Date: Sun, 17 Apr 2005 12:08:01 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Spoils Of War, Part 31

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

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

Part  31

The sergeant still stood there, glaring at me with
dumb insolence, so I nodded to one of my men holding a
prod, and the sergeant again fell to the floor,
attempting to scream out although his muscles were all
spasming.   He again stood before me some minutes
later, shaking and trembling, but with almost a sneer
on his face as he continued to defy me.  I could not
of course allow this to continue, although I felt
sorry for the sergeant as it was just the way I would
react in the circumstances.  Equally, I did not want
him to be permanently damaged as I respected his
courage; and, anyway,  if he were to become disabled,
or his brain was destroyed, he would be a less
valuable asset to trade, and this was, after all, the
point of the exercise.

"Either remove your clothes, sergeant", I said, my
voice calm as I did not wish him to se my anger, "Or I
will have to take more extreme measures."

"Fuck you!", he said, half wearily, half in a very
surly way.

I nodded at him.  "As you wish.  But it is you who is
to blame for what is about to happen."

I rapped out orders in rapid Arabic, and my men went
into the cage and dragged out the young guy.  As the
sergeant looked on, at first questioningly, and then
in horror, I gave the order for him to be prodded, and
it was now the limbs of the youngest man amongst the
captives that were twitching and thrashing around.
When the noise quietened, and the sergeant had helped
him to his feet, I looked at them both.

"I do not wish to damage you, sergeant.  And therefore
if you continue to defy me, I will first have this
young soldier prodded a couple more times, and then,
if that fails to work, we will proceed through all the
prisoners.  Do you wish to stand there and watch the
men being hurt because of your stubbornness and
intransigence?  Now, I will order you one more time,
remove your clothes, as I wish to inspect my new
slave!"

He almost shouted "Fuck you!" again, but wiser counsel
seemed to prevail and slowly, very reluctantly, he
began to undress.    I quite enjoy seeing a man
removing his clothes - somehow, seeing the bare flesh
becoming revealed as first the shirt  and then the
pants are shed is very erotic.  He stood there then in
his socks and army-issue khaki cotton boxers, and
simply looked at me.

"Sergeant, perhaps my English is unclear.  But when I
used the words 'strip', 'remove your clothes', and
'get naked', I used them in the conventional sense -
that is to say, I want to see your body.  All of it.
Now remove the remainder of your garments, unless you
want the young soldier here to again feel the prod."

I was intrigued when he pushed his fingers under the
waistband of his boxers and allowed them to fall to
the floor, before he stooped down and hopped from foot
to foot to pull off his socks - most men, I think,
would have preserved their modesty for those few extra
seconds and done those operations in the reverse
order.  What was revealed ,however, was a pleasing
sight - the sergeant was nicely muscled, with a
classic shape:  wide shoulders tapering to a thin
waist, from which strong, classically-shaped buttocks
flared.  He had large, dark nipples against his tanned
skin, a pleasing thatch of hair on his chest which ran
down and across a lightly furred flat belly to end up
in a forest of wiry pubic hair, from which his dick
and balls jutted proudly.  Clearly he knew he was
"well hung", as he made no motion to even attempt to
conceal himself from my gaze.  In other circumstances,
I would have enjoyed fucking this man.

I let him see me examining his body with my eyes, and
then I said "Excellent.  Now your tags, please.
Remove them, and let them fall on to the scrap heap of
your clothes."

"No!  I'm a soldier.  Those are my ID.  If I'm killed,
it's the only way my folks will get to know..."

"If you do not obey me, I will have to hurt the other
soldiers again.  And you need have no fear of being
killed, as you are far too valuable for that - you are
safe here, far, far safer than in the streets,
providing you behave, that is..."

"No!  You are not allowed to remove a soldier's
identification..."

"And I will remind you that you are no longer a
soldier, but a slave.  A naked slave now, standing in
front of his owner.  And when an owner gives a slave
an order, the slave obeys, or the consequences are
dire.  Now, your tags...."

Reluctantly, the man pulled them over his head, and
went to put them onto the table in front of me.  "No,
just drop them onto the floor.  They are no longer of
any consequence, slave!"

It was almost touching to see the way that his fingers
lingered on the tags for a few long seconds, before he
dropped them with a clatter onto the floor.   It was
almost as if they were a symbol to him of something
that he knew he had lost - his freedom. It is perhaps
odd that a soldier should find his dog tags a symbol
of his freedom:  in real life they are after all
designed to give him a mere number, to turn him into
an identical member of the army. But then it is not
often, I suppose, that a man's status is altered quite
so radically as we were doing.

I ordered my men to push him into the second cage, and
he stood there, looking out through the bars, as I
turned to the young soldier.  "As you are already out
of the cage, you will now also make yourself naked for
me.  You have seen what happens to you when my orders
are disobeyed, and you have the example of your
sergeant, who has capitulated.  Now, to avoid further
unnecessary suffering, strip."

He glanced across at the sergeant, as if to check that
it was in order to do as I had said, and on getting a
nod from the older man, proceeded to remove his
clothes.  I'm not a particular lover of very young
men's bodies as I prefer the more mature, stronger
look that really only comes as the male moves into his
early twenties, so I had not expected to be aroused as
his flesh was revealed.  But he clearly had exercised
hard during his soldier's training, and there were all
the early indications that he would shortly become a
most stunning piece of man flesh - I almost wished
that I could keep him for my pleasure, but knew that
we were set on a higher purpose, and that he would
have to be sold.  It was perhaps unfortunate for him
that his long,  well proportioned dick terminated in a
foreskin:  as part of my plan to convince the South of
the horrors of slavery, that would have to go.  His
skin was smooth and glistened with a faint sheen of
sweat under the lights as he stood there, and it was
only on his head and around his genitals that there
was any significant concentration of hair - the
corn-yellow of his head hair was shaded to a richer
gold around his dick, probably because it had not been
a bleached by the desert sun.  Altogether he was an
impressive example of the male form, and the more I
thought about him, the more I felt that it would be an
excitement to bring him to proper manhood and
introduce him to the joys of proper sex.  But again I
knew that this was not possible - there was another
fate reserved for him!

After these two had stripped, it was a foregone
conclusion that the other six would be more compliant,
and soon all eight of them were in the second cage,
standing there rather forlornly, all totally naked -
there had been some protests when I had insisted that
two of the men removed their wedding rings, but these
had been quickly quelled with only just the suggestion
of a prod.

Knowing that the cameras were still on us, I moved at
once to the next phase of the operation - a chair, and
a standard flogging horse were next moved in.  The
cage was unlocked and the sergeant ordered to come out
and sit on the chair, and as soon as he did so one of
my men  moved in with portable electric clippers and
proceeded to remove even the very short "marine cut"
from the top of his head.  We brooked no disobedience
from him and emphasised our power over him by resting
the tip of the prod in his navel as he was commanded
to raise his hands in the air so that the clippers
could slice through the hair in his pits, and then it
was on down over his chest, removing the thatch that I
had found so appealing.

Knowing that there would be trouble if I did not take
steps in advance to prevent it, I had him strapped
down with a leather belt across his upper body when he
was pushed onto the flogging horse on his back.  It
was then easy to proceed to strip the majority of his
pubic bush off him, and then two men grabbed his
ankles and pulled them up and back towards his head,
causing his body to curl slightly, so that the
remainder of it from the back of his balls to his
asshole, and on up into his crack, could be removed.
As they continued to hold him he was finally shaved
totally smooth, but he protested loudly and long as
the man with the razor teased and pulled at the skin
of his sac to make a smooth surface.  Finally, then,
as he lay there totally shorn of all his hair, a thick
iron collar - one of the "temporary" ones that has a
hinge so that it can be opened - was pushed around his
neck and snapped closed, the special Allen key locking
it immovably in place.

It was only when we had similarly shorn and collared
another guy that the sergeant probably realised what
had happened to him:  seeing this other body, utterly
naked now and totally exposed, without even the
comfort of a few shreds of hair to maintain some
semblance of a virile male form,  he almost began to
shake (although whether this was with anger, or shame,
it was not possible to say).

Once all eight were in a similar state, they looked an
utterly pathetic sight - without even eyebrows they
looked less than totally human as they stood their in
their totally bare skin.  And their bodies were not of
course evenly coloured:  there were bands of very dark
skin on the face and lower arms, where it had always
been exposed to the sun, the slightly less dark flesh
on the torso and lower legs where they had been
sunbathing in off-duty hours, and the totally white
band around their genitals and asses where, even
though they were presumably all men together, they had
worn shorts even whilst swimming.  This  deathly pale
white skin made their dicks and balls - which are of
course always more heavily coloured naturally - stand
out very prominently.

"Right, you slaves... Only one more thing and then you
can get some sleep.... We want to offer you for sale,
against coffles of our own men, but naturally those
planning to buy you will wish to assure themselves
that you are all proper virile men.  Kneel down, knees
apart, feet together, backs straight with your butts
over your feet..."

We had to stab at them a bit with the prods through
the bars, threatening rather than punishing, before
they obeyed.   As good soldiers, they lined up quite
neatly - well, you get into a habit on the parade
ground, don't you?

"Right, slaves!  For the benefit of prospective
purchasers, demonstrate your manhood by jerking off -
I want to see a nice pool of cum in front of each of
you..."

"No way!", "Fuck you", "Pervert", "Fucking fag", the
cries rang out from them, as they all knelt there.  I
went and stood in front of the sergeant, and said
"They're your men - you're in charge.  Now persuade
them to get jerking, now, before I lose my temper and
order you all to be prodded...."

"Please... Please... Couldn't I just do it?"

"You are commendable, sergeant, as I know that must
have cost you.  But on this occasion, no. I want to
show the world that you are no longer men in control
of your own destinies.  Now, get them jerking, or
there will be much unnecessary suffering.  And we will
win in the end, you know - you are now naked and
collared, and we hold all the cards: even if you
survive the prodding until you are all insensible
tonight, I doubt that you would hold out when I take
that young soldier and geld him in front of you...."

"You wouldn't...."

"Oh yes I would, sergeant.  The stakes are too high
here.  Now, get jerking...."

I have to confess I was relieved when he reached down
and started to stroke his dick!  I'd certainly have
had them all prodded again and again, but I'm not sure
I actually would have gone on to the gelding... Still,
I didn't have to make good on my threat, as in
response to commands, threats and entreaties from the
sergeant, all eight of them were soon jerking away.
It was a sight at once both erotic and sad:  erotic,
to see eight toned men lined up and masturbating, and
sad because they were visibly not enjoying it, as one
should always enjoy the pleasures of sex - they mostly
had their eyes shut, and were kind of hunched up, as
if they were ashamed of this perfectly normal human
process.

When the last one had shot I walked over to the bars,
the camera following me, and looked down at the men
still kneeling there, their chests heaving as their
breathing slowed back to normal.  I scuffed my sandal
through the slimes of cum that had sprayed through the
bars of the cage, and addressed them.  "There!  That
wasn't so bad, was it?  But sadly for you, it gets
harder tomorrow!  But I think we have gone far enough
tonight in the transition from soldier to slave...."

"At least give us some shorts....", one of the men
called out.  "You can't keep us naked like this...."

I smiled at them.  "You have a lot to learn about the
life of a slave!  You are wrong, of course - I can
keep you naked like this.  In fact, it is the most
advantageous thing to do:  even giving you a few
scraps of cloth to cover your loins would cost money,
and there would be additional associated ongoing
costs, as we would need to have them washed and so on.
 And for what purpose?  To preserve your modesty?  No,
a slave has no need of such things - a slave's body is
the property of his owner, and if his owner deems that
it is to be on full display, then so be it:  modestly
is one of the emotions you will need to give up as a
slave.   A master has the right to enjoy seeing his
property properly displayed, and it is especially
pleasing to see the naked male form when it is working
hard, as you soon will be."

I stopped for a moment, as all this sank in to them,
and then continued "But in any case you are not naked:
 you are now all wearing slave collars, collars that
you will wear for the rest of your lives.  A collar
defines a slave, and whilst wearing it, you are never
naked!"

"It's wrong to keep us totally nude, like this ,
though...." Another shouted out.  "I don't care what
you say...."

I looked towards the camera, and made my closing
speech, so well cued by this slave.  "Ladies and
gentlemen watching in the South, there you have it!
Condemned by one of your own men: 'it's wrong to keep
us totally nude like this.;  Think, citizens of the
South, of what you did to thousands of soldiers from
the North, and thousands of men from my country:  they
were all soldiers or freedom fighters, and they were
all enslaved.  And many, many of them are condemned to
toil away in our fields, repair your roads, work in
your factories.... all naked.   You are only seeing
here done to some of your own countrymen what has been
done thousands of times before to other men."

"Now", I continued, "Join us again tomorrow when we
continue the journey of these men into slavedom.
Although live transmissions will now stop via the
satellite, we will leave a webcam focussed on their
cage all night, so that you can all observe for
yourselves how difficult it is for naked slaves to
sleep on a bare floor - but  I can assure you that
that is what happens to many slaves in your country!
And one final thought:  what characterises a slave, as
well as his need to obey his owner and work?   Let me
tell you:  he is an object, something that can be
bought and sold, just like a dog at a pet store, or
cattle or horses at a County Fair.  And when these men
are fully enslaved, I intend to sell them - you can
'rescue' these slaves by agreeing to trade with us for
them - one coffle - that's eight slaves - of my fellow
countrymen for each one of these slaves.  You have
their names, and I am sure some of you will recognise
them - well, at least before we have had them shorn,
which does tend to make identification more difficult
- so I suggest that if you are a relative or friend,
you begin to start raising money to acquire a coffle
of my countrymen."

Our communications specialist told us that there had
been unprecedented numbers of accesses to our web
pages and webcams during the time we had been
processing the men, and throughout the night - a time
when the eight naked bodies tossed and turned together
as they tried to get comfortable - demand continued to
be high.  We recorded the whole thing, of course -
especially when we woke the men unexpectedly early so
that they staggered to their feet with their morning
hard-ons - as we knew that this would make a good
opening shot for the "highlights" programme we
planned:  the audience in the South, with its absurd
superstitious belief in the bible, thought that
nakedness was a sin, and had probably never seen a man
rampantly erect, let alone eight of them all at once!

Ali and our men were all in very high spirits that
night, and we went out on a raiding party.
Incredibly,  the invaders had still not done much to
increase the awareness of their troops of the danger
they were in, and we found it relatively easy to take
three men from a bar (where they were probably
drinking in contravention of their orders anyway).   I
didn't go out with the party as I sat discussing our
plans with the communications guy, and when Ali and
the others came back there was an odd whistling noise
from some of his gear.  He fiddled around a lot, then
looked at me and said "You know, those transponders
all you slaves have are upsetting my equipment!  You'd
all better stay away from it tomorrow, when we're
live!"

A Sickening realisation struck me, and I rushed up to
Ali.  "Jesus, Ali!  Thank the lucky stars you were
OK."

"What's the panic, Steve?"

"We've forgotten about the trackers in all of us....
They probably haven't realised up to now that it's
slaves who are taking their men, but they will, any
day now, after the broadcasts.... And they can trace
us, remember?"

"Are we safe here?", he demanded.

"Oh yes", the communications guy cut in, having heard
our conversation.  "Those signals can't propagate deep
down in the mine.  But when you go to the surface,
they could track you if they wanted to.  And I read an
article in 'Modern Slave Owner' that was boasting that
there was an accuracy of just a few feet - that seems
perfectly possible technically."

"So when we go out on a raid, they'd see us coming!",
I told Ali.

Well he was never one to stall.  We had a number of
scalpels down the mine, which we planned to use the
next day as you will hear, and Ali insisted that we
now all in turn were strapped to one of the flogging
horses and had the transponders cut out of us!  He
insisted that he go first, to show the rest of us that
it was "a mere nothing", as he said.  It was me who
had to cut into his flesh, of course, and I hated it:
Ali's "mere nothing" still caused his whole body to
shudder, as I sliced and probed, and it was only his
icy absolute determination to remain silent to
encourage the others that got him through it.   The
others, when Ali cut into them, were not so stoic, and
by the time it was my turn, I felt sick to the pit of
my stomach at what was going to happen to me.  I could
hardly let Ali down, though, so I too lay there as
pains like hot fire went through me, sweat poured off
me, and I wished the whole thing would go away.

We were all feeling very sore and were not in a good
mood the following day.  I glared at the slaves and
told them that they had better be especially careful
not to provoke or displease us, as punishment was just
a hair's breadth away! We had the eight completely
bare, collared slaves in one cage, and three soldiers
in uniform in the other.  We mounted a little
"re-enactment" of the previous day's events at the
start of our transmission, getting the three new
captives stripped and collared for the benefit of
those who had missed the first day's show, and then I
faced the camera and addressed the audience face to
face once more.

"So, we have seen the start on the next batch of men -
we will be capturing more tonight, I'm sure - but let
us now return to the eight slaves who were collared
yesterday".  I moved aside and told my men to bring
out the youngest soldier, and one other.  The stood
there in front of me, under the eye of the camera.

"Observe, ladies and gentlemen.... These slaves differ
from their six companions.  Can you spot the
difference?  It's not their height, or physique, or
anything like that - but now that all their hair had
been shorn away, it is clear that they differ from the
other slave sin one important way... Let me show you."

I went up to the young lad, and stood alongside him.
I grasped the back of his neck with the strong fingers
of one hand, and dug them in slightly so that he
sensed I was in control of him.  Then I reached down
and took his dick in my other hand.

He tried to jerk away from me, but I dug my fingers in
harder, and snapped "Easy, slave...."

He stopped, but  I could feel his body shaking now as
I toyed idly with his dick.  "Observe", I said to the
camera.  "At one time all your men from the South
would have been cut at birth, but increasingly you are
following the European habit and allowing your infants
to keep their foreskins.  It may be acceptable for a
free man to have a foreskin, but an owner wants to see
all of his property - a slave has no business hiding
the head of his penis from his owner."

I fiddled with the lad's dick head a little, and felt
him start to go erect.  I stroked at his 'skin, and
felt it beginning to retract, so I squeezed two
fingers on either side of the head to make it come
properly out.  The boy was trembling hard now, and his
breathing had gone all ragged.  "See", I continued,
"this is what an owner wants to see - of course it's
all moist now, but once the 'skin has been stripped
away permanently, this delightful dick will be fully
and properly visible to all and will be as dry as the
shaft."

"No!", I heard the other man cry out, who was standing
just behind me,   "...you can't do that to us...".
His voice cut off abruptly as one of my men clubbed
him to the ground with his rifle butt, and I spoke
again.  "Yes, we can do that to you.  We have every
right to do so, as I own you - it's not your 'skin,
not your dick head - they belong to me, and I will do
with them as I choose."

Changing my tone slightly, I said "Prepare them...."

It was reported later that the 'phone system in some
of the big cities of the South actually overloaded and
hundreds of thousands of calls were interrupted as
there was such frantic activity when those viewing the
satellite transmission began calling their friends and
colleagues to tune in!

No longer struggling, as if they sensed it was
inevitable, the young lad and the other slave were
strapped down onto adjacent flogging horses, on their
backs.  "Do the young one first", I commanded, and two
of my men grabbed his ankles and pulled his feet
backwards and upwards, towards his head, rather as had
been done yesterday when he was clipped and shaved.

"Some owners get a slave vet in to do this", I told
the audience, "But it is a relatively simple procedure
and we do not wish to go to the expense of employing a
professional.  One of my men will therefore do it....
Now, first though we give the slave a rod of solid
rubber to hold between his teeth - the operation is
not tremendously painful, but we do not want the slave
to bite his tongue as the knife first slices in to
him;  and, of course, it helps to deaden his
screaming."

As I said this, the rod of hard, black rubber was
offered to the lad, and when he kept his mouth closed,
his nose was squeezed close so that shortly he had to
open his mouth to breathe, and it could be slipped in.

"There are various ways of 'skinning slaves", I
continued, "but for simplicity we are just going to do
the standard 'high and tight' cut, which does not
require complicated calculations as to the amount of
'skin to be left on for one of the 'fancier' cuts that
leaves the head mostly covered but the piss slit
exposed - that may be good for slaves who are to be
used as sexual partners, where a more exotic look is
interesting,  but these slaves would normally just be
destined to be rough field hands and the like.
There's also the issue of whether to leave the slave
with a more, or less, sensitive dick head after the
operation -  like many wise owners, I know that almost
the only pleasure these slaves would expect in their
future lives is the one of sex with their fellow
slaves, and so we will leave them the little 'pleasure
triangle' underneath.  Of course, it's a tough call in
this case - a beautiful lad like this might be sold
into the sex industry, in which case we would want to
remove it so that he was capable of thrusting away for
long periods with less risk of orgasm...."

I stopped then, as one of my men whispered something
to me.  I looked into the camera and continued "Good
news for this slave, ladies and gentlemen!  He has
been bought!  He comes from a small town in Arkansas -
to protect his privacy I won't tell you which one -
and we've just had an e-mail via our web site to say
that the good folk there have all clubbed together to
raise enough money to buy a coffle to be traded with
us for him!  It's a very poor town, ladies and
gentlemen, and his folks have re-mortgaged their farm
to make this possible;  all the kids at the High
School where he was so recently a pupil had pledged to
hold bake sales and competitions;  the Elks, Kianis,
Round Table, Ladies Circle, and other community groups
have all made generous donations;  and last night the
Town Council voted a temporary increase of two percent
in the property taxes:  so within a few hours of
hearing of the plight of one of their own, this town
has been able to buy his freedom!  What a tremendous
example of the American way, ladies and gentlemen....
I'm sure this slave, on his return, will be a
tremendous asset to the town - he can be employed to
sweep the streets, or pick litter, or do other
worthwhile activities in the community at no further
cost - the town will have paid for him, and can use
him free of charge for the rest of his life.  "

I looked into the camera again.  "We have accepted the
offer, but we are conversant with the law in the
South.  And there are certain things that must be done
before a slave can be traded.  Consequently our offer
to sell him is withdrawn until later in the week - by
which time hopefully all our slaves will have buyers -
and we will proceed with today's processing as
planned."

All the guys in the cages started to scream and shout
now, saying we were liars, cheats, and all that kind
of stuff, and I had to order them to be threatened
with the prod to restore order.  After all, many of
our audience were "genteel", and were not used to
hearing the foully abusive "marines" language they had
used being broadcast into their homes!

"Right, proceed!", I ordered, and it was Faisel who
had volunteered to do the 'skinning, having seen it
done to his own kids, who stepped forward.  Under the
gaze of the camera he squeezed the lad's dick head,
then took a scalped and slid it around under the 'skin
to loosen it and cut it away from underneath the head.
 As he did this, the lad's body tried to buck and
twist on the horse, but the straps held him securely.
He was making a lot of totally incomprehensible noise
with the bar in his jaws, and a sheen of sweat broke
out all over him and started to make his nude body
glisten in the lights.

He tried to buck and escape again as Faisel slid the
steel cylinder over his dick head, under the 'skin,
and I added a helpful commentary for the viewers:
"This bit is only painful where the cylinder, which we
will use to cut  against, grazes the cut surface
underneath the head, but it is transitory.  And
now.... The cut...... See how, with the cylinder
protecting the flesh of the dick itself, it's possible
to cut quickly and smoothly and efficiently all
around!"

"There's a lot of blood...", I went on, "But remember,
there's a very good supply of blood to the dick and so
that's only to be expected.  One last big pain now...
As the cut edges are dipped in styptic material to
help staunch the flow.... And it's all over, bar the
recovery!"

I went to the lad's head, and took out the rubber bar,
showing the audience I was unconcerned by it being
slimed all over with his spit.  "There", I told him.
"All over!  Now no jerking off for a week, no fucking
for two weeks.... If you need relief, and a young guy
like you probably doesn't want his balls to go blue,
without sex for a week, get one of your fellow slaves
to massage your prostate so you can shoot without
external stimulation... I'd guess one of those
soldiers has had a finger up another one's ass before,
and knows what to do..."

I think it was probably the humiliation, rather than
the pain, that was causing the tears to flow down his
face as he lay there, and I felt so sorry for him that
I moved away, followed by the camera, so that he
wouldn't be so exposed to the rest of the world.
"Right, on to number two...", I called out, and the
guy started to scream and shout, before I jammed the
rubber bar, still slick with the lad's spit, between
his teeth.

End Of Part 31