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