RELUCTANT GLADIATOR - Part Thirty One A story by Pete Brown (petebrownuk @ yahoo.com)
Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
We all sat there for a moment, then Ann put her arm around Jamie's shoulders. "Losing someone we love is always hard, Jamie.... But look on the bright side - Darren has probably been bought to do some nice quiet office job if he can't walk properly and so can't do manual labour. I bet even now he's sitting in front of a PC, taking calls, or processing invoices, or something... You'd like him to have a good life, wouldn't you?"
This was pathetic. I knew Ann was trying to comfort Jamie, but Jamie's a man, a real man, and men need to understand the realities of life. "It wouldn't be like that", I said. "When a gladiator's too old for the arena, or he's losing too often, there's only one future for him: he's sold off for hard manual labour. A gladiator is a trained fighter, remember. A fit, strong, trained, dangerous fighter. So the only future for him is to be collared into a coffle of slaves doing hard manual labour on the plantations, or in construction, or the mines, or somewhere like that where he's under close and continuous control. Even if he had been an accountant or lawyer or IT specialist or whatever before he became a gladiator, afterwards he can only be used for hard labour as it's considered too dangerous to have him roaming free. There's no chance of a labouring job, I suppose, with Darren's injuries preventing him from standing properly - but it's wrong
to raise the hope that he's got some desk job. The best he can hope for is to be permanently chained somewhere like at the gates of an estate, where he can crawl to open them for his owner to enter."
"Not a lot of jobs like that though, are there?" Jon added, somewhat unhelpfully. "So what happens to slaves who can't work?"
"Jon, don't upset Jamie even more. You remember that article in the Washington Post two weeks ago, about the 'camps'....." Ann said, trying to restrain her husband as she could see where this conversation was going.
But it was too late. "Camps?", Jamie asked instantly.
"Yes. Camps where slaves who are too old, or too injured to work, are taken. And 'looked after'. It's a bit of a scandal...."
"Why?" I asked. I'd never heard any of this before.
"Well the big companies who run them want to make a profit. And they only get paid a few new dollars a month per slave by the government after an owner has turned the slave in... The government wants to make a 'profit' - it gets lots of money in from the annual slave ownership tax which is supposedly to fund the 'retirement' of slaves, but they're very reluctant to spend it. So there's not really enough food, or adequate provision for medicines..... Once a slave is at a camp he hasn't got a whole lot of life left..."
"We can't let that happen to Darren!", Jamie said angrily. "If Darren can't work and is going to one of these camps, you can afford to buy him, Steve."
"Yes, but if he can't work.... I won't be able to afford to keep him. It's not only food, you know - I'm going to have to pay the slave ownership tax every year for you and Luke as it is, and I won't be able to afford another lot as well."
"Luke and I will work extra hard! Don't be so fucking stupid, Steve - you know Darren, we were all comrades at the school, and you can't simply let him die."
Well Jamie was right, of course. "I wonder how they dispose of gladiators from Philips' Fighters?", I asked the room in general.
"Oh that's easy.", Jon told me. "If he's going off to the camps, it has to be via Scabbard And Drass - they're the only government approved licensed dealers around here in worn-out slaves. I did some work on their corporate prospectus when they went public a couple of years back, and this was one of their chief selling points: the government only has one dealer in each area licensed for disposals - the other dealers are only licensed for trading in slaves. So if Philips' Fighters were getting rid of Darren to the camps, it would have to be through them."
"So let's get down there!", Jamie almost shouted, leaping to his feet.
Look, you probably think I'm really soft for going along with it, but I could understand Jamie's urgency, and he was right - there was no way I could let Darren be sent off like that. So even though having another slave - especially one who couldn't work - would be a real struggle, I didn't have any real choice, did I?
Scabbard And Drass had a large, glossy showroom in the heart of the glitzy out-of-town shopping mall, and after Ann had left for work Jon and I, and Jamie and Luke, went over there. At the entrance there was a discrete sign saying "Customers are cordially reminded that dogs and slaves must be left outside. Thank you for your co-operation.", so I told Jamie and Luke they'd need to wait for us. Luke was petting one of the dogs who was chained up there waiting for his owner, and I somehow couldn't tell him that really I ought to chain him next to the animal too as the mall rules said that unattended slaves had to be secured! So I told Jamie and Luke to go and wait outside the mall, where slaves were not required to be chained when their owner wasn't present. "And be careful, Jamie", I added. "Sit down somewhere out of the way, and remain calm, whatever the provocation. I don't want you fighting with some other slave - or, even worse, a free man -
about some imagined slight or other. If the Slave Police are called I can't afford a fine, and I'll have to sell you, or Luke. OK?"
"Do you think I'm some sort of idiot?" Jamie's tone was resentful and not at all respectful, and I made a note to myself to do something about his general attitude once all this business was over.
"No. But you're a trained fighter. And a bit of a hothead. And you're not used to acting like a slave in the presence of free men. So be careful."
The two young men strode off, and Jon and I went in.
There was a big reception desk almost immediately inside with a stunning young woman sitting behind it who smiled to greet us. It was only when I saw she had a collar around her neck and not some piece of jewellery that I realised she must be a slave. "Good morning, gentlemen", she trilled, "How can I help you?"
Jon seemed to know what to do, as he said rather curtly "We're looking for a male slave, fir, early twenties...."
"Certainly, sir! You've come to the right place. Here at Scabbard and Drass we..."
"Cut the crap!", Jon barked in a way that I couldn't imagine he'd ever use to a free woman. "Where are the men?"
"I'm sorry, sir. I was going to explain..." The girl looked worried now, and I wondered if she had experience of customers like Jon complaining about her. I don't suppose they could whip her for fear of spoiling her skin, but I suppose she could be spanked or caned just like a male slave. "... That to protect the sensibilities of buyers males and females are separated, and if you'd care to go through the door on the left, you'll be in the male showroom. Shall I get one of our trained advisors to accompany you?"
"No." Jon snapped it out, without even a polite "thank you", and I supposed he was used to dealing with slaves in positions like this. He moved off, and I followed him.
Inside the lighting was a little subdued, but the slaves, each of whom was standing on a small plinth, were highlighted by individual spotlights. "See, Steve - the tricks this place uses? They're highlighted so our eyes are drawn to them. And the spotlights are slightly coloured so that the slaves' skins look healthy and inviting... And they oil them all lightly, too, which is why they have that agreeable sheen."
I could see what Jon meant as the slave nearest to us did look in absolutely superb condition as he stood there. He was nearly naked, a small wisp of cloth hanging from a thin metal chain around his hips barely concealing his genitals. He must have been in his early forties, I thought, as he had that "mature" look , but his belly was nice and flat and as I walked past I could see that his butt seemed firm and he showed no signs of fat around his trunk. Jon saw me staring at him, and walked up to the slave and pulled the tiny loincloth aside. "Nicely hung, isn't he?", he asked me.
"Ummm, yes... I suppose so.... But Jon, don't do that...."
"Why not?"
"It's so fucking humiliating for the guy...."
"Steve, get real, will you? He's not a 'guy', he's a slave. What's more he's a slave up for sale. So it can't possibly be humiliating for him to have potential buyers take a closer look - in fact, I'd think he welcomes it: a couple of good-looking guys like us taking an interest in him - how much better if we buy him than some really elderly guy, or some fat old hag who wants a nice cock to play with?" As he said this, Jon reached out and cupped his hand under the slave's dick, and as it lay there in his palm he stroked it gently with his thumb. "See", Jon added, "He's certainly interested in me - look how he's going hard, and I've barely touched him!"
"Jon, come on! It's cruel to play with him like that when we have no intention of buying him. We need to find Darren."
"Steve, I know you're still adjusting to your new life, but you really do have to seriously reconsider your attitudes. How can it possibly be 'cruel' to examine a slave who's up for sale?"
"It's OK for you to think that, Jon, but you haven't bee on the other side of it! I have, and I can tell you that having a load of guys - and women - 'inspecting' you to see if they'd like to have you fight for them is fucking humiliating. I hated it, and so did the other gladiators. It's bad enough to have to appear naked in front of a lot of people in clothes, but to have them playing with your dick, and even..."
I stopped, not wanting to go there. But Jon was on to it. "Even what?"
"Some of the bastards even made us bend over and pull our butts apart...."
"Steve, as I said, you need to adjust your attitude. Of course a potential buyer- or hirer in your case, I suppose - would want to inspect a slave's ass. If I was seriously interested in this slave I would certainly need to make sure he wasn't damaged - torn or anything - down there. Even if I wasn't contemplating fucking him, I'd be concerned about the possibility of veterinarian's bills - and male slaves do tend to get anal damage, you know!"
"Jon, let's move on, shall we? There seem to be a lot of guys here..."
Jon nodded, and we strolled off. There must have been fifty or sixty slaves on offer, mostly as singletons as the first one, but occasionally as couples. I was intrigued by this and went to have a look at the labels that were strung around the necks of the merchandise. "Part of a set of two brothers" one said, and it occurred to me, looking at the price, that I'd got a very substantial asset in Jamie and Luke should I ever want to sell them! One of the saddest sights though was to see an older guy - with a very nicely fit body - standing there with his arm wrapped almost protectively around the shoulders of a much younger, slimmer guy. "Father and son set" the label said as I lifted it off the chest of the older slave so that I could read it.
"Please, sir", the man whispered. "Please sir, buy us."
"Why?"
"Sir, please, keep your voice down. We're not supposed to talk to the buyers and if they see the guards will take Joey here and punish him...."
I walked around behind the pair so it wouldn't be obvious that I was speaking to them. It was a really interesting sight - the older guy had that classic "V" shaped body with broad shoulders tapering nicely to a waist with no sign of fat, and from there on down there was a well-rounded muscular butt. There were signs of tough wiry hair peeping out seductively from his ass crack, and this was mostly what distinguished him from the son - the boy as, as I said, slimmer, but lithe and lightly muscled too and I could tell that as he continued to mature he'd probably be even bigger than his father. They'd shaved him, though, all over, so the contrast between his skin and the hairy body of his father was emphasised.
"So why should I buy you?"
"Sir, you look like the kind of owner who takes care of himself, and I reckon that an owner who does that probably cares about his slaves, too. Joey and me.... Well, we want to stay together, and so far there hasn't been and interest in us as a pair because of the price - I'm scared that they'll break us up...."
"Why were you enslaved?"
"It's all my fault. Joey is innocent - he was at high school. But they got me for tax evasion - I was a garden contractor working for myself, and to compete with the companies who now use slaves I had to keep cutting my prices, and then I couldn't afford to pay my tax. When they found out the only solution was to sell me to pay off the revenue. And that left Joey - he wasn't eighteen yet and I was his only relative as my wife died when he was a kid. So he was considered my 'asset', and he got enslaved too therefore...."
It sounded so fucking unfair. I walked around to the front of them and had I been able to afford them I certainly would have bought them - I moved his loincloth aside and saw that the father had a nice dick and the kind of low-hanging balls I like, and the son took after him and indeed might even have been a bit bigger (although as he'd been shaved totally, this might just have been an illusion). The boy was not 'skinned, though, unlike the father, and I was very tempted to go and slide his 'skin back to see if his dick head was like his dad's. I didn't, though, and walked away as I thought it was too cruel to raise their hopes when there was no possibility at all that I could go ahead with the transaction. Still, some owner was in for a treat - the thought of being able to select whether to have the solid muscles of the father or the more lithe son in bed for sex was making me erect. And then, of course, I almost shot my load as it occurred to me
that as their owner I could do both - and both simultaneously!
Jon smiled at me as we walked on inspecting the men. "Pretty exciting isn't it, Steve? I can see they've affected you...." He gestured at my crotch as he spoke. "Sometimes if I'm bored I come here and take a walk around - there's no obligation to purchase and it's easier than going to a sauna if all you want to do it look and touch a bit."
"I don't think it's right! Making these guys stand here, having people pawing them...."
"Not 'guys', Steve. Slaves. Remember that and you'll see it differently. Why shouldn't a free man take a long, hard look at a slave before he buys him?"
This wasn't the time and place to engage in a debate on the morality of slavery, so I just shrugged, and we walked on. There certainly was a lot of choice - "Scandinavian" blond types, more "Mediterranean" ones with olive skins and dark hair, a few redheads here and there (and Jon pointed out how they were kept out of the sun so that their skins were really white). But no niggas. I asked Jon about that, and he said "Oh, they're in the next room - I suppose that a buyer knows whether he wants a nigga or a whitey of some kind, so segregating them makes sense. He smiled and went on "After all, when you think of the dicks some of the niggas have, it would make most of the whiteys in here look a little.... well, 'inadequate', shall we say?"
I suppose Jon was right - we'd never had any problems at the school with things like that, but I suppose they tended to select gladiators who were above average in terms of their dicks anyway, and when we were in the showers I'd never personally felt inadequate when comparing myself with the three or four niggas that Straughan had. We'd got to the end now, though, and we hadn't seen Darren. Jon called over one of the salesmen who were hovering around - a slave himself, I saw, judging by his collar and the tight uniform of skimpy T and shorts he wore.
"We wee looking for a particular slave, but he isn't here....", Jon began.
"Do you have his SIN, or his name, sir? I can check up for you.. He may be being prepared for display...." The slave answered courteously, clearly eager to please.
"It should be easy to identify the slave - he could not walk properly, following an injury..."
The slave's attitude changed. He sounded superior, almost sneering. "Sir, this is Scabbard and Brass's premium outlet. All the slaves here are in first class, warranted, condition. Our customers appreciate quality, and are prepared to pay for it. Had I known you were only able to consider poor quality or damaged goods, or did not wish to make an investment in premium quality, I could have immediately advised you that this was not the place for you. Scabbard and Drass does recognise that not everyone can afford quality."
Jon snapped at him "Change that attitude, boy! Or shall I call a free man, and have you shipped for insolence? I am searching for a particular slave for reasons of my own. I can easily afford anything you have here - indeed it might amuse me to buy your insolent hide - I assume everything here is for sale - and put you to doing a proper job...."
The slave was trembling now, and I began to understand the power that free men had over them. "I'm sorry, sir. Please forgive me", he stammered. "I should have said, sir, that this is only one of Scabbard And Drass's showrooms in the city. Damaged, soiled and rejected slaves are disposed of through the Scabbard And Drass Outlet...."
"And where is that?"
"On the edge of the northern industrial area, sir. Shall I call you a cab.... Or would you like a map...."
"Just the address. My car has auto navigation."
The slave was clearly impressed that Jon owned a car, and quickly gave us the information Jon needed, and we began to leave. On the way I couldn't help noticing that a man and woman were standing in front of the father and son, who were both now totally naked and had been stroked to erection by one of the salesmen slaves. The father still had his arm protectively around the shoulders of his son, and I couldn't help but wonder what he felt like to be there totally naked and erect alongside his son - I mean we all know our sons and fathers have erections, but having to do it together like that must have been totally humiliating: I'd only ever occasionally glimpsed my dad naked when he'd taken me to the public pool as a kid, but I'd never seen his dick erect, and once I got to puberty I'd always been very careful to keep my erections private: dad must have known that I was jerking off in the next bedroom every night, but of course neither of us ever
mentioned it. The woman was saying to her husband "So you can have the older one, and I will enjoy the boy.... And if we get bored, we can get them to put on little acts for us. It would be fun to see that big muscular slave fucked by the younger one...". What kind of life were the two slaves going to have, I wondered - but then I consoled myself with the thought that at least they'd be together, although possibly a lot closer than the dad had been hoping for!
The drive to the northern industrial area didn't take long, and we were soon there. Most of the small factories now had slave barracks attached to them so that time would not be wasted in transporting slaves to their work and the whole place looked peaceful and relatively neat - without the need for vast car parks for workers' cars, much of the land between the buildings and barracks was simply grassed over, making for a semi-rural feel and, indeed, we could see several freemen exercising their dogs, playing with their families, and suchlike. Although the slave had said "on the edge of the industrial area", Scabbard And Drass Outlet was actually in a small retail mall adjacent to it: there were several "outlet" and discount stores clustered together as these things do, and Scabbard And Drass Outlet did not look in any way exceptional - a single storey building with a flat front and double doors leading in to it, just like most of the other stores.
The only difference I suppose was that the windows were opaqued over in some way and there was nothing on display as at the other places.
Jon told Jamie and Luke to stay in the car, and he and I then went in. What a contrast to their "downtown" place - there was a counter with a couple of older slaves behind it, but at least they were instantly courteous and welcomed us in. "Are you familiar with the system at our Outlet store, sirs?" one of them asked, and when being told we were not, he explained.
"You take this book of slips with you, sirs. Inside each cage of slaves is identified by a number, and is clearly marked with the price of the slaves in it - we group all the slaves with the same price together as a convenience to you. Each slave in the cage is then clearly marked with a number, and when you have made your selection all you need to do is mark on the slip the cage number and slave number, and then bring it back here to reception. We will then take payment and arrange for the merchandise you have selected to be uncaged and taken to the loading bay at the rear for you to drive around and collect."
Jon nodded, and the slave continued "At the same time as you indicate your choice, you tell us if you also wish to purchase any clothing for the slave to be dressed in for collection, or if you wish to use one of our convenient transportation cages - there's a returnable deposit on those, and they're very popular as it's not easy to judge the temperament of a slave in the cages and many owners prefer to 'make sure' by transporting their purchases home in a cage to avoid any possible unpleasantness." He paused and looked at us, indicating that he was expecting questions.
"What about inspections?", I asked. "Where's that done?"
"Ah, at the Outlet, sir, you do it through the bars of the cages. If any of the slaves fail to come forward to the bars, simply press the button on the cage and a guard with a taser will be with you very quickly to punish the slave. There are no facilities for private inspections and if you wish to try out the slave as a possible sexual partner than you will need to do it in the caging area. We do however have a generous 'returns' policy, and you can return any slave for a full refund within 24 hours if he or she is found to be blemished in a way that would not be obvious from a 'public' inspection."
"OK. So which was to the males?" I asked, anxious to look for Darren.
"Through the doors, sir. But at the Outlet we do not differentiate - they're all slaves, and males and females are caged together, arranged by price as I explained. I know some customers find it shocking to have to view females, or males, when they are searching for one of the other sex. But some clients find it convenient if they are selecting a male as a possible breeder... He can be ordered to perform with one of the females in the cage...."
I think Jon could sense my feeling of outrage as I heard this, as he said quietly "Remember, Steve, they're only slaves. Now, come on...."
Behind the doors it was very Spartan - no plush carpets here, just a concrete floor stretching between the cages. Well, I said "cages" but they were in fact areas about three metres to a side with bars stretching from floor to ceiling inside which the slaves were penned. As we'd been told, there was clear signage - "This is cage 1 Price per slave 25,000 ND" the first one said, and inside were about fifteen slaves - twelve men and three women - all naked as you'd expect. Jon glanced at them and said "Fairly prime stock, as you might expect from the price. I suppose they put these near the entrance to sucker us on in."
"But men and women.."
"Yes, Steve. Think about it - it's men who fight, break the law, get drunk in public, all that sort of stuff, so there are more male slaves than women ones. And they're more desirable generally for an owner - most males are stronger that most females, so are usable in more kinds of work. And of course with a male you get a full moth of work every month - none of that messy 'monthly' thing...."
"No, I mean caging them together like that, naked...."
"You're thinking of them as humans again, Steve! They're slaves - you surely remember how you were treated? Were you allowed human dignity at that school? Didn't you have to strip for potential hirers, you said, and even fight naked?"
I nodded. "Well then, what's the problem? Anyway, come on, though, it's obvious that there's no injured slave in there as they're mostly prime stock".
I could see what Jon meant as the slaves in this first cage were eager to be bought, and were pushing themselves up to the bars, poking their cocks and, in the case of the women their breasts, between them and trying to entice us to go and take a closer look.
As we went deeper into the pens it got wore and worse - for one thing there was a smell in the air: I thought at first it was that mixture of urine and disinfectant you get whenever a lot of slaves are penned in one place (the floors of the pens I noticed sloped gently to the rear of them where there was a drainage channel, and it was clear that the slaves were held in there for long periods so the only way of pissing was to do it in the pen). Bu it was more than that - some indefinable scent that said "fear" - perhaps from the sweat of the slaves, perhaps for the general pheromones they were exuding - and the deeper we went into the warehouse the worse it seemed to get. The feeling of despair and dread got worse and worse, as did the slaves: by the time we were about three quarters of the way through the slaves were in poor condition - fat, with sagging breasts and bulging bellies, or old so that instead of being lithe and thin they were positively
scrawny. Some of them had evidently decided that this might be their last chance for sex, as they mostly ignored us and made no attempt to attract our attention preferring instead to fuck each other as if they were animals penned together.
It seemed hopeless. There was no sign of Darren, and I felt we should go back towards the start as a fine handsome slave like him would surely fetch a good price. But Jon said we should go to the end. "After all, Steve, we know Darren was injured, but we don't know how serious it was really - and if he can't work, perhaps he's being sold at a rock-bottom price."
The last cage of all contained slaves whose price was only 100 ND, and they were truly pitiable: very old, or in extremely bad condition with missing limbs or terrible disfiguring sores. I was about to give up, but Jon, peering into this cage, said "What's that?" And beckoned me over.
There was a body lying at the back of the cage, half in the drainage ditch. It was turned away from us, and made no attempt to look towards us, even though most of the slaves in the cage were desperately attempting to interest us in some last-ditch effort to avoid being sent to one of the "camps", I suppose. It was hard to see, especially as the body was covered in dirt and filth, but it did seem tat it might be a young slave unlike most of the others in the pen.
Jon called out for the slave to come forward, but the body just lay there. He then ordered the other slaves in the cage to drag it forward, and when they refused, threatened to call a guard and have them all whipped. They obeyed him the, very reluctantly, and made no attempt to be gentle or supportive of the slave and simply dragged him across the rough concrete floor. One of them then kicked at the body and turned it over to face us.
It was Darren! But a Darren so very, very different from the handsome young gladiator I had known that I could scarcely believe my eyes. As well as the dirt and filth all over him (Darren had always been fastidious about showering), he now had a straggly growth of hair on his head instead of a proper gladiator crop, and his face was partially obscured by whiskers instead of being clean shaven. He was painfully thin - I could see his ribs sticking through his skin, and his arms and legs seemed to have lost their superb muscle tone in favour of being almost stick-like as the flesh tried to adhere to his bones.
Seeing us, Darren tried to get to his feet but fell over several times, and when he finally did manage to get to his feet he had to cling on to the bars for support as one of his legs seemed to be at a strange angle.
"Steve...", he gasped.
"What the fuck.....?"
"I don't want to live, Steve. I don't want to be a slave like this, crippled and unable to walk. Leave me alone - I've been starving myself for almost three weeks now, and the end can't be far off."
"Nonsense! Of course you want to live. We'll get that leg fixed..."
"They said it's such a bad fracture that there's no way. I don't want to be a cripple - a crippled slave hasn't got much of a future anyway. I've heard about the camps, and I'm not going there - leave me alone, I'm killing myself...."
I went to argue with him, but Jon pulled me away from the bars. "It's pointless. I've heard of slaves getting like this, but it doesn't matter. Now, we're cage 27....." He reached out and pried Darren's fingers from the bars, and Darren fell backwards onto the floor. We could now see a big number 8 on the filthy skin of his back which had been put there with some sort of "magic marker", I guess. "So that's 27 - 8", Jon added. "Now all we need to do is to take this slip back to reception and he'll be yours - mind you, I think 100 ND is probably excessive, as he might be so far gone that he won't recover."
I went to tell Darren what was going on, but Jon stopped me. "Let's get him out of here. If you say he's going to be sold, he might do something stupid to try to avoid it."
It took remarkably little time, actually. Jon insisted on paying with his credit card "to preserve my cash", and the change of ownership took remarkably little time - I saw a picture of Darren on a screen to verify that this was indeed the slave I wanted, gave my name and address, a printer spewed out a pile of paper, and that was that. In some ways it was shocking that I could buy another human being as easily as that, but I suppose, as Jon kept reminding me, I wasn't buying a human being, I was buying a slave.
They asked about clothes and Jon, who now seemed to be taking charge, said "No, the slave is so filthy it's not worth while as we'd have to burn them afterwards." And then added "But as the slave is incapable of walking, you'd better put him in one of those transit cages and we'll drive around and load it into the car and thus avoid any possibility of soiling the upholstery.
End Of Part Thirty One
(Note : ND are New Dollars, the currency now in use following the "great collapse" and the replacement of the dollar).