THE SPOILS OF WAR by Pete Brown. petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories in groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
Part 32
I knew I was going to have problems with the next part of my plan. In spite of having been kept entirely naked for the past three years, and having experienced the joys of sex with each other, most of the guys still clung to the superstitious notion that it was a "sin" to appear in public naked, and that proper sex would undoubtedly lead to them "burning forever in hell". Of course Ali, being better educated and more sophisticated, did not share these views, but when I had outlined my plans for the captives to him he shook his head, as if in disbelief.
"You'll never get the guys to do that, Steve. It's against our religion."
"You mean their heads are filled with a load of superstitious nonsense... You know that."
"Yes, I know it, Steve, as do you. But there it is."
"No, Ali. We have to go ahead with the plan. Talk to our guys: you're their Chief - point out that they've been naked all this time and have only just started to wear clothes again.... And you'll lead them, won't you? You'll set the example, alongside me?"
"Well actually, Steve, no I don't think I will. I'm going to be the ruler of this country one day and it would be undignified. I'm a married man with four wives ,remember?"
"Four wives who you never touch, as you prefer to have proper sex with other men! Oh, come on, Ali, here's your chance to set a good example, to show the world what's right."
"No, Steve, I can't. I'm going to have to get the Ruling Council behind me one day, and even though they all know it's rubbish, they all pay lip service to our stupid religion. It would be the excuse some of them would be looking for, to back someone else, rather than me... You know how completely hypocritical those who believe in religion can be - look at all those Christians in the USA, never mind the people here."
"But we've got to do it, Ali, to bring home to the viewers the total humiliation of enslavement....."
"Well you'll just have to do a token one, Steve.... Or perhaps I can find a volunteer somewhere."
Anyway Ali had asked around, and from the capital we had a volunteer who, like me, didn't mind being naked on TV. And when he was brought to the mine, I almost gasped in astonishment - he was a black, just under seven feet, and proportionately muscled! And he wasn't one of those blacks you see all over the USA, either - more a dark brown than a black, really - he was a true Nubian, absolutely jet black, as black as coal. When I asked him to, he gladly slipped off his robe and allowed me to inspect him, and totally naked he was even more spectacular than clothed: he had defined muscles everywhere, and his height was as a result of a perfect proportion between his long legs and hard muscular thighs, and his trunk. He was sweating slightly, and his skin positively glittered under the lights, as he seemed to have no body hair at all.
It was his dick that was the ultimate crowning glory of this superb muscled machine, though: absolutely in proportion to the rest of him, so long and so thick, mounted so that it hung down over low-hanging balls that were nicely separated in his sac as they hung there. He was, of course, cut, as he told me that he had been taken as a slave to the USA where he had had to work in the plantations, but then had been bought by a man who wanted to "stud" him to start breeding more big, black slaves. He'd served at stud for a year or so, then it had been decided that it was undesirable to have too many progeny from one guy, so he'd been sold on again to work in a brothel in New Orleans, satisfying the needs of white men who wanted to fuck a really enormous black. It was from there that he'd been returned to his home country, after one client had been so impressed with him that he'd made an offer to buy him from the brothel.
"I can pretty well do much as I like now, Steve", he said, grinning. "I discovered that my owner would rather take dick than give it, and so I'm pretty much in charge now - if I want a night off, I just order him to jerk himself off, as I watch, then I promise him I'm going to really ram his ass the next night, and leave!"
"But won't your owner mind when he sees what we plan to do?"
"He won't see it, Steve! He never watches TV, as he says it's a device of the devil! So shall we get started?"
My conversation with the black slave did however start me thinking: clearly he was in charge, he was in control, even though he was the property of his owner.
It made me see the power of sex, and the way in which power gravitates to the man in control.
I had determined initially that I would fuck the sergeant, and that each of the other guys would fuck one of the captives, hopefully with them all lined up to make a real spectacle, something that the viewers couldn't help watching. But with Ali's refusal to order the men to perform, there was only me and the black guy, and so we would just fuck two of them - I didn't want to have to wait to recover to fuck a second one, then a third and a fourth, as I thought this would be boring for the viewers, so two would have to do.
It still seemed to be a good plan to fuck the sergeant, not only because he was an "authority figure" and so his humiliation would be the greater, but because every time I looked at his muscled body I felt my dick twitch involuntarily - after all, I might as well enjoy it! But who should the black fuck? I scanned the other captives, and at once I knew: the youngest, the blond lad. To the viewers in the South there would be something truly dreadful, some memory of the days of the first civil war, to see a huge naked black slave fucking a young, virginal blond white boy! It would add impact in a way that was particularly applicable to the viewers in the South, and even though I felt dreadfully sorry for the lad, who was still in pain from his 'skinning, this just had to be the right thing to do to fulfil our higher purpose.
It wasn't a big thing for me, of course - I was used to fucking another guy under the gaze of an audience, and TV cameras. And the black seemed used to it, too - he confided that quite often when he was studding, the owner of the women slaves would want to watch, and would even use video cameras to record the event for future enjoyment. But the sergeant and the young soldier were still getting used to appearing naked at all times, and I felt fairly certain that both of them were anal virgins: the boy because he was still relatively young, and the sergeant because he had been in the marines. I knew that most guys in the marines just went in for mutual jerking off, and perhaps a little sucking, but didn't usually go on to proper sex.
Visually I thought it would be more interesting for the viewers, and it would make more of an impact, if I fucked the sergeant doggy fashion - somehow it seems to me that this is more humiliating for the guy being fucked against his will. Whereas if the camera saw the huge jet black body of my companion towering over the pale white body of the young lad, with his legs pushed helplessly up and backwards, this would serve to emphasise how completely the lad was under the control of the black. As his white legs wrapped themselves around the black's body, the contrast would be at once exotic and exciting, and I didn't doubt that the lad would kick at the black's back, at first in terror and in an attempt to prevent the inevitable as the thick black dick powered into him, and then in ecstasy as his body gave way to the sexuality sweeping through him.
As I had expected, once we had the sergeant out of the cage and secured to the standard flogging horse with his ankles and wrists securely fastened to its legs, he suspected immediately what was his fate and began to protest loudly. Then, as I first rested my hands on his delightfully muscular butt, and then started to slap it, hard, to both sensitise him and to make him stop shouting, his suspicions were turned to certainties. As he saw the blond lad being secured to the horse next to him, his entreaties for mercy and threats about what would happen to me if I went ahead changed: he was now only concerned for the lad. He begged and pleaded for the lad to be spared, pointing out that he was only young, that he was still really a recruit, and many other irrelevant considerations. Then when the black and I both slipped off our robes, his efforts redoubled - instead of shouting abuse and swearing and cursing, he lowered his voice and said, very humbly, "Please, sir - I guess I can take it. I know there's no way we can avoid this. But please, sir, think about the young lad: if you must do it, sir, please fuck him, and let the black fuck me, sir. I can take it, sir, I can take the pain of a giant dick like that- it's not right to make the lad go through all of that..."
I moved around to his head, and stroked his bare skull appreciatively. "You're a good man, sergeant. It's a pity you were a member of the army of the South, which has brought you to this. A sergeant always thinks about the needs of his men, and looks after their interests. And I'm sure you would endure that enormous dick with fortitude and courage. But I am afraid that I cannot do as you wish - the viewers need to see a young, innocent, blond lad utterly ravaged and assaulted by a huge, strong black."
"Please, sir, I'll do anything..."
"You would do anything I commanded after a time anyway, sergeant - you are a slave, remember? And slaves obey! Slaves do not bargain with their owners about their obedience to his orders - there is only one standard, and that is complete and utter submission and total obedience."
With that, I signalled to the black, and we approached our victims. Like me, the black was in a state of high sexual arousal - he was already leaking pre-cum from that giant dick - and he lifted the lad's legs up an positioned his feet over his shoulders as if there weighed nothing. I saw the lad start to try to struggle, begin to try to kick out at the black, but he just laughed; and the next instant the most terrible scream rent the air as the black had clearly positioned his dick at the lad's hole, and had thrust in. I was a little more gentle with the sergeant, positioning my dick at his hole and then sliding it around a little first, to give myself that exquisite feeling of a warm, moist ass on my dick head. Then when I did force my way in, I rested as soon as I had breached the sphincter to allow the sergeant's cries and entreaties to die down, before sliding all the way in using one smooth movement - as most of you know, this is hugely pleasurable for the guy doing the fucking, but can cause the most severe problems for the guy being fucked as the shaft of your dick rubs against the ass flesh for what seems like a long, long time! The sergeant gave a loud cry of "Nooooooooo...." as I did this, as if it might in some way stop me. But this soon changed to a series of shouts as I began to thrust, vigorously, to give him a proper hard fucking.
I shot my load surprisingly quickly, and then began to regret that I had had the captives' bodies shaved so completely - it would have been a nice touch to finish by cleaning my dick in the sergeant's hair, but this option was not open to me. Instead, I turned my back away from the camera and cleaned my dick of his ass juices and my cum residue on the T, before stooping and pulling on my robe (I had worn a T under my robe, so that when I fucked the sergeant you could see my butt powering away, but my tattoos, and the livid scar from where the tracker chip had been cut out, were concealed). The black finished at about the same time, and I walked over and personally rubbed my T over his dick, putting one arm around his big muscular shoulders at the same time - I got the most delightful scent of his hard male body that had been working so hard as I did this, as my nose was almost buried in his pits! There's a huge feeling of male pride and joy when you bond with another guy like this, isn't there? We both stood there for a few moments, enjoying that intense feeling of male togetherness, breathing hard from our exertions - it's one of the reasons why sessions with more than one guy can be such an intensely rewarding experience.
It was interesting to compare the attitude of the sergeant and the young lad as they were released of the horses and put back into the cage: the sergeant looked angry, proudly defiant, his face sometimes contorting into pain as he walked along, but the young lad seemed utterly defeated: he was hunched up, and there were tears glistening on his cheeks. I turned to the TV cameras again, and addressed my unseen audience: "We will do the other slaves tomorrow, ladies and gentlemen. But we wanted to remind you that part of the enslavement process is very often for the new owner to 'take the cherry' of the slave - an owner, even if he does not buy the slave purely as a sex toy, frequently decides that he can exert his authority over the slave more precisely if the slave has been raped, as you saw here. So we do not expect to reply to any of the e-mails flooding into our website that say we were wrong to do this: remember, a slave is an animal, without rights. If an owner wants to fuck him, or rape him, then it is the owner's choice, as you saw here, and all the slave can do is accept it."
"I am also pleased to tell you, ladies and gentlemen, that we have had offers from the families or communities of four more of our slaves - so only three of them remain 'unsold'. Come on, America - what's happened? Don't you care about the other three men who were fighting for you here in our country? Are they really so worthless that you are not prepared to raise the money to buy a coffle of slaves to trade for them?"
"Anyway", I continued, "There remains one final process before these soldiers have been converted into real slaves, and then we can start to trade them. So far you have seen us remove all their hair, collar them, 'skin the uncut, and exert our owner's authority over the ownership of their asses. But hair grows again, a collar can be removed, many free men are cut, and unless you have seen the process happening, it is difficult to discern if a man has been fucked against his will! There is one way in which a slave is always identified as a slave, though - a way that is all but impossible to remove, and is clear and unambiguous: the slave brand!"
Several of the captives started shouting "No", and "Please..." as my words came out, and I looked at them and snapped "Silence! Your begging will do you no good, and will only anger me, so that I might schedule further punishment. You are slaves, and it is inevitable that you are going to have your flesh marked with the sign of a slave, a large 'S' burned deep into the muscle of your butt!"
The men carried out eight flogging horses into the centre of the chamber, then, with rifles cocked against a possible suicidal attack, the cage was opened and each of the eight slaves was dragged out and strapped down on his belly. As well as tying the ankles and wrists to the legs of the horses, a belly strap was cinched tight to hold the body firmly down, as it is of course important to ensure there is no movement as the branding iron bites home, if you want a good, crisp edge to the mark.
I have to confess that I had ruled out the "humane" option of using the iron dipped into liquid nitrogen to make the brand. It does a good job, admittedly, and is indeed less painful for the slave, but somehow it lacks the theatricality of the "traditional" method of using a white-hot iron. There isn't the smell of the charring flesh, or the slow build-up of tension as you wait for the iron to re-heat between victims, or, indeed, the sight of the white hot iron reflected in the sheen of sweat that is guaranteed to cover the slave's body.
The charcoal brazier was deliberately sited in front of the eight men as they lay there strapped to their horses, so they could watch the coals being fanned into a white heat, and the iron being placed carefully in into to ensure even heating. They could see these preparations being made for what they knew would be an agonising experience for them, and they thrashed their arms and legs futilely, straining against their bonds, as if by some miracle they could escape. Unlike in those old Westerns, they sensed that the Cavalry was not going to come charging in to rescue them at the last moment. Our cameras showed the viewers these scenes, occasionally cutting in to the tortured face of one of the men, and interspersed with these shots we had views from the rear - there's something hugely erotic about seeing eight butts lined up, as it really serves to emphasise the physical differences between the men: although they were all fit and muscled, you got a much better appreciation of the male form as you scanned down the line and saw the different leg lengths and the way in which some butts thrust out proudly from the thighs, and some were more streamlined. And as their legs were spread apart, the camera could also zoom in for enticing views of the men's sacs and dicks from the rear, a view that you do not often get unless you are seriously into the appreciation of the naked male form and go out of your way to lurk in public changing rooms and similar places..
It all, allowing for the time taken to re-heat the iron after each man, it took almost half an hour to complete the process, a time when the air was rent with the sobs of the men who had already been done, the screams of the man whose butt was currently under the iron, and the continuing cries for mercy from those awaiting their ordeal. At least five of the men had been unable to control their bladders and there were pools of piss under their bodies, and two had released their bowels, too, the steaming effluent adding a macabre additional touch to the scene.
None of them offered any resistance as they were released form the horses and led back into the cage, and they just lay there on their bellies on the hard floor, quietly moaning. I directed the cameras to the second cage where our as yet incomplete second batch of victims was waiting, and said, starkly "You're next! As soon as we capture a few more of your comrades so that we have a nice cosy coffle of eight, you too will be turned into totally naked, marked, collared slaves, just like that cage full there."
I cut away from them and addressed the audience again.
"Well done, America! We have just heard that all eight of our current batch of slaves has now been the subject of an offer for trade, against a coffle of our countrymen for each one, and these eight slaves will soon be in the hands of their new owners. I use the words 'slaves' and 'owners' advisedly, as under the laws in the South, there is no mechanism for freeing a man once enslaved: these soldiers can therefore never be free, can never once again serve the South as combatants."
My closing was simple. "That's the end of today's programme, ladies and gentlemen, although our 'highlight' programme will start almost immediately. We expect to begin processing of our next batch of slaves in two days time, once our patrols have been out onto the streets of our city and taken more candidates from your occupying troops. Good night, and good hunting, as we say!"
I do not believe it is necessary to tell you about how we processed that next batch of slaves - they were less exciting than the first, as there was no slave who was a sexually charged for me as the sergeant or the young blond man had been. We changed the process only marginally as we went on, except that as our numbers grew, we were able to process more captured soldiers at one time. For example, on Thanksgiving, instead of watching football, the vast majority of the audience in the South saw thirty two former soldiers being fucked simultaneously (a number of our comrades freed in later exchanges seemed to be less concerned about their religion!).
As I mentioned to you earlier, and as I had sold the scheme to Ali, we were in a cycle of virtuous feedback. After we'd captured our first coffle and processed them, we got eight coffles of our own men in exchange, so making us a force of seventy two freed fighters in all. After they had had a brief "vacation" with their families, almost all these men returned to us, so we had more resources to devote to capturing the Southern invaders. And the more we captured, the more we had to trade for even more of our own men.
There were other huge advantages, to: occupying our country had been very pleasant for the Southerners. They were well housed in sequestered villas and palaces, there was very little risk of injury or upset as most of our fighting men had been enslaved and carried off to the USA, the weather was hot and sunny and they had been provided with excellent sporting facilities, there were brothels readily available where they could partake of a man or women, as they chose, at minimum cost, and so on. All in all, for many of these poor redneck Southerners, life in the occupying forces was a whole lot better than life at home! All of a sudden, that changed. Now, life was risky - go out alone, or even with a big party on patrol, and you might be captured - and they all knew what that meant! At the very least they would be branded and raped, and for those of them with 'skins, there was also the worry of that special operation to remove it.
We all laughed when we heard that men were lining up at the medical centres to be 'skinned: clearly we were striking fear into their hearts, as they preferred to have it done with an anaesthetic on the base, rather than risk us doing it if they were captured. We also heard that there were many discipline problems on the bases, as their commanders were forced to confine off-duty soldiers to stay within their bounds as it was simply too risky to allow them their freedom to roam our cities. And as the pleasant villas and palaces emptied in favour of tented encampments on the bases, there started to be mutterings about men refusing to re-enlist at the end of their terms, and trying all sorts of dodges to cut short on their enlistment.
Our success in trading the newly enslaved for coffles of our own countrymen was so great that you may wonder, as I did, why the rich men in the country, like Ali's father, did not use some of their vast wealth to make purchases themselves in the "open market", and hence speed up the repatriation of fighters to assist in the struggle. Ali went to see his father, at my prompting, and came back seething with anger. "He says the Ruling Council needs to keep its options open", he told me. "More like they want to keep their wealth safely stashed away in Switzerland, in case they have to flee the country! One day there will be a reckoning, mark my words."
The occupiers now needed far, far more men, too: whereas a single trooper could have been sent to guard an isolated valve on a cross-country pipeline, they now had to send at least eight. And if they withdrew the guard altogether in an attempt to save manpower, we were able to go in and jam the valve, cutting off the oil exports. After a year, President Prexmire was forced into desperate measures: he made it mandatory to re-enlist for one more tour of duty, a tactic which, whilst it solved the immediate manpower crisis, had the effect of completely drying up new recruitment back home - everyone had seen our continuous broadcasts, and knew the risks occupying soldiers faced, and the thought of having to face them almost indefinitely was too much for even the most gung-ho potential recruit.
There were dreadful effects on the South's economy, too. The prices of slaves rose and rose, as more and more coffles of our countrymen had to be bought to trade for captured occupiers - it had always been a fairly finely-tuned market anyway as the South had come to rely on slave labour for so many heavy manual tasks, and now prices rose to unprecedented levels. And as the prices rose, so those who wanted to trade their loved ones to bring them back home had to find the money somehow, and so desperately sold their homes and businesses. This gave rise to a huge slump in property prices as so much capacity was dumped onto the market, which in turn led to many other people finding that they had home loans whose value far exceeded the costs of their devalued houses. In turn, these people then tended to "walk away", so further depressing prices as the home loan companies repossessed the houses and fed them back on to the market, leading to a downward spiral in which billions of dollars were wiped off personal wealth in the South.
President Prexmire thought to stop all this, and to prevent the "rebel terrorists", as he styled us, from getting further men by forbidding the export of slaves. We in turn let it be known that we would trade captured soldiers back home provided that a coffle of our countrymen was nevertheless released from their coffle chains and uncollared, even if they could not leave the country and theoretically remained slaves. A rapid consequence of this, aided by our black propaganda, was that ordinary people in the South became terrified of the possible effects of bands of freed slaves roaming the countryside, looting and pillaging! More men therefore had to be drafted into the state militias to help maintain order, which further reduced the available supply of recruits to the army and marines.
In a memorable speech, Prexmire appealed to the South to remain calm, and to "continue to fight the great battles for our country". He announced the reintroduction of the draft for all eighteen year olds, no exceptions, and we countered in a programme the next night where we showed again the recording of the huge black fucking the young blond lad: we reminded these young men, and their parents, that this was probably the fate that awaited them if they were unlucky enough to be posted overseas. Thousands of prospective draftees fled across the border to the North, as they perceived, rightly, that internment there as enemy aliens was infinitely preferable to being raped and branded in our country!
We benefited from another effect, too: thousands of idealistic young men flooded into our country from Europe, to volunteer to join us to "fight the evil slavers of the South". They were not much direct use to us as fighters, as we wanted battle-toughened veterans who were truly fighting for the liberation of our country, but they enabled us to free up our own men: the volunteers could carry out such activities as guarding the captured Southerners undergoing enslavement, leaving our own men free to scour the countryside looking for new potential slaves. It was interesting to note that many of these Europeans of course had a very enlightened attitude to sex, and we had no problem in finding enough rampantly virile young men to fuck the newly enslaved! Mind you, I had to advise Ali to clamp down hard on a couple of practices which we found these young men adopting: it became the fashion to wear slave collars, and even to be branded (albeit under anaesthetic) "to show solidarity with the freedom fighters". Many of our men complained that this devalued their experience as slaves, and so Ali ordered it to be stopped - well, at least he forbad the wearing of slave collars, and made it illegal to brand the body when under the influence of drink or drugs: that seemed to staunch the flow quite satisfactorily, as not many of those Europeans wanted to really feel the searing heat of the white hot iron! Nevertheless, in most of our towns there were parlours where these Europeans could go to have their 'skins removed (most Europeans are of course not routinely cut shortly after birth), and Ali allowed this to continue as he personally preferred the sight of a dick head not concealed by a 'skin.
After two years things were really desperate for the South. There were so few troops, who had to go around in convoys, that control of our country became all but impossible. They cowered in their bases as we now proudly stalked the streets, and soon we were able to take back complete control of our oil.
I accompanied Ali, as his most trusted aide and lover, to the meeting of the Ruling Council the day after this great event. We stood in front of them, expecting to be congratulated on almost freeing the country of the invaders, but the Leader was seething with anger as "trade was disrupted, the oil was not flowing, and payments were not being received."
"The oil is a vital strategic resource", Ali countered. "You used it to give the South an advantage over the North, to help them win their civil war. And then you acquiesced when they invaded our homeland, to protect that supply. Now you have a chance to redeem yourselves, by allying us with the North..."
"Never! The South is a good trading partner...."
"Rubbish!", Ali snapped. "Their economy is on its knees. Those Southern dollars you are amassing will soon be worthless."
"Leave the chamber!", the Leader ordered Ali. "I am appointing my own son as the new commander of the returned army, and you are relieved of your post. You will return to civilian life, and play no more part in this terrorist war."
"It is not terrorism! How can it be terrorism, to fight for our freedom, and the return of our enslaved men? We are freedom fighters, not terrorists...."
"Our American allies have called it terrorism, and so terrorism it is. Leave the chamber at once, or suffer the consequences...."
Ali just stood there, and to my horror the Leader shouted "Guards - arrest this man! Take him out and have him shaved and collared, and deliver him to my slave quarters."
End Of Part 32