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 8

I must have been thinking "militarily" as when I pulled the shirt off and shrugged the shorts to stand there naked, it felt so odd! I mean, this guy had seen me stark naked before, when he bought me, so I really shouldn't have been concerned now. But in man ways it was like being back on a proper base, and they don't make you strip there in front of the officers, however many rules and regulations you've broken.

The Colonel looked at the file open in front of him, and at me, then told me to turn around so he could look at my back. I was then facing the guard, who I noticed was looking at my dick with interest.

"Turn back to me, boy", the Colonel said in that voice of calm authority that knows it's going to be obeyed. "Now, Steve, you were a marine, used to working hard, keeping yourself in fighting-fit condition, not causing trouble, and obeying orders. Provided you act the same way here, you'll have an easy life! But you'll have seen on the way in that I do order slaves to be flogged - although I hope that never happens to a good-looking guy like you as that back and butt of yours is really too nice to spoil. And a caning in public is not pleasant either. But don't worry about that - just keep your head down, be respectful, obey orders, just act as if you were still a marine, and you won't get into any trouble. We've got a little work to do on you, then you'll be with your platoon tonight, and the slave in charge of that will tell you everything else you need to know. Any questions?"

"Sir, please, sir... Can I call my folks, to tell them I'm OK?"

"Of course not! Hasn't anyone explained to you before that slaves don't have 'folks'? You're a slave, my possession, and that's all that ought to concern you. Focus on doing the right thing for me, forget any thoughts you might have about your old life, and you won't go far wrong."

"But please, sir, what am I going to be doing?"

"Fighting, of course! I expect you were overseas a lot, then up north, where they don't syndicate the gladiator channels. But you're here to be trained as a fighter - to fight in public, or, more specifically, on the gladiator channels. No to the death, or anything - just a good old-fashioned knockabout: a mixture of boxing and wrestling, until one of you overcomes the other. But don't worry about it, as we'll give you the necessary training."

"Sir, I'm trained as a fighter, sir. I was in the marines..."

"You were trained to kill, slave. And that's different. As I said, the idea is not to kill or permanently damage your opponent, as he's a valuable slave too. Just to beat the shit out of each other, until one or other of you succumbs. You'll find that you need retraining: you have to re-learn all the things the marines taught you - so, for example, if you've got your arm around the neck of your opponent, you have to choke him into unconsciousness, not just snap it so that he's permanently out of it as quickly as possible. But don't worry about it - we're used to retraining guys like you, and it's part of our programme to get you to optimum fitness and into 'fighting form'."

I just stood there, listening. Well, I'd always enjoyed combat, always enjoyed being fit. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad after all. But he was going on again.... "So now we'll just do a couple of things to you to get you ready for the public, and you'll have to have a new name.... From here on, you're Spike."

"Sir, please, sir, why...?"

"The only name a gladiator is known by is his fighting name. His fans like to know who they're cheering, quite unambiguously. We already have a Steve here, so that name's already been used up. So from now on, you're Spike - it's a good, hard, strong name, just the sort of thing that a gladiator needs. And you'll find it a help, actually - it will be easier to put your old life, the life of 'Steve' behind you if you now start to think of yourself as 'Spike'. And it's probably kinder to those 'folks' you were on about, too - if they do see you on TV, they'll not make the connection between the tough, fighting machine that's Spike, and the sweet loveable boy they used to have, Steve!"

He picked up the phone on his desk and said, calmly, "Send Lewis in."

There was a knock on the door almost instantly, then a fit-looking guy in the ubiquitous singlet and shorts came in. He'd have stamped his foot as he snapped to attention if, like me, he hadn't been barefooted: I could tell at once he was ex-army, and be had that unmistakable look of a sergeant about him: used to obeying the officers, but giving the guys hell if they failed to come up to the mark. He was only about five ten, so I was taller than he, but for an older guy - I judged him to be in his mid forties - he was in fantastic shape: you could see that he was properly toned, had not an ounce of fat on him, and positively glowed with that kind of good health that only really hard, regular exercise can bring. Strangely, I didn't feel at all embarrassed at standing there in front of him - for one thing, I guess I'm used to sergeants and other guys in the barracks; and for another, I could instantly recognise that we were both real men, men who were proud of themselves and had no reason to be ashamed of their bodies.

"This is Spike, Lewis. He's in your platoon. Look after him until he finds his feet here - and it's rumoured he's a virgin, keep him that way!"

"Sir, I'm not a virgin....", I interrupted, as I didn't want this Lewis to think I was a wimp. I mean, a marine always fucks when he can.

The Colonel's demeanour changed instantly, and he slammed his hand onto the desk. "Don't interrupt! I'll make allowances for you as it's your first day here, but the next time you ever dare interrupt me or any other free man, you'll be punished. You are a virgin, I believe - you may have fucked around in the marines, but for us, what counts is whether you've ever taken dick up that muscular ass of yours! And I can tell you haven't, or you'd never have interrupted like that to tell me so - you marines are always stupidly proud of not having had sex with your buddies."

"Now, Lewis", he went on, "Take him down to the medical room - they've got their orders there about what to do with him. But he's still a bit wild, so cuff him."

"Sir, yes, sir", Lewis snapped, and took a pair of handcuffs that had been hanging on the back of his shorts an cuffed my right wrist to his left one. He snapped to "attention" again, and when the boss gave a nod, turned and, half dragging me after him, we left the room.

In the corridor, with our bare feet slapping against the polished thermoplastic tiles, he just said "You heard the Colonel. I'm your 'sergeant' - I look after the eight of you in the platoon. I don' want any trouble from you, boy, understand?"

"Yes, sarge." It somehow came naturally to my lips!

"How long were you in the marines?"

"Seven years, until I was captured...."

"Captured? You didn't go down fighting? You surrendered....?"

"Yes. We were ordered to surrender. We all wanted to fight on, but we were out of ammo, no food, no possibility of relief... They ordered us to give in to these bastards..."

"And you were enslaved straight away?"

"Yes, some kangaroo court martial did it immediately. Then I was auctioned, and now I'm here."

"OK, Spike, you're new to slavery, this is your first real experience, so some words of advice. Keep your head down. Look to see the lie of the land. Feel which way the wind's blowing. It's all confusing and strange at first when you're made a slave, but this isn't a bad berth - there could be far worse, I can tell you! Working the fields or in the factories, chained in a coffle; or down the mines; or even as some rich man's plaything..... At least you get to live like a man and act like a man here, doing proper manly things! So don't fuck it all up - don't get the Colonel to be so pissed off with you that he just sells you on! And don't get a string of punishments - it's not worth it."

"Sarge, I just can't get used to it, this idea that I can be sold..."

"Well get used to it, Spike! There's a lot of things that have changed as a result of the war, and I guess that you and I are just part of the fall out from it. It's odd to have another man have so much power over you, well, at least at first. But if you think about it, it's not all that different - in the marines you did as you were ordered, were shipped all over the place to fight, never had many possessions as you were always in the barracks. And officers could order you to be punished - not caned or whipped, I guess, but you did some time in the brig like most young guys, I bet. And on the other hand you had a great group of buddies, a lot of comradeship.... Well, it 's not so different here. But, as I said, don't rock the boat - not until you understand the system, at least! There's a lot worse places you could have ended up."

He stopped talking then as we were outside a door marked "medical room". He rapped smartly on it, and waited, until we heard an "Enter" from inside.

It was just like any medical room on any base I'd ever been on - a guy in a white coat behind a desk, an examination table. Cabinets along the wall, presumably full of instruments and drugs.

"Ah, Lewis, is this the new slave, Spike?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" I could see at once from Lewis's demeanour that the guy in the white coat was not a slave, and this was confirmed when he got up and came over - his shirt was open at the neck, and he wasn't wearing a slave collar.

"Right, Spike. We've got some work to do on you. Now, are you going to behave? There are guards all around, and it will be easier for all of us if you just act sensibly and obey orders. You're new here, new as a slave, I see from your file, and sometimes it takes guys like you a little time to settle. Now, are you going to obey?"

"Sir, yes, sir."

"Good. Lewis - uncuff him! And then, Spike, slip off your singlet, and lie face down on the table for me, there's a good chap."

Lewis released the cuffs, then I pulled the cotton thing over my head, and saw Lewis looking approvingly at my musculature as I did so. The table was stainless steel, and as I eased myself down on to it, it was cold under my skin. I was surprised then when, at a nod from the doctor, Lewis gently tugged at my arms to pull my hands above my head, and then quickly cuffed my hands to the top of the table.

The doctor saw my reaction, and murmured "Don't worry, Spike! I'm not a sadist, you know! That's only to comply with Federal law - I'm going to cut that collar off you, and the law requires all un-collared slaves to be secured at all times."

He fussed around, and I could feel something heavy being draped over my shoulders, and around my neck. "This is a heavy heat-resistant cloth", the doctor carried on. "Slave collars are designed not to be removed easily, so they're tough, and tight to the skin. I'm going to have to use a very fast diamond-tipped circular saw. There will be a lot of sparks, and the collar might heat up, and this metallic fabric is designed to protect you from the worst of it. But however uncomfortable it feels, or even if there are momentary twinges of pain, you mustn't move, understand? That saw is going at five thousand rpm and it's really sharp - if it touches your neck, because you move, at best there'll be blood everywhere, and at worse you'll be permanently disabled as it will slice some vital nerve or other, or even kill you. Do you think you can lie there and take it?"

"Sir, yes, sir, especially to get rid of this collar, sir!"

"Oh, you marines are always like that. Always think they can stand anything that is thrown at them. We only take the collar off you as it's too risky when you're fighting - an opponent who got a finger, or fingers, underneath it would have you mostly helpless as you started to choke. Now...."

There was that high pitched whining noise that you normally hear at the dentist - I guess the doctor's drill was on the same basis, with an air turbine spinning it. The screeching and grating sounds as he attacked my collar were terrible, and I could smell a kind of metallic burning smell. But it actually didn't hurt a bit. After some minutes he stopped, reached down to my neck and pulled, and the opened collar was removed from me. I wished my hands had been free, as I would have really enjoyed the feeling of freedom from that collar, and longed to run my hands around my neck. I hadn't realised quite how oppressive it to be collared - or was it just psychological, as I hated being a slave?

The doctor pulled the shielding off me, and said "There.... Not even a scorch mark on that hide of yours! Now, Spike, over on to your back..."

I rolled over, and lay there looking up at him. He looked at Lewis, and said quietly "Take those shorts off him", and Lewis came up to the table and started to tug at the skimpy shorts that was all I was wearing. I simply lay there, so he couldn't easily get them over my butt.

The doctor watched for a moment, then brought his open palm down with a huge slap onto my belly. I jerked with the sheer surprise of it, and gave a yell. Lewis pulled the shorts down to my thighs, then worked them along my legs and over my feet. I half sat up, and saw the doctor's hand print on my skin, in red.

"Now, Spike, I thought you said you were going to be sensible! And the first time something happens, you start to be awkward! I'm a doctor, you know. And like you, Lewis here is a man. So what's the problem in shucking those shorts? Haven't you ever been naked with a doctor before?"

"Sir, yes, sir. But not one who hit me, sir..."

"Well that's one of the adjustments to being a slave, Spike. Doctors are obeyed here, because we're free men. And if you disobey, you get punished. But I can see that you're not going to be very sensible, and I don't think I can trust you to just lie there as I 'skin you..."

"Sir?"

"I'm going to 'skin you, Spike. Circumcise you. All fighters are 'skinned."

"No, please, sir! I don't need it..."

"Yes you do. Most men look better without their 'skins - it's all right when you're erect and 'skinned back, but when you're just 'hanging around' normally, most owners consider it less aesthetic to have the dick head concealed from view.... And the Colonel is one of them, so all fighters here are routinely 'skinned. But don't worry - it won't hurt, and I'm experienced as I do a lot of mature male 'skinnings: it will heal very quickly, there won't be any ugly scarring or anything afterwards, and you'll be back to jerking yourself off within a few days."

"No! It's mine, leave me alone... You can't do that to a guy without his consent...."

"Spike, you're lucky you're here in my surgery! If you ever spoke like that to me elsewhere, not properly respectful as a slave should be to a free man, I'd have you punished. But you need to remember, boy, that you are a slave - you no longer have the power to make decisions that affect you: that's what your owner, the Colonel, does. So it's not 'mine', your 'skin does not belong to you. Your dick does not belong to you. Your body does not belong to you. It all belongs to the Colonel, and the Colonel wants you 'skinned, and so you will be."

He went over to one of the cabinets, took out some stuff, and I saw him fill a syringe from a bottle. He came back and stood by me. "Now, lie still, whilst I give you this shot to deaden your dick..."

"No!" As he came close, I started to thrash my body around, so he couldn't get the needle anywhere me. Although my hands were cuffed, I've got a really strong body and my feet and legs were free - there was just no way he could approach, without getting kicked or hurt.

"Spike, it's just as well that I'm a considerate guy! I could just 'skin you without the anaesthetic, you know. But I like to do a good job, and sometimes when the slave is really thrashing around, and it's really hurting him, you just can't put the stitches in properly at the end and then there's too much ugly scarring that can ruin a perfectly good-looking slave.

So....."

He turned to Lewis, and snapped "Ride him!"

Lewis leapt up onto the table agilely, then lowered himself down onto my belly. I could see his muscular back in front of me, and felt the heat of his flesh as he lowered himself onto me. I could still thrash my legs around, but with his weight on my abdomen, I was really restricted. The doctor handed him the syringe and said, casually, "Straight into his dick, Lewis - anywhere - it's all flesh. No bones to worry about..."

Lewis bent forward, and I felt a tiny prick, and then the doctor came and looked down at my face. "Now, Spike, I'm going to use the scalpel to 'skin you, and then sew up the cut ends. Lewis is holding you nice and firm, so that you can't move your dick whilst I'm operating.. But I'm going to do so from the bottom of the table.... If you kick at me, I'll simply have you manacled, and then punished afterwards. And I might really disfigure you, too - make it so that you can't have a really hard erection again, as I'll take too much skin off! So this time I'd advise you to be sensible...."

He moved down to be between my legs, and started work, and I can honestly say I didn't feel a thing. I was aware that "something" was going on, but there was absolutely no pain or anything, not even any discomfort. It only took a few minutes, too, even with him stopping occasionally to go over to the cabinets and get more instruments, swabs, and stuff like that.

He then told Lewis to get off me, and I craned forward to see my dick - which had a big piece of plaster stuff around the end.

"Right, that's that. You can take that plaster off tomorrow. Don't jerk off for a couple of days to allow the wound to heal - it's very quick there, as there's a really good blood supply. But don't fuck for about a week - we don't want to have even a tiny risk of infection."

"Bastard!", I almost spat at him. "You're not allowed to operate on people without their approval..."

"Spike, you're right, of course. No doctor can operate on a person without his approval. But, as I said earlier, you're not a person, remember? You're a slave. I can operate on a slave if the owner wants me to, and the Colonel wants this done to you. And the next little thing, too. But I'm pretty cross at the way you've consistently ignored my warnings to be polite, as a slave should be.... The next little procedure isn't so critical, so just to show you what can happen to a slave who's disobedient, I'll do it without the anaesthetic.... Lewis: his chest!"

Lewis again vaulted onto the table, and this time sat himself across my ribs, kind of waddling forward so that his knees were pinning my shoulders down to the table. I could see the outline of his dick and balls clearly through the skimpy shorts, and as he squatted there, the fly, which had no fastenings in these slave shorts, half gaped open so I could see his thick, black curly pubic hair. There was a faint scent of "male" drifting towards my nose. I felt utterly helpless having this guy pinning me down like this, with me naked and him almost so: it didn't seem right, somehow.

The doctor was behind me fiddling around, then suddenly, before I had time to react, he gripped my head and something cold and metallic was up my nose - both nostrils. I tried to struggle, but it was no use - the weight of Lewis and the firm grip of the doctor held me there immobile. More fiddling, and I wanted to sneeze, as the thing up my nose probed around up my nostrils. Then I heard the doctor say "Right, that's got the position. Lewis - you're stronger than me... One big squeeze, please, so we get a nice clean operation...."

I saw Lewis lean forward, his muscles in his belly tightening, and his fly opening even more. He took something out of the doctor's hands, then I half heard a sickening "crunch", an almost electric pain shot through my nose - like when you eat too much really cold ice cream, only a hundred times worse - and I started to choke as that dreadful salty taste of blood filled my throat.

Lewis handed the doctor something, and through the tears that were blurring my eyes, I saw that it seemed to be a pair of pliers, but pliers made in that kind of surgical stainless steel. The end was dripping with blood - my blood.

"Right, Spike. That's a hole punched through your septum. Well done, Lewis - a nice clean incision, I'd think, judging by the residue..." I saw him shaking a little piece of skin and cartilage off the end of the pliers, which now I looked I could see were more like those special things you use to stone olives. He fetched something over from the cabinets, and again there was fiddling around in my nose with a piece of cold metal - but this time it wasn't just ticklish and unpleasant - it hurt! My body writhed, but Lewis's weight on my chest kept me head still.

Another pair of pliers, and I braced myself for a second wave of pain. But this time Lewis just bunched his muscles again and I felt nothing.

"OK, Lewis, off him!", the doctor said. Then coming and standing by my head, he wiped over my face with a swab, and said "That's it, Spike! Your snout ring, done. A nice neat hole in the septum, then Lewis closed up the ring I inserted and it's pre-glued so that there's no risk of tearing the skin in your nose or anything with a weld or other join. And it's not a ring either, strictly speaking - more of a kind of flattened oval so that we can get it up your nose without causing unsightly flaring of the nostrils, have it high enough up so that there's no risk of the septum tearing if it's pulled a bit, and long enough so that it hangs down properly over your upper lip.

"Sir, but why, sir...?"

"I told you - Federal law requires all slaves to be collared. A Slave must wear a collar at all times. But the Colonel got a dispensation for the gladiators here, as it's too dangerous for you to wear a collar when you're fighting. So slaves can wear a snout ring instead, and you've just had yours fitted. The rules of gladiator combat don't allow eye gouging - no permanent damage to valuable property is allowed - and so you're all taught to keep hands away from the face, and a snout ring isn't therefore a particular problem.

Now, how does it feel?"

It felt fucking awful, actually. I'm used to it now, but that first time it felt as if there was some huge thing up both nostrils, jamming them and stopping me from breathing. And as if it was a reflex, I couldn't stop my tongue darting out to feel the vile thing lying there on my top lip. My nose hurt, too, especially as my tongue touched the ring, and there was that sickly taste of blood in my mouth and throat.

All in all, it felt pretty shitty!

"I guess it's OK, sir. But Lewis is a slave, sir, and he hasn't got a snout ring...."

"No, Spike. Around here, at the base, ordinary slaves are of course collared, and it's only you gladiators who have their snouts ringed. If and when you "retire", and if then the Colonel chooses to keep you on as a sergeant to look after a platoon, or even as one of the trainers, then we'll take out your snout ring and give you a "normal" collar. You should be proud of being snouted, as we say - around here, that marks you out as a gladiator, one of the reasons why were' all here, after all! Ordinary slaves collared, real fighters snouted - consider it a badge of honour.

Now, finally, we have just one more thing to do.... And I hope you have learned by this time that you may as well obey, and just accept that these things are going to be done to you. Over on your belly again..... And mind that dick, as I don't want it tearing at this stage...."

Almost resignedly I rolled over, and the doctor said "Now, I can have Lewis sit on you again, but I really need to be able to get in and manipulate you. Are you going to be sensible this time?

I remembered all the things we were taught in training, about conserving yourself to live to fight another day; I knew that with my hands still cuffed Lewis could be ordered to sit on me again. So I just muttered "Sir, yes, sir."

I lay there as he swabbed an area of skin just under my left shoulder blade, then gave me an anaesthetic injection deep into the muscle. He then came around to where I could see him, holding a long, sharp-looking stainless steel probe, a bit thinner than a knitting needle. It almost glittered under the strong lights.

"Now, Spike - you MUST lie absolutely still, believe me! I've got to slide this right up under the big bone that forms your shoulder blade, and you'll see how long it is. You won't feel any pain, but there will be some 'discomfort' as you'll be vaguely aware of it as I force it home. IF you move, you might end up paralysed, or, possibly dead - it's going in near your heart! So relax, remain calm, and absolutely no movement, OK?"

"Sir, yes, sir.... But why....?"

"So many questions, for a slave! It's to put your microchip in where it can't be removed except by sophisticated surgery - we used just to tuck them under a bit of skin on the belly, but you slaves found that a sharp knife, a lot of determination, and a bit of pain, and you could get it out. But deep down in the body here, you'd need full-scale surgery to get it out..."

"A microchip, sir?"

"Yes, Spike. You gladiators travel around to other fighting venues, and sometimes even to private houses for an entertainment at a big dinner, or a wedding, or birthday... It would be too expensive to keep you under guard all the time, so the simple way is to have you chipped - the GPS system can always interrogate your position then, down to a couple of metres, so escape is impossible - the Slave Police can always locate you, anywhere on the planet... And remember, the penalty for attempted escape for a slave is death!"

"Sir", Lewis asked politely, when the doctor had stopped speaking, "And can I tell him about the perimeter?"

The doctor nodded, and Lewis continued "Spike, it's the same system that keeps you in the base here - the system watches all of us slaves all the time, and it 'knows' the perimeter of the base. You can move freely around the base, between the buildings and so on, without any need to be guarded. But unless you have special permission to leave the base, and that's been programmed into the system, an alarm will go off if you cross the perimeter - and then they can locate you anyway! Even though we're very close to the border here, there just would not be time to get across after the system triggered to say that you were over our boundaries. And the Colonel simply has slaves who try to leave like that flogged. Don't even think about trying it, Spike!"

I sat there and felt even worse than I had been because of my 'skinning and snouting. I mean, you have your pets microchipped, don't you? I was still a man, after all - not some fucking animal!

End Of Part 8.