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 3

What the fuck did he mean by "get them coffled", I wondered? But I soon found out.

The guards seized each of us in turn and released our arms from the cuffs on the collars, then, before we could react as our muscles were stiff after being confined for a long period, they snapped another collar around our necks. This one wasn't leather, though, but steel, and they snapped it shut and locked it closed with a special tool. This collar was then quickly attached to a steel chain, and again locked permanently on to it with the tool. Soon, they had all of us locked there to the chain by our necks, about twenty naked guys, now unable to move away from each other, and who all had to go where the others did.

There was a few feet of chain on the front, and one of the guards now took hold of this and led us outside. There was almost no space between us on the chain, and if any of us faltered or stumbled, we fell into the guy in front and caused the whole lot of us to be held up and the guards to lash at us with their short whips. They took us out into the parade ground that we'd paraded at earlier - mercifully, it had now stopped raining - and marched us in our humiliating line across it. How many times had I been on a parade ground, proud in my uniform, revelling in marching to the orders of the officers, and glad to be with my comrades? And now here I was, naked, shambling along, unable to move away from the guys around me, and just goaded by some Confederate scum. They led us around to what was evidently a loading bay of some kind, as there were several large trucks parked there.

The female slaves who we had seen were being sent as breeders were already standing there on the loading bay, or, rather, most of them were. One of them was being held down by two guards, whilst a third had his pants down around his ankles as he was vigorously fucking her. The woman was screaming, but the three guards were all laughing. One of our guards, standing there and craning his neck to get a better view, said to his comrade "Those guys get all the luck. Trust us to get allocated to these bucks. Still, don't they mind you fucking the women?"

"No, of course not", his comrade replied, laughing, as if it was s stupid question. "Well, not the ones going to be breeders, anyway. As soon as they arrive at the breeding barn they'll be put to stud straight away, so what does it matter if she's started a bit early?"

"Yes, but the breeder might want to breed from a special stud."

"So, he can always have her aborted. It's no big deal for a slave. Still, they don't have to have all the fun over there - most of these guys are pretty good looking - and all of them are eminently fuckable, if you ask me."

"No thanks, I don't fuck guys.

"Well, you're the loser, then. Look, there's plenty of time - I think I will."

The guard pulled our coffle over to the side, where there were some empty oil drums just lying around. He walked up and down the line, looking closely at us, then snapped at me "You - over that barrel, on your belly."

"Sir, no, sir. I don't take dick, sir."

"You don't have any choice, boy! Didn't anyone tell you that you are a slave now, and slaves obey orders! Now, over that barrel...."

I just stood there, and the next minute the shocks from the prod racked my body. It went on and on, and I was vaguely aware of the guard saying "That's still only half power... See how you like this, slave boy...."

I think I must have fainted, as I came to a moment or two later as the shock of the cold steel of the barrel against my naked belly jerked me back to consciousness. I was unable to move, as the two slaves on eiter side of me in the coffle had been told to lie on the ground, and the meagre length of chain joining us now held me down. To my horror, I felt hands first on my butt, then scrabbling around as they pried my cheeks apart.

"No!", I screamed, but it was no use. I felt the guy's finger tracing down my ass crack, and then touching my hole and scratching at it..

"I think we've got ourselves a virgin here...", the guard was almost shouting to his companion. "You can always tell, from the way it contracts when it's touched.... Now...."

I head that unmistakable sound of a belt being undone, and pants being lowered. The warm skin of the guard's legs against the back of my thighs was a shock, and I shouted out again, and tried , ineffectually, to kick out with my feet. I scrabbled behind me with my hands, desperately trying to hit out at the guard, but he touched one of my palms with the prod, and I had to jerk them away.

The feeling of a finger on my anus had been dreadful, but I now felt something soft and warm, yet at the same time firm, starting to press against it Oh no - the guard had got his dick there, and it was about to be forced into me. I braced myself, trying desperately to hold my ass cheeks together and clamp my anal muscles closed, at the same time cursing and swearing and calling the guard all the vile names I could think of (and you do get to know a few, in the marines!). All this only seemed to excite him, though, as somewhere above my own noise I heard him shout to his buddy "We've got ourselves a real live one here... Yes, definitely a virgin - no experienced guy would make all this fuss just about a bit of dick!

I'm going to enjoy breaking this buck and riding him hard.... Not often I get myself a boy whose never been fucked...."

The guard was thrusting himself forwards into me, and I was doing the best I could to stop him gaining entry. The feel of his legs and uniform against my naked skin was both disgusting and yet at the same time somehow exciting. I'd never felt a guy's dick before, let alone one trying to force itself into my ass, and this too was, in spite of my feeling of utter revulsion, somehow extraordinarily erotic - my own dick was rigidly erect, and suffering a bit as the frantic movements of my body scraped it along the metal of the oil drum. There was a hell of a lot of noise, a lot of vigorous male action, and the combination of the feel of the guard, of being held down in chains, and of my imminent rape, was almost producing overload in my brain. I suppose I knew it was hopeless and that ultimately the guard would succeed, and I hated it, whilst at the same time being somehow very excited by the entire thing - my dick was almost jerking, and I knew I must be leaking pre-cum. But then there was a great roar and a shout, and the guard abruptly stood up. Craning my head around, I could see the dealer approaching.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing with that slave?"

"Just fucking him, sir"

"You idiot! This is a prime buck, probably still a virgin..."

"That he is, sir.. You can always tell..."

"Shut the fuck up! As I said, he's a prime virgin buck, and he's going to fetch top dollar at the sales in Atlanta. Whoever buys him will certainly want to take his cherry for himself, and you, you idiot, are about to deprive me of my profit! Who told you that you could fuck the male slaves, anyway?"

"No one, sir. But they're only slaves, after all. And they were fucking the breeders over there, and I didn't see any harm in it. Back home, in the Blue Mountains, my pa and my brothers and me always fuck our slave...."

"I don't care what you do in your hillbilly homestead!

And I don't care what they do to those breeders - one dick more or less up them doesn't matter. But I do care when you may be losing profit for me! Now, pull up your pants, and get this coffle secured in the truck - we've wasted enough time already, and time is money!"

The guard looked a bit sheepish, but snapped at us to get to our feet as he pulled up his pants and fastened his belt - I noticed a small wet stain spreading on the tight khaki of his pants, where his dick continued to leak pre-cum: it served him right!

The truck he led us to was really old, one of those cattle transporters you see running up and down the interstate, with slatted sides through which you can just see the cattle as you drive past. It even smelled of cattle still! He led us up the ramp that formed the back of the truck when it was closed, and the front end of the coffle chain was secured to a sturdy-looking staple that was fixed into the steel floor. We discovered it was absolutely immovable even with all of us tugging at it when we pulled back the straw that was otherwise covering the floor.

The dealer stood there watching all of this, and just as the driver was about to push up the ramp that formed the rear of the truck, he turned to the dealer and said "That's it, then, sir, nineteen slaves for Atlanta..."

"Wait a minute - I've only got nineteen slaves here, and I've paid for twenty to be transported....". The dealer looked almost horrified. He shouted some orders, and a couple of minutes later the young slave Dylan appeared again, chest heaving, as before, and now sweating as he'd evidently been ordered to run from somewhere. He stood there looking completely bewildered as the dealer told the guard to add him to the coffle, and he was collared and secured to the chain along with the rest of us.

"Please, sir.... Why are you sending me away", he wailed pitiably at the dealer. "I thought I was your favourite, and I work with you, on the slaves...."

"Yes, boy, you've been quite satisfactory. But a man needs variety, and I've been thinking for some time of finding a replacement. And money is money, you know - you may not fetch much in Atlanta, but it's like the low-cost airlines used to be: I'm paying to send this truck to Atlanta, whether it has nineteen or twenty slaves on board; any money at all I get for you will be 'profit'."

"Sir, please.... I'll do anything... Let me stay with you, sir... You know how I pleasure you, sir.... All those tricks you taught me..." The lad was almost crying now, but it made no difference to the dealer, who gave a signal to the driver who started to winch the door closed, cutting the dealer off from our view.

I guess we'd all seen another example of how cruelly the slave system worked - the dealer had used this young lad and taken his cherry, had him as a sexual plaything, and made him do all those unspeakable things to us guys, then had simply discarded him for an additional profit.

It began to rain again, and as the truck drove out of the base and on to the highway we discovered what a terrible time we were in for. The slatted sides had been designed to let cooling air into cattle, but we were twenty naked men, and even those of us with a good thatch of hair on our bodies, like me, were not as well equipped as cattle for keeping warm! And the rain blew in, drenching us and making us even more miserable. In spite of not having a stitch of clothing between us, we soon found that we needed to huddle together to conserve what little body warmth we had. Look, I know you get used to being close to your buddies in the marines, especially when you're in confined spaces when you're waiting to ambush rebels or something, but then at least you have a uniform on - now I experienced other men in a way I'd never even dreamt of: we were just a big heap, almost constantly in motion as those on the outside tried to get closer to the middle, where it was warmer.

I felt really sorry for young Dylan - he hadn't got the body mass of the rest of us, and wasn't nearly as strong. So he felt the cold more, and couldn't really push his way into the middle of the writhing heap of naked guys. At some point I was near the outside and he pressed up against me, and I could feel him quivering and shivering with the cold. In spite of my instinctive dislike of being in such intimate contact with a young lad, I half wrapped myself around him.

"Are you a fag or something?", one of the other guys called when he saw me doing this.

"Who are you calling a fag?"

"Leave that young guy alone, then!"

"I'm only trying to help him - he's freezing in this wind...."

"And he deserves to - you're one of the guys he jerked off, aren't you? You ought to wring his neck, not try to help him. And if you won't do it, push him over here - he needs punishing, after what he did to some of us..."

I felt Dylan's body tense against mine. "Hey, that's unfair", I snapped back. "He didn't have any choice - you saw that. Those guards would have prodded him and whipped him if he hadn't obeyed that slave dealer. He's just a slave, like I guess we all are... We all ought to be in this together, not fighting amongst ourselves. He's only young, and we ought to help him..."

"He's right", another guy called out. "I'll help that kid any day. Help him understand what a real man's dick is like!" There was a lot of laughter at that, and I felt Dylan relax slightly.

"Thanks, sir...", he said quietly to me.

"Hey, I'm Steve..."

"Yes, but you're older than me. My folks always taught me to call older people 'sir' and 'ma'am'."

"Well it's time you stopped that, Dylan. You're grown up now, maybe before you needed to, but you're a man now, like the rest of us. So I'm Steve, OK?"

I used my muscle to force us a bit further into the heap - I can be pretty overwhelming physically when I want to be - and could feel Dylan's skin beginning to warm up as it still pressed against mine. His teeth had stopped chattering, so I said "How did you get into this? You weren't a prisoner of war... You're not old enough!"

"No, Steve. But I guess I'm as much part of the spoils of war as you guys are. My folks had a small concession on the coast in the north of Florida. Dad never made all that much money, but enough to live on.

Then when the war started, the tourists from the north stopped coming. Things were pretty desperate, and I've got two brothers and a sister, so as soon as I was sixteen, dad decided he had to sell me - it was the only way the family could keep going."

"Your dad sold you?" I must have sounded totally shocked, as I couldn't imagine my folks doing that to me.

"Well he could - kids can be sold at sixteen, until they're full adults at eighteen, of course. And we all talked it over, and it as the only way. A dealer's 'scout' negotiated a good price with dad, then took me away with him.... Only three months ago, but that's the longest three months I've ever experienced..."

"But how can a free man be sold....?"

"I guess you were abroad a lot - they said that the current batch of new slaves were the spoils of war, captured men who were in the army and the marines and such like, who'd been brought back to the USA to try to defeat us. So perhaps you didn't keep up with all President Prexmire's new laws? Everyone went on and on about the 'two strikes and you're a slave' provision, but there was a lot of other stuff as well - kids like me could be sold, or offered as collateral for loans (and sold if there was a default); and it wasn't just criminals who were enslaved - they emptied the orphanages of kids over sixteen, and took all the illegal aliens...."

Fortunately the rain stopped after a bit, so it was only the wind we had to contend with. Although we had started off on an Interstate, we were held up for a very long time at one point, then made an agonisingly slow journey down an off ramp, to go along a state road. As we inched our way along, we pressed our faces to the gaps in the slats and could see gangs of naked men, coffled as we were, working away with pickaxes and barrows, evidently repairing the Interstate. "We did that", one of the guys said "Bombed the Interstate here to try to stop their troops getting supplies. And now they're repairing it using our guys.... Still, I remember reading in Newsweek when I was home on leave that their President Prexmire had been making speeches about how they were never going to be reliant on oil again, and how using human muscle was so much better for the environment anyway...."

We crawled along for another hour or so - it's surprising how difficult it is to really know the passing of time, when you've no longer got a watch - then went back up on to the Interstate. And in about another hour or so we stopped to gas up - it was one of those big rest areas, and we looked out forlornly at the usual business there - families in their cars streaming in and out of the restaurant, slaves pumping the gas so that drivers in a hurry didn't even need to leave their vehicles, and in the "truckers" area other big trucks like ours being filled with diesel. As our driver went by outside, one of us called out "Please, sir, can we be let out for a few minutes?"

"Fucking no! Don't be so fucking stupid! Why do you need letting out?"

"Please, sir, I need to pee, sir..."

Actually, so did I. I was glad this other guy raised the point, but the driver just called back "This is a slave transporter, you dumb fuck, not some luxury bus!

That's why you're bedded down on straw - it will keep your bodies up off the piss, which can escape through vents in the floor. You boys just piss away."

"Sir, please, sir.... I need to crap", another guy called out, and some of the other guys laughed.

"Boy, that's what the straw's for. Do it in the corner, until it's feeding time tonight."

With that, the driver walked away into the restrooms, leaving us in there as the slave outside continued to refuel us. Then, when he returned , we were off again.

There was not all that much traffic on the Interstate, as the effects of the war had caused gas to become very expensive indeed, so most of the other stuff we saw was trucks - and there was a surprisingly large number which, like ours, were evidently carrying slaves - you could see the faces of the guys trying to see out, or sometimes a hand had managed to worm its way free and gave us a wave. Evidently moving slaves around the confederacy had become big business, as in addition to "cattle" trucks like ours, we saw very professional looking ones from UPS whose sides carried big advertising signs saying "Next day deliveries of your slaves guaranteed - across the South!". And, we noticed, there was even a special sign on trucks like ours: a round symbol with a red circle around the edge, an outline of a body on it stencilled in black, and the ominous letters "slaves in transit" along the bottom.

When it was getting dark we did stop at another rest area, and pulled around into the parking area for trucks making a long stay. There was a a lot of creaking, as the driver lowered the back to form a ramp, then he came in and undid the chain holding the head of our coffle to the truck. "Right you boys - this is your chance to crap: over in to the woods, and squat down. And be quick - if you're not back here in five minutes, I won't hand out your rations."

It was all so casual! He evidently had no worry that we might try to escape, but as we stumbled across the parking lot, I understood why: when you're chained by the neck between two other guys, and you're all naked, there's just no escape possible. Even if we had made a "run" for it, which would have been difficult given the lengths of chain involved, we'd have been so conspicuous that we'd easily be recaptured. We wouldn't get far on foot (especially on bare feet), and there wouldn't be anyone who would give us a lift - even if there were a sympathetic motorist, he could hardly load twenty of us into his car, could he? I felt the weight of slavery start to press in on me - here, in the midst of these perfectly normal surroundings that I might even have used in earlier times, I was totally and utterly powerless and helpless. I just had to do what I'd been told, and my freedom was slipping away from me.

I guess it was another step on our road to enslavement to make us crap like that, too. I mean, it would have been easy enough to let us go and use the restrooms, wouldn't it? Even after all the changes that had gone on in the south, there still were restrooms, after all: next door to the regular ones - now with big signs over the doors saying "free men only" - there were temporary structures saying "Rest rooms - male slaves". But no, we had to stumble into the woods, and squat down there - still, at least that way there's minimal mess on your body, which was just as well as there was no toilet tissue or anything, and most of us tried to pull up handsful of the coarse grass growing around to clean ourselves with.

We stumbled back to the truck, and the driver coupled our chain to the truck again. As I said, it seemed pointless to resist, or try anything, and we just stood there and let it happen. He handed us a box with twenty standard field rations bars in it, and pointed to a big drum which he'd rolled into one corner and which was filling from a hose. "Now you boys sleep well" - I could have hit him, I was so cross with the sarcastic tone he was using - "I'm staying here overnight as I've exceeded my allowed driving hours. Still, I expect you soldiers - I mean ex-soldiers - are used to sleeping rough, so the straw might even seem luxurious! You've been fed, and that barrel there is your water: we like to treat stock in transit humanely, you know."

He started to crank the ramp up to form the rear door, and we were left there, in the semi-darkness, lit only by the security lights in the truck park breaking through the slatted sides of our prison.

It's not easy to sleep like that - even though it was a big truck, and there was enough floor space, a lot of it was unusable because of the very short chains joining our collars together. We shuffled and crawled to try to find a bit of space for ourselves, but it was almost inevitable that we'd all end up touching another guy as he lay there. The straw was scratchy and hard against our naked skin, and it's anyway hard to sleep uncovered, even when it's warm (which it wasn't that night) - you always feel better with a light sheet, don't you?

Whether by accident or design, the line of naked men had bent and contorted itself so that Dylan was next to me. "Please, Steve", he whispered, "Will you hold me? I'm cold, and it was good to snuggle up to you earlier..."

Well, I didn't like it really - I mean, it's not right to wrap your body around a sixteen year old boy, is it? But he was cold, I could tell that the moment I touched him, and did as he'd asked. At once he ran his hand lightly over my chest, and said "Oh, Steve, you're all hairy, like Duane."

"Who's Duane?"

"My eldest brother. We had to share a bed, as there wasn't much space at home. He used to let me snuggle up to him like this in the winter - our room was right up under the eaves, and it could get cold up there!"

"You should have worn some clothes, then!", I said, jokingly.

"Oh no, Steve, Duane always said that real men always went to bed naked, and that pyjamas and even boxers weren't hygienic. He told me that a man's dick and balls needed to be free at night."

"So you slept naked with your elder brother. How old was he?"

"Twenty one. I used to really look forward to him coming home from college..."

I wondered if this Duane had had the same problems with Dylan as I was having - I could feel his dick pushing into my belly as we lay there together. I tried to move away, but he kind of followed. Then I felt his hand on my dick!"

"Hey, cut that out, Dylan!"

"But Steve, Duane always liked me to jerk him off... Well, at first. Then he liked the other."

"What other?"

"You know...."

"No, I don't, Dylan. What 'other'?"

"Well Duane liked to put his dick between my legs. He liked it as he said a man's dick needs to feel skin and flesh around it, and I liked it, as it was good to be close to Duane..."

"You mean he fucked you!"

"No, Steve! Don't be stupid! I wasn't sixteen then, and it's illegal to fuck guys before they're old enough. He just put his dick between my legs, right at the top.... Here.... Let me show you...."

He wriggled and squirmed to turn around so that his back was to me - not easy, given the tight space, and the guys around us made muffled complaints. Then he pressed his ass back towards me, lifted one leg slightly, felt around to find my dick - which went hard, as all this activity went on - pulled it forward, and lowered his leg again. My dick was trapped right at the top of his thighs, and it did feel good - that Duane evidently knew what he was talking about - as Dylan's skin was very soft and tender there, and I could also feel the moist heat of his asshole pressing down on to me.

Dylan wriggled a couple more times, pushing his firm young smooth butt back into me, and giggling a little as he did so. "You're so hairy, Steve.... It's tickling...", he whispered. Then he caught hold of my hand, pulled my arm over and across his body so that it was resting on his smooth, flat belly, and gave a sigh of contentment.

I was in big trouble now. My dick was straining, sending me urgent messages that it wanted to be jerked off. As the guys around us moved their positions as all men do when they're sleeping, Dylan and I moved too, and the effects of his warm skin on my dick were disastrous - it was almost painful... You know how it is, when you're sporting a massive boner and you don't do something about it - there's that dull kind of ache, not hurting, more pleasurable, but nevertheless really uncomfortable.

Almost as if I couldn't stop myself, I started to move, slowly and gently, moving my hips slightly backwards and forwards. I got the double sensation of having Dylan's silk-smooth young body making contact with mine and then breaking it, and my dick being massaged between his thighs and his ass hole. To the little sounds, snores, whiffles and cries that came from the sleeping guys was now added my own low moans of pleasure and little gasps of ecstasy. I knew I ought to stop, but couldn't. In an amazingly short time my whole body arched rigid, as my dick shot a huge load of cum, and I could give a deep sigh, and relax. Thank Christ Dylan didn't know what I'd done, I thought.

But he did, of course! After a couple of minutes he wriggled and squirmed again, so he was facing me. He held my dick - which I realised was covered in cum from where it had rubbed against his thighs - in his hand, pulled me as close together as we could get, and whispered "That's what Duane used to do, Steve. And then he liked me to hold his dick like this... Is that OK?"

As he said this, he moved his own young, hard dick next to mine, and stroked us both, so that a moment later I felt his hot cum splash out onto my belly, and run down into my pubes. He gave a little moan, or was it more of a sigh, or more of a whimper, and I could tell that he was falling asleep as we lay there together. I know I should have pulled away, should have slapped his butt for daring to jerk off over me, but I didn't have the heart - he seemed exhausted, and it must be a hell of a life for a young kid to have been enslaved like that (it was bad enough for me, after all!). And whilst I could, perhaps I should do all I could to comfort him and make him feel as loved as his brother evidently used to.

I was worried that the other guys would see the shreds of dried cum in my pubes the next morning. But we were all young and horny, so not surprisingly at odd times during the night if I woke from a doze I could hear other guys jerking off, and with nothing to catch the cum, many of them were like me with those tell-tale white strands decorating their pubic hair rather like ornaments of a Christmas tree.

The guard allowed us out to crap again - he looked as if he'd slept well, and was cleanly shaven and in a fresh uniform, but there was no provision for us to wash or anything, and after he'd dished out more ration bars, we were locked in again, filthy dirty and by now starting to smell rather rank, and were on our journey again.

It took three days and two nights in all to get to Atlanta, and we didn't go into the downtown area. We turned off the Interstate shortly before the city, and drove along into what was clearly a huge industrial area of some sort, with the roads lined with plants and warehouses. We finally pulled up at one of these - it looked rather like one of those big distribution depots you see at most major Interstate intersections:

just some bays at the back for trucks to pull up to, and otherwise just long, completely featureless walls without doors or windows, and with air-conditioning plants scattered over the flat roof. In big letters on one side, so that it could be easily seen from the road, it said "UC Department Of Slaves", and in smaller letters, "Atlanta Regional Auction Facility". Further along, in different lettering, designed to catch the eye and looking less permanent was the legend "Next Auction : Thanksgiving. Bid On A Slave And Really Give Thanks! That Special Present For The Holiday Season."

End Of Part 3