench at the back of the gym with about
five other guys - waiting for a prostitute to fuck.
It seems that somehow they were all a bit ashamed of
what they were doing, as we sat there without talking
or joking with each other, and most of them were kind
of hunched up, with their elbows on their knees and
their heads in their hands, almost as if they didn't
want to be recognised.

I'd never used a prostitute before - never needed to,
with my good looks and body.  But I didn't see what
there was to be ashamed about - I mean, if she wants
to sell her body, and you want to pay, where's the
harm?  It's only sex, after all, good healthy fucking.
 And now it was even better - I didn't even have to
pay, as it all went on the Colonel's bill!

As I sat there I thought about some of the memorable
fucks I'd had in my life, and, naturally, my dick was
as hard as a ramrod and was really uncomfortable
inside my shorts as I sat there.  You didn't get any
choice of woman - the guy before came out of one of
the four doors, there was a wait, and then the door
opened again, and she called you in:  it didn't seem a
very long time between the one guy and the next,
hardly time to clean up, I thought.  I began to get
worried though as my turn approached - I mean, how do
you deal with a prostitute?  I like a lot of foreplay,
and some kissing - could I do that, or what?  But I
needn't have been concerned - she called me in, and
when I went to kiss her, said "None of that - you boys
are just here to fuck.  Strip off - I can see you're
ready already!"

Still, that was OK, I thought.  Mind you, given that
the previous guy had only left a couple of minutes
before, I didn't fancy "sloppy seconds" as I was
almost certain that she wouldn't have had time to
clean out properly.  But the moment I let my shorts
drop to the floor and my dick sprang up, she bent
down, tore open a condom packet with her teeth, and
went to roll it on to me.

Well, I wasn't going to have that, was I?  I'd used a
condom once, and it was just like fucking  without the
sensation!  A man's dick wants to feel the heat, the
wetness, the sensation of a pussy, doesn't it - not be
covered in some plastic rubbish!  So I pushed her
away, and went to move her back on the bed so I could
start, when she told me "No!".  I ought just to have
gone ahead, really - after all, she was only a whore
and was presumably getting very well paid for
servicing us; and even if she wasn't, it must have
been better to have fit, muscular guys like us fucking
her than some of the old, flabby men she must deal
with usually who couldn't get a woman of their own.
She couldn't have stopped me, as I was so much bigger
and stronger than she was, and who the hell did she
think she was, anyway, to stop a man from taking a
whore any way he wanted to?

As I thought about it, I got angry, and grabbed hold
of her arms to almost force her back on to the bed.
But she snapped "Hold it right there, slave boy!  I'm
a free woman, you know, and do you know what happens
to slaves who molest women?  They get castrated,
before they're flogged!  So hold it there, boy, or
else...."

"No problem, ma'am.... Ill just go ahead anyway:
they'll never believe a whore in court."

"It will never come to court, slave boy!  Down here
everyone understands that slaves need to be
controlled.  I'll only have to tell the guards you
were rough with me, and that will be enough.  They
won't even listen to you, slave boy."

I noticed that she wasn't wearing a slave collar, and
then the horror of the situation struck home - as a
slave, I was worth nothing.  Even a whore was more
likely to be believed than I was if there was ever any
dispute.  Reluctantly, I let go of her arms, and just
stood there.

"I ought to make you go down on me, slave boy, and
really give me a good time.  Did you learn how to
really pleasure a woman, slave boy, or did you just
thrust that dick of yours in and fuck away?  Perhaps
now would be a good time to get that tongue of yours
some exercise....  I think you'd like to exercise it
where all the other slaves have been tonight?  Or
shall I get the last slave's condom out of the waste
bin, and get you to show me how you like drinking
another man's cum....? That would really teach you who
was in charge here..."

My dick had lost its erection, and she stated to laugh
at me - that was in some ways the worst thing!  She
carried on "Oh look, you're not able to fuck me now.
So why don't you say you're sorry for hurting a
lady....?"

"Sorry", I muttered, as I was worried about where this
was going!  She only had to call the guards, after
all, and I could see a big red "emergency" button on
the bedside table.

"I didn't hear that, slave boy, and I think you need
to remember to show proper respect for a lady...."

"Ma'am, I'm sorry ma'am", I muttered, starting to
blush all over.

She laughed then, came over and put her arm around my
shoulder, and reached down and started to play with my
dick - it was ages since I've felt the long, gentle
fingers of a woman there, and I began to stir into
life.  "Apology accepted, boy", she said.  "Especially
from a big, strong boy like you!  A lot of you slaves
who come in here for the first time think you can do
what you like, but you soon learn who's in control
really.  Now...."

She pushed me gently backwards and down onto the bed
so my feet were still on the floor, then sank to her
knees in between my open legs.  "I've been fucked
enough tonight", she muttered, "But this dick is too
good to miss.... mmmmmm....."

Her mouth on my dick was like silk, hot silk, and I
almost cried out with passion.  She began to suck
away, and I thought of all those other women who'd
given me blow jobs - well, after a time for some of
them, once I'd taught them that they could pleasure me
like that when we were in the car and it wasn't
convenient to fuck.

I pressed my hands to her head and pushed my dick all
the way in, getting that lovely gagging response, then
let her up, so she could continue to tease and
pleasure my dick head.

She wanted to pull away when I started to cum, but  I
was ready for her and my strong hands held her head
down on me so that my cum filled in her mouth.  Once
I'd let go, and she'd swallowed, she hissed "Bastard!
If you ever do that again, I will have you flayed!"

"Ma'am, sorry, ma'am", I said as casually as I could,
and got up, pulled my shorts on, and walked out.  Even
a slave can take control sometimes.

There was a lot of ribald comments when I went back to
the room afterwards, and I saw Lewis almost glaring at
me, as if I'd let him down in some way - but I was
only doing what a man does naturally, wasn't I?
Still, now I knew where they were, so to speak, I did
use them again, although I did hate condoms and
usually just got  them to give me a proper blow job.
The woman I used that first time though, when I got to
the head of the queue when it was her turn, never let
me do that:  I had to put a condom on and fuck her,
whether I wanted to or not.  It was almost as if I was
the whore, not her!

Well, after that first fight, I tried to be especially
nice to the other guys in our room, and I noticed that
there was a certain "distance" now with all the other
gladiators on the place - they would say hi in the
showers and so on, but they never seemed to want to
engage in further conversation:  it was as if they
were scared of me, somehow.  Still, that was actually
all to the good, I suppose:  if a guy goes into the
arena with you and he's already scared of you, then
you've got the psychological advantage form the
outset, haven't you?  And I guess that was all part of
the way in which  I won my next three bouts really
easily.  And Lewis told me that when the tapes had
been shown on TV, he thought that a lot of the
audience must have picked up on the fact that  I was
likely to be a "winner" in future, as the Colonel had
started to get requests for more information about me,
and for the tapes of my bouts to be re-broadcast.

They have what amounts almost to a ceremony when you
cease to be a novice and are officially classed as a
"gladiator", as the Colonel "welcomed" you, I was
told.  The morning after my fourth winning bout in a
row, Lewis told me that we were off to see the Colonel
for this, and he stood there and watched as I had to
shower again, and shave myself in preparation -
reaching down to feel my balls when I'd done.

"Sarge, do you have to do that?", I protested.  "You
saw me shave - if I didn't know better, I'd think that
you liked handling guys' balls..."

"Spike, I'm just doing my job!  The Colonel will
almost certainly inspect you, and it's my
responsibility to make sure that the men in my platoon
are popery turned out - even if you don't mind going
in front of your owner not properly prepared, I've
still got some pride in my work, and I'm not going to
allow it!  And, Spike, I don't want to hear any of
that rubbish talked in front of the Colonel about
being a free man really, and I don't want you trying
to jerk away, or to stop him from inspecting you - he
owns you, remember?  And it reflects really badly on
me if you've spent all this time in my platoon and you
still don't really accept that you're a slave."

"Well, sarge, I don't accept it!"

"I don't fucking care, Spike!  Just don't show it, OK?
 You can think what you like, but it's what the
Colonel sees that matters.    Now, let's go...."

The Colonels' office was just as I remembered it -
sparse and almost empty, except for his desk, and the
Gleeson's Gladiators house flag on a pole behind it.
He sat there looking at me for a moment as Lewis stood
at attention, and I, unconsciously imitating him, I
suppose, did the same.

"Right, Spike.  I've been reviewing your tapes.
Excellent! We have a natural, I think.  Now, let me
have a better look at you - unclothe."

I suppose I shouldn't have cared.  I mean, I'd had to
strip in front of these guys before.  But somehow,
taking off my singlet and the shorts was still
humiliating:  But I did as I was told - after all,
what was the point in disobeying, when he could order
me to be caned or whipped?  I hadn't actually seen any
of this yet, except for token canings  in the gym for
guys who didn't give everything they had to the
exercises, but I knew it went on as the other
gladiators would talk about it sometimes, always
lowering their voices as they did so.

I stood there in front of the desk, totally naked, and
the Colonel stared at me for a moment, then told me to
turn around so that he could take a look at my back
and my butt.  Then I was told to face him again, and
he said "Around the desk, Spike - come here...."

I went and stood by him as he sat there in his chair,
so calm, so confident.  "Stand easy, Spike....", he
commanded, and I spread my legs and clasped my hands
neatly behind my back.  The Colonel reach out his
hand, palm upwards, and made a gesture that indicated
I should approach him.  I moved forward, and he cupped
my balls in his palm, using his thumb to separate them
and almost rolling them around gently.  I tried not to
flinch, I tried not to jerk away, but when a guy is
holding those incredibly sensitive parts of you, it's
difficult to be objective about it, isn't it?  But
worse was to come:  he then moved on to have my dick
in his palm, and gently stroked the shaft with his
thumb - I felt myself going erect, in spite of hating
having him touch me like this - I mean, you do, don't
you - hate it, I mean?  You just have to go erect, as
that mechanical stimulation is almost impossible to
resist.

His thumb probed at the flange around my head and I
almost squirmed with the sensation, and there was no
stopping me now - I was rock hard!  He felt all
around, looked at me, and said cheerily "No problems
after the 'skinning, then, Spike?  It looks as if the
doctor did a good job as usual - no scarring, and a
nice smooth finish when you're erect.  Not too tight,
is it?  I'd hate to think of a young guy like you
having problems when he was erect?"

No, sir, it's fine, sir."

"Good.  Now, Spike, I'm really pleased with your
progress.  I've had excellent reports from your
trainers, Lewis here says you've settled in well, and,
of course, you've won your first four bouts - won them
easily, and with, shall we say, a certain style?  Not
an elegant fighting style, I must say, but one that
gets the job done, and done quickly!  In fact, you've
got quite a little fan club forming with our audience
- they like to see a man really fighting, really
slugging it out, as you do, with absolutely no thought
for the consequences.  So I've decided to promote you
to being a proper gladiator, and, more importantly,
I've decided that you'll be one of our performers on
the second channel:   your looks, and that thuggish
way you go about fighting should make you a real
star."

He looked at me as he said this, and at Lewis, then
went on "So no one has told you about the special
fights we do for the second channel?  The adult
channel?"

"Sir, no, sir."

"And when I bought you, the sale particulars said that
you were thought to be a virgin.  Is that still true?"

"No, sir.  I was never a virgin, sir - I had lots of
girl friends.  And since I've come here, well, I've
been....", I started to blush now a bit, as no one
likes to admit to using a prostitute, do they?
"...I've been with the women you provide for us, sir."

"I see.  When was the last time?"

"Last night, sir."

He turned to the PC on his desk, and typed away for a
few moments.  Then he muttered "Ah, yes, here you
are....", and swivelled the screen around so that we
could all see the picture.  There I was, from the
back, my butt and thigh muscles pumping away as I
screwed one of the women.  I blushed furiously now, as
it was bad enough to have been doing this, and
infinitely worse to have been caught doing it, on a
spy camera!

"Well this just confirms the correctness of my
decision, Spike.  You're very good when you're
fucking.... A lovely, strong, hard action with lots of
muscle movement. But let's go back to this virginity
thing.  Have you ever fucked a man?  I can see you
like women...."

"Sir, NO, sir!"

"And I take it that you've never had a man fuck you,
then?"

"Sir, NO, sir.  Absolutely not!"

He sat silent for a moment, contemplating something,
making a decision.  Then said "Lewis, take Spike and
put him on the horse."

Lewis came up to me, and went to lead me over to the
corner of the room where one of the standard
punishment "horses" was standing.  I'd occasionally
seen them used in the gym by one of the instructors,
when a guy just hadn't been pulling his weight - you
lay on the leather padded top, and the instructor
caned your ass!

"Sir, please, no, sir, I haven't done anything
wrong...."

"Even if you hadn't before, Spike, you have now!
You're not obeying my orders.  Now get over there on
that horse, before I call the guards in and we
schedule a real punishment."

Lewis was looking at me, and shaking his head slightly
to warn me to be careful.  He reached up and put his
hand on the nape of my neck, and with that warning,
and his "control" over me, I reluctantly stepped
across the room.

The leather was cold to my chest and belly, and as
soon as I was in position, my feet on the ground at
the back, Lewis pulled up a short cable with a clip on
it and snapped the clip through my nose ring.  My head
was now held down to the horse, and even if I'd wanted
to, I couldn't get up now.

"You'd better put a strap around him, Lewis", the
Colonel said.  "He's obviously going to buck a lot,
he's that type of man, and I don't want him tearing
his septum.  So put the forward strap around him -
under the armpits - as it will amuse me to see him
having some movement in his lower body."

Lewis bent down and pulled a couple of Velcro straps
up from under the body of the horse.  I felt his firm
hand pushing my shoulders down on to the horse, then
the straps came around holding my shoulders down.  I
tried moving, but it was impossible.

"Please, sir, why am I being punished?", I cried out,
in some distress now.  It wasn't so much the pain of a
caning I feared, but it seemed so fucking unjust.

"Oh you're not being punished, Spike!  Just being
trained for your next fight - we have rather special
ones on the second channel, you know, and I just can't
send a novice into the ring there with absolutely no
experience at all!"

End Of Part Ten