Spoils of War

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

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

Part 24

When we were in the truck I soon discovered that I was indeed going to pay for the food, and the ride. As soon as we were a few miles down the highway, inconveniently far from anywhere, the trucker turned to me and said "So get out of those jeans, boy.... Let me get a real good look at you..."

Now millions must have seen me naked when I was on TV, but that's different from being cooped up in the cab of a truck, isn't it? So I shook my head.

"Boy, do you think that stuff is for free in this life? I bought you food, I'm giving you a ride - and its all against the law! Now, unless you want to start walking again, get out of those jeans so I can have a good look at you."

I'd still got the gun I'd taken from the dead soldier tucked into the back pocket of my jeans, and I suppose

I could have used it on him - either to insist I stayed there, or even to kill him and drive the rig myself. But somehow I felt guilty about killing three guys already - not my first, of course, as I'd killed a fair few in the war - but, hell, these were Americans! I really didn't want to add to the total, and, anyway, there seemed to be a lot of new rules and stuff that I knew nothing about, and I really ought to stick with this guy and see if I could find out more. "Time spend on reconnaissance is seldom wasted", they taught us in basic training, and I guess they're right.

The gun almost slipped out of my jeans a s I shuffled them down and sat there on the seat, feeling the leather kind of clammy against my bare butt. The trucker looked at me, muttered "nice package,, boy", and then causally reached down and started to fondle my dick. He'll never know how lucky he was that I didn't kill him, or at least maim him, then. But I struggled to keep my cool, and, as you'd expect, even in these circumstances the physical stimulation caused me to start to bone up. The trucker continued to stroke my dick, and even groped around my balls, commenting that it was good that I was shaved down there. Then he began to jerk me off for real, and I almost snarled "Hey, man, no way!"

"Boy, you let me play with your dick, or you'll be down on that tarmac as quick as eggs is eggs..."

Well, did it matter really? I mean, he was only just doing something I might well have done for myself later that day, so I tried to relax as his chunky hands ran up and down me. But another guy can never jerk you off as well as you can do yourself, can he? He doesn't know how much pressure you like, or whether you like your dick head fiddled with. And this trucker had a problem, too: he had several big gold rings on his fingers, and they were really uncomfortable, particularly against the very delicate skin just under the flange. He didn't stop, either, when I shot - but went on, jerking away at me as I almost screamed with the sensation: I never go on after I've shot, as I'm just too sensitive. My cum was scattered all over the dash where it had squirted out with its normal force, and the trucker laughed.

"Wow, boy, have you been saving that up?" Well, I hadn't jerked off for a day or so, and I guess that as I was used to very regular sex, it had built up a bit.

So I just kind of nodded, and he went on "I can't have my rig all messed up, you know - clean it up, then!"

Once more I had to control myself to keep calm, and I looked around for something to use. There wasn't any paper or anything, so I started to scrape it off on to my fingers, then reached down to rub my fingers along the rubber mats on the floor. The trucker seemed to be enjoying watching me do all this kind of stuff, and kept muttering "That's a good boy, doing as daddy says..."

We drove along in silence for a time after that, although when I went to pull my jeans up, he told me, firmly, "No, leave them down, boy - I like the view! And I might have another go at you soon, anyway...."

Actually it wasn't a particular problem, I suppose, as when 'm in a bus or truck I do tend to get "rider's knob" and my dick likes to get erect. Having it confined in jeans and stuff is awkward, so being able to just have it there, so it could do what it liked, was OK by me. But what wasn't OK was when about half an hour later he said "Boy, it's your turn now....."

"What?"

"I need it, boy. I'm sporting a bone that needs attention, boy... Get to work..."

I looked across, and the guy's jeans were bulging at the front. I didn't like him - my previous sex partners had, after all, been like me: fit and muscular; but this guy was fat and flabby and I felt like telling him to fuck off. But on the other hand, it looked as if it might be about to start raining, and he was heading to where I wanted to go.... So I pulled down his zip, and fished around inside to get his dick out.

He smiled at me as his dick stood there rigid out of his jeans, and I went to start jerking him off. "No, boy.... That's no way to treat a man's dick.... Get down on it, boy!"

Look, irrespective of what a guy's body is like, one dick isn't so different from another if you're going to suck it. It's a lot more fun to be naked with a nicely fit guy and play around together, but if you have to, it's no big deal really to suck a dick, is it? I was much fitter and stronger than the trucker and I could easily have refused, but, as I've told you, I did want to get to New York, those rain clouds looked ever more threatening, and there wasn't a whole lot of traffic on the road - even if they'd been prepared to stop for me, which seemed unlikely. So I lowered my head and slid my lips down over his dick head and started to suck him. As I bobbed up and down on his shaft, I could smell the sort of musty smell from his jeans overlaid with that characteristic smell of dried piss that's always around a guy's crotch, and he seemed to really be enjoying what I was doing: it didn't do anything for me, frankly, but he was moaning with pleasure and had one of his hands on my head, sort of holding it as if he was in ecstasy. I began to get worried that he wasn't focused on driving the truck, but once I'd got started, there didn't seem to be anything to do but to keep on going.

He shot amazingly quickly, and I let my head lie in his lap as I licked his dick dry of the last bits of cum. He rested his hand on my naked shoulder now, and said "Boy, you sure do know what you're doing...."

I just lay there and didn't reply. I was thinking that it hadn't been so bad, actually. I'd done something that cost me nothing, and I was getting a whole lot in return - a more or less secure ride into the city. As a way of earning a living it was certainly better than being beaten up in the arena, after all.

I'd been to New York before, but nothing had quite prepared me for the changes that I saw once the truck driver had dropped me off. For one thing, the traffic had all but disappeared from the avenues, and the once ubiquitous yellow cabs had been replaced by the pedicabs pulled by one or two guys - there were actually New Yorkers willing to do this kind of work, it seemed, and make themselves almost like slaves! And for another, a lot of the big apartment buildings and office blocks looked as if they were mostly deserted. I'd still got quite a lot of money from the soldiers I'd killed, and I decided to have a decent night's sleep for my first night in the city and went to check into a hotel: I then found out the reason for this strange emptiness. The clerk who I asked for a room instantly said "How high, sir?" And seeing me looking puzzled, went on "Out of town?"

"Er, yes..."

"Well, sir, the rates in this hotel depend on how high you go. Floors one to four are the most expensive... And those in the towers are the least. For those of us who have worked here a long time it's odd, sir, as of course the towers rooms used to be the special executive floors.... But with no elevator service now because of the costs of the electric power...."

I suddenly realised why those tall apartment blocks and offices looked mostly empty: I guess much above twelve floors they'd be pretty useless! The clerk was looking at me though so I said "Well I'm pretty fit, so I think I could go up fifteen floors or so...."

"Certainly, sir! And we'll give you an excellent rate. Now, if I can just have your identity card, sir, I'll book you in...."

"No, I'll pay cash..."

"Certainly sir, but we are no longer allowed to rent rooms without seeing your national identity card - we can't be too careful, can we, sir, when there's always the possibility of spies from the South...?"

Oh shit! I could see him looking at me, expectantly, then as he saw that I clearly didn't have a card, his attitude changed.

"Oh, don't bother, I've decided to go somewhere else....", I said. Then, as he reached for the phone, I ran out of the hotel.

It was the same when I tried to buy a sandwich, or a drink at a bar... No identity card, no service. And everyone seemed to be so suspicious - the moment I faltered, they went for the phone: it was almost as if they were terrified of what might happen to them if they found themselves serving someone without a card. By nightfall I was getting desperate - I suspected that sleeping in the park, or at Grand Central or somewhere, wouldn't be a good idea, as the police would almost certainly sweep through there looking for "spies". And I was hungry, and thirsty. How could this happen, in a country where previously the dollar was king and bars and shops would have been delighted to take my money!

It was getting late and I decided to have one last attempt, and pushed my way into a dimly-lit bar in the hope that somewhere that looked vaguely "private" might have a more relaxed attitude to identity cards, and as it seemed to be fairly crowded, there might at least be some possibility of fooling the bartender into thinking that he'd already seen my card earlier.

As I pushed my way towards the bar I suddenly realised that there were only guys in the bar, and mostly in suits... No one else was as informally dressed as me, in Jeans and a T! There was a distinct drop in the noise level as I moved through the men, and it was as if they were all looking at me - and I could sense at once that it was hopeless to try and fool the barman as he'd almost certainly know I was new in there. I was about to turn around and get out of there before someone reached for a phone to call the cops, when a hand gripped my left biceps, firmly.

"Hey, buddy, what are you drinking?"

I turned to see a guy in his mid forties, I guessed, expensively dressed.

"Beer - whatever's on tap - thanks...."

He turned to the bar, was quickly served, came back to me and muttered "Let's go into a booth...."

Without waiting for me to reply he made his way through the crowd, with me following, to a quieter area at the back of the room where there were some small leather booths, one of which was empty. We slid in and sat opposite each other, he pushed my beer towards me, raised his scotch glass, and said "Cheers.

I'm Chet...."

"Uh, Steve... Thanks for the beer..." I drank it thirstily, and man, did it taste good.

"So, Steve, what brings you in here? It's mostly guys from the banks and brokerages, and I think that's not your kind of work....?"

"Uh, no. I'm just visiting town, needed a drink, came in...."

He looked at me, nodded once or twice, reflectively. "So what are your plans for the rest of the evening, Steve?"

"Well none, I guess."

"You're quiet, aren't you? I thought guys like you were usually a bit more up-front...."

"Sorry, what do you mean?"

"Oh come on, Steve! A good looking young guy like you, coming in here, there's only one thing you're after..."

"Chet, I don't know what you're on about..."

"Steve, this is a gay bar, a rather special one... For older men who like younger ones, and vice versa. So if a handsome young guy like you comes in here, displaying his wares in those tight Jeans and a T, there's only one question we're all asking ourselves: is he here because he really likes older men, or because he's a working boy, looking for a bit of trade...."

I blinked, and thought hard for a moment. Chet wasn't bad looking, and he was obviously well off. And I'd got a drink without too many problems. I was hungry, and tired, and needed a place to sleep. "Are you buying, then?", I asked cautiously.

"So are you selling?", he countered.

I nodded, thinking that at least if I was in his apartment or somewhere there wouldn't be so much chance of being picked up by the police. "So drink that beer down... And follow me."

He strode out of the bar, and I followed. It felt odd - I mean, I'm tough, used to taking charge, and yet I'd just done as he'd said. He hailed a pedicab, we both got in, and the two guys pulling it took us off uptown.

It wasn't an apartment, but a smart hotel - and he must have been rich, as is room was only on the second floor. When we were inside he just said "Strip", quite curtly, and when I shuffled around kind of nervously, he just said "If you don't like it, get out - there's plenty more men like you selling themselves out there. Now get your fucking clothes off so I can see what I've bought...."

I ought not to have cared, should I? I mean, thousands, if not millions, had seen me naked on TV, and a whole lot more in the audience in the arena. But somehow standing there in that hotel room, just him and me, it felt odd; no, wrong. But I didn't want to risk getting arrested for vagrancy or anything, as they'd find I didn't have an ID card, would take my finger prints or something, and would soon discover I was an escaped slave and needed returning to the South! So I pulled my T up over my head, then let my Jeans drop, and stood there in front of him.

"Nice!", he said. "Turn around..." He gave a low whistle as my tattoo came into view. "I thought you said your name was Steve. Who's Spike?"

"Ah, well, it's a long story...."

"That's a gladiator tattoo, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"So you were in the arena? How did you get free?"

"I escaped. Jumped the border..."

"...and they'll send you back if you're caught, won't they?"

"Yes, so they say..."

"Well you're safe tonight, anyway. I'm not going to turn down the chance of a hot session with a guy like you just because you're an escaped slave.... But you'd better be properly respectful."

"Look, I'm not an escaped slave - I am, or was, a marine, fighting for you and the North!..."

"Yes, but you were enslaved, and you escaped, and you can go back there soon enough.... Now, go and shower, as you stink a bit and I like my meat nice and fresh...."

As I stood under the shower, which was very good as it was a long time since I'd been able to get properly clean, I wondered what to do. My options ranged from just letting him fuck me, through to picking up my stuff and clearing out and getting as far away from the hotel as possible, through to beating the guy up, tying him up, robbing him, and then getting out. The more I thought about it, the more the last option was the attractive one - a masterful guy like this, who always seemed to get his own way, would presumably want to fuck me, and I don't like taking dick.... So perhaps the best thing was to take what I could from him and escape.....

I towelled myself dry, then, as I used to in the old days but hadn't for years, I tied a towel around my waist in some sort of attempt at modesty - I don't know why. Perhaps I didn't want to start beating someone up when I was totally naked, and didn't like the idea of my dick bobbing up and down as I beat the shit out of him. I strode back into the bedroom, ready for action, and he'd undressed and was lying on the bed. He hadn't got a bad body for an older guy, and he was smiling faintly at me.

I walked cautiously towards the bed, and his smile broadened. "So, you're hiding the goods, are you?", he said almost playfully, then reached out and pulled at the towel, which dropped to the floor, leaving me naked. Somehow having another guy strip you, even if it's only to pull a towel off, is sexy. At once I got an erection!

"Good...", he chuckled. "You take your work seriously, I see. And you don't find me unattractive..."

"Look, this is all wrong.... I'm not a rent boy..."

"But you came with me...."

"I need to be off the streets... The police.... As you said, they'll send me back if they find out I was a slave.... And I've got money, but I can't get a room or anything, as I don't have an ID card...."

"Come here. Lie beside me...."

"Look, as I said, I'm not a rent boy...."

"Who said anything about paying you? I don't need to, do I? If you try to leave now, I can call the front desk and have you stopped, and the police are always close on hand...."

Yes, I thought. But I could kill you now, quite easily. But something made me just do as he said, and I went and lay on the bed, leaving a small gap between our naked bodies.

"No need to be nervous... Come to Chet....." His big hairy arm snaked out and puled me close to him, and once our bodies were in contact, it all seemed a whole lot easier. He ran his hands all over me, feeling me, touching me, pulling me this way and that, and all the time making encouraging noises about how strong I was , how great my body was. Then suddenly his legs intertwined with mine, one hand went behind my head, and he pulled my face down onto his and started kissing me passionately. I could feel my dick rock hard pushing against his, and suddenly it seemed somehow OK. I returned the kisses, and in turn pulled him to me with all my strength. We were making those kind of appreciative groaning noises now that guys do who are rolling around together, sometimes one on top, sometimes the other, as they go through some sort of primeval foreplay ritual.

We continued to roll around, sometimes kissing, sometimes nipping at each others bodies playfully as we explored each other, and then, after a few minutes, lay face to face staring into each others eyes. We were both smiling.

"So, Steve, or Spike, you've done this before.... All those protests about not being a rent boy! I thought you were going to say you've never been with another guy...."

"No, well, I hadn't, until I was enslaved. And then, you know, in the arena, I had to fight until the winner could fuck the loser...."

"....and you like it, don't you? You like the feel of another man... I can tell."

"I guess so."

"And you usually win your fights, I'll bet - a tough, resourceful guy like you who can escape from the South...."

"I never lost."

"So you like to fuck.... There's no chance I can get my dick into you?"

"No, not really....."

He laughed, muttered "Well, Steve, let's get on with it then.... " and rolled over onto his back, and pulled his legs up into the air.

Well I'd never fucked an older guy before, but I was really horny and I needed sex. So I knelt between his legs, put his ankles on my shoulders, wrapped my arm around his knees to pull him close to me, positioned my dick at his hole, and thrust into him.

We had really great sex - he cried out as I fucked him and that's really sexy and a huge turn on for me. He looked up at me as I stared down at him, and I felt empowered again, having this strong, rich guy spiked on my dick. At some point he was slamming his palms down on the bed in ecstasy. And all the time I was fucking harder and harder, with longer and longer strokes, until I shot, and then collapsed forwards onto him. He wrapped his legs around my waist and his arms around my body, as if trying to holds me into him, and we lay there, soaked in sweat and both quietly laughing.

After a few minutes he gently ruffled my hair, and whispered "Thanks! But roll off me, will you? A big guy like you is a weight, and I'd like to breathe again...."

We lay there, still smiling a bit, as you do after really good sex, and he said again "Thanks... You're a really good fucker, you know that?"

I smiled back at him. "Some of the other guys told me that too. And I've never had any complaints!"

"So what are you going to do, Steve?"

"I hadn't thought... I escaped. I crossed the border.

The border patrol captured me and were going to send me back, but I escaped again. Then I fled up here to the city - I thought I could be kind of anonymous.... Get a job.... Find a place...."

"Not way! All the ID cards and stuff. And they come down really hard on anyone doing business without one: aiding and abetting those inimical to our country's security, they call it, and there are very harsh punishments..."

"Yes, I know. That's why I'm here.... I couldn't get a room, or buy anything to eat..."

He looked at me with sudden concern, rolled half over, and picked up the phone. I was about to grab him and choke him, but stopped just in time as I heard him say "Room service? I know it's late... But send me up two big steak sandwiches, some beers, some pie a la mode....."

He let me stay all night, although he didn't want me to fuck him again. The next morning I sat on the edge of the bed feeling a bit miserable, as I knew I had another tough day ahead. He ran his hand down my backbone, then rested it lightly on my shoulder. "Steve, you're a nice guy... Let me help you."

"So are you, Chet. The meal and everything.... Letting me stay the night...."

" Sooner or later, Steve, they're going to pick you up, you know that, don't you? It will be a random check of papers, or you'll get in a fight, or something. And when they do, if they check they'll do your finger prints and then they'll send you back."

"I guess so."

"So the best you can hope for is to postpone it as long as possible. Give yourself a few more years of freedom - and of manhood! Isn't castration mandatory for recaptured slaves?"

"That's what they say."

"Well then, I can help. I can get you pretty good false papers. Then you can get a place to stay, a job, even... Although that's hard, in this economic climate. Still, you could pull one of those pedicabs or some grunt job like that..."

"Why, Chet? Why help me?"

He came and sat by me now, and put his arm around me. I felt kind of silly sitting naked next to another naked guy who was a lot older than me and was almost hugging me.

"It's what I do, Steve. Look, I wasn't in that bar by accident - I go there to pick up young guys new to the city, mostly in from out of state, who are finding it's tougher than they expected here. Then I find them somewhere to stay, a job.... And in return they do a little evening work on the side for me."

"What sort of work?"

"Oh, come now, can't you guess? The sort of 'work' we did together last night. I have a lot more of a problem with most of them getting them 'broken in' as you might say.... With you I'll have a problem with the papers, but you already know all about sex..."

"I told you, I'm not a rent boy!"

"Suit yourself. But what other choices do you have? You can't work, you can't stay anywhere, you can't eat.... If the police don't pick you up, you'll soon have to give yourself up! Now if you join my little select group of men, all that's taken care of....."

I couldn't bring myself to do it. As he watched, I pulled my clothes on, and stormed out of the room.

End Of Part 24