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 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