THE SPOILS OF WAR by Pete Brown. petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories in groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
Part 2
The dealer was about to start his inspection and deeper classification of us remaining guys when a younger version of himself hurried up. "Sorry, boss, there was some trouble on the loading bay that I needed to sort out..."
"That's OK, but I'm glad you're here now. I'm going on vacation next week and you'll be in charge - and this is the most challenging part of our work, and where the skill and judgement of the dealer really comes into play. We make more money from this batch of slaves here that we do from all the rest of them today - provided we get it right, that is."
As they were speaking, the dealer and his assistant had been casually strolling amongst us, and we, wary of the guards with their whips and prods, had just stood there - not that there was much else we could do, still being cuffed at the neck.
"Yes", the dealer went on "Folk think it's easy being a dealer - just take the slaves from the government, and put them on sale. But where, that's the question! It's not all that difficult to decide about the breeders, and the field gangs as you saw earlier. But with prime male stock like this, well, there's an extra ten percent to be made if we get it right, and that's ten percent of a big number, as all these bucks will fetch top dollar. Those field slaves and the other routine stuff is the bread, as you might say, but this is the jam, or the icing on the cake."
I could tell from the subdued muttering and angry glances from the other guys that they hated being spoken about like this as much as I did: it was just as if we were prime steers or something at a livestock sale, not men, men who up until recently had been serving their country.
"Right", the dealer said to his companion. "Let's get stuck in. Now, first rule: remember the outstanding orders. Can you remember the commissions we've accepted to search out suitable stock for individual buyers? That's where the most profit is, so if any of
these slaves fit any of those requirements, that's the first priority. Remember, the buyers who ask us to execute a commission are the very rich and powerful, and we want to satisfy them. They've got money, and they're committed to buy, or they wouldn't have asked us. And they'll do repeat business, too, and they're not going to quibble over a thousand here and there on the price. So commissions first, and then we need to have an eye on the market - there's a shortage of studs now that it's been recognised that the supply of war criminals like these, and the ordinary criminals from the street, isn't going to be sufficient to meet demand."
"Are you worried that that will affect our business?"
"No, not really. We're benefiting from a huge influx of new stock now that the war's over - the spoils of war, as you might say, but that won't last. They've really only just started to get the breeding programme under way: that's why there's that shipment of breeders earlier, to one of the big farms down in Florida. But it's a really long term thing - think about it: you have to keep and feed the slaves for sixteen years until they're useful. Personally, I doubt that there's any real money in it, unless the price absolutely skyrockets over that time. Even if they're just housed in barns, and I guess that's fairly easy down there as the weather's generally warm, they'll need guarding, exercising, and all that stuff: it will be an expensive business. Much easier to take grown men like these and teach them how to be slaves. Anyway, the point is, we need to think about studs as they're in demand now, and there are bound to be some in here who'd fetch a good price at the New Orleans Breeders' Convention next month."
We all listened on in horror as the two men just discussed the treatment of human beings as if they were no more than animals. But then, I suppose that to them, that's what we were - just "the spoils of war", as if we had been stuff that as soldiers we occasionally "liberated" from shops or warehouses when we were fighting. Standing there totally naked and restrained, I guess we didn't look all that much like proud fighting men any more, and really did look like slaves.
The dealer went to one of the black guys, grabbed him by the elbow, and led him over to stand next to another one. Turning to his companion, he said quite casually, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, "Now, see what I mean? We've got these two beauties in the corral - and do you remember that commission we have to find a matched pair for rickshaw pulling?"
"Oh, yes...."
"Well, look at these - almost ideal! Tall, muscular, and very alike. Nice strong, long legs - always an advantage for that kind of work. Good muscular butts to please the eye of the driver. Nice dicks and low-hanging balls - the fashionable ladies of Nashville always run their ponies naked - not too long so that they're bordering on the obscene, but big enough to show that they're real men. I think we've found the pair that we're looking for, especially when we do some work on them: order a complete body shave, absolutely everything off: that always makes these niggas look even more alike. Get them fitted with bits - they'll need the back teeth pulled to give a snug fit - then have them photographed and zap it along to the client for approval. It ought to be a simple deal."
The two guys started to protest then, especially when he mentioned pulling their back teeth, but the guards soon silenced them with their prods, and they were led away, back into the building.
"We may as well take a look at that other black", the dealer said to his assistant smoothly, "He's really tall, and very muscular. If you ask me, he's ideal stud material."
"But boss, isn't his dick really too big..?"
"He's going to be a stud, for Christ sake!"
"Yes, boss, but some of the breeders he has to stud...
they might be small...."
"I don't think you understand the market for studs and breeders properly! We're talking about the mass market here, the one that's going to produce the next generation of field hands, mine workers, and the like.: we can't rely on wars like this to keep stock levels up, can we? They need big, strong men, just like this slave, and it's well known that most of the characteristics of the sire get passed on in his progeny. The dam will be a big woman, too - you saw me selecting out those big-hipped breeders earlier - and so there's no problem with the dick size at all. In any case, it's almost all done by AI - they milk the studs several times a day, then use the so-called 'turkey basters' to inseminate the breeders: so much more efficient, and a stud like this can sire dozens of pups in a day. The only time he'll actually get to really fuck one of the breeders is when it's his turn to perform for the visitor groups who go around - you know, they pay their five dollars for a guided tour of the breeding barns, and then they expect to see some action. So most places lay on a few real life fucks just for the tourists."
"But do they want all those big women, too, boss, as there must be as many of them as there are male progeny?"
"You really are new to this, aren't you? Of course not - only the bucks have to be big and strong, so they take an early look at the pregnancies resulting from this one's seed, and the females are aborted so that the dams can be studded again very quickly. I doubt that any of his female progeny will ever come to term."
"Mind you", he continued, "He might get lucky, I suppose, and get onto the hire circuit - a lot of owners who are thinking of breeding their maids or hairdressers or whatever like to see it actually happen, but most of those studs are white. Mind you, this one's in with a chance...."
"Why, boss?"
"Well, look at him! If you could bleach his skin, he'd look like a white man, not a nigga. He hasn't got those very pronounced lips, or the very flared nostrils... If you bleached him and shaved off his hair, he'd look like a white slave - although that exceptional dick might give the game away a bit, as it's usually only blacks who are quite so well hung. Owners who are breeding their domestic slaves don't want some lowering hunk with 'nigga' stamped all over him as progeny - they want handsome, 'regular' features... So he may get selected. Either way, let's send him to New Orleans, and see what we get for him."
"OK, boss." The assistant went to call a guard to take the guy away, but the dealer stopped him.
"Aren't you forgetting something?"
"Boss?"
"He's a potential breeder! So what do we do first, before we spend all that money on shipping him half way across the Confederacy?"
"Oh, yes... Is he firing? Of course!" He turned to a guard, who spoke into his radio, then the two men carried on inspecting the rest of us for a couple of minutes. They only stopped when the young slave who I'd seen earlier, Dylan, I think he was called, appeared. He'd been running, and you could see his ribs heaving up and down on his thin wiry body after his exertions.
"Milk this slave for me", the dealer snapped at him, and he fell to his knees in front of the big black and reached out to take hold of the man's dick.
"No!", the black shouted, and tried to jerk back. At once the guards set into him, slashing vigorously at his butt wit h their whips, and then causing him to fall to the floor, writhing in pain, as they stabbed at him with the slave prods.
The dealer just stood there, calmly watching. "It takes a lot of men that way at first", he told his assistant. "They just can't seem to accept that they're just commodities, being sold for what their bodies can do for their owners. From the way that nigga reacted you'd think there was something wrong in being milked so that we could review his seed production. Of course, if it were you or I, it would be - after all, a man's dick is pretty personal. But for a slave, it's different - if his owner wants him milked, then there's no shame in it: a slave needs to remember that he exists only to serve, and fulfil his owner's wishes. But you'll find that it takes some of them a long time to really appreciate that, and, indeed, some slaves never get to the point of being totally comfortable with obeying completely and absolutely - we have to be very careful to try to weed out such really reactionary slaves, as it does our reputation no good to sell a slave to an owner who then finds that he's not properly biddable."
"How do we do that, boss?"
"Sadly, there's just no easy way. You really can't tell which slaves are obeying and obeying gladly, and those who are bottling it all up, and will one day fail catastrophically. The best I can say is that you kind of develop a feeling for it - something about the way a man reacts when you first touch his body. I'm not saying that it's easy - some slaves are initially very violent when you probe their ass, for example, but soon settle down to it. And some may be less overtly violent initially, but truly hate it, and never become true slaves, in the deepest sense of the word. All you can do is try to develop a kind of sixth sense, that tells you which one might be trouble."
The big black had managed to get to his feet again now - not easy when your hands are cuffed to your collar - and was standing there looking resentful. The dealer looked at him, and spoke quietly: "Right, nigga - we need to have you milked, and, as you can see, if you try to stop it, you'll get hurt. Now let young Dylan here get to work, and it will all be over in a couple of minutes...."
"Sir, please, sir, don't do this to me...." The poor guy looked almost as if he was going to burst into tears, and, frankly, I didn't have as much sympathy for him as I should have had. I just had no conception, I confess, of exactly how humiliating being publicly milked like this in front of other guys could be, until they did it to me.
"Shut the fuck up, slave. Now, Dylan.... Milk him!"
As we all watched, the young slave took the guy's very large dick in his hands, then started to stroke it gently, occasionally leaning forward as he knelt there to plant big wet kisses on the dick head. Well, as you'd expect, the guy went hard almost immediately (and several of us watching were having problems in staying cool, too!), and Dylan began to stroke it more vigorously, ultimately using both of his long slender hands so that one caressed the shaft and the other focussed on the dick head and flange. The black guy started to moan gently and sway on his huge legs, then gasped aloud "Oh Jesus.... Yes...."
The young slave tried to catch all the cum as it shot out, almost as if from a gun, but the sheer speed of it, and the huge volume, defeated him. He got one cupped palm full, but his face, neck and chest were splattered with the slick of the ejaculate. Those of us standing close got that wonderfully characteristic smell of hot cum adding to the sweat that was suffusing the air, and now all of us were at least semi-erect from what we had seen.
Dylan got to his feet in one lithe movement, moved to be in front of the dealer, and dropped to his knees again, holding the palm full of cum up and out, as if in supplication. We could all see that he, too, had been affected by the milking, as his young dick was ramrod straight and, like a lot of young guys' do, it was jutting upwards, way above horizontal.
The dealer leaned forward and took a pinch of cum between his thumb and forefinger, and remarked to this assistant that it certainly was of a good thick quality, and that evidently there were no problems with quantity. Then he casually wiped his cum-stained fingers in Dylan's hair as he continued to kneel in front of him, and told his assistant to send the black to the cell block, to await shipment to New Orleans.
The dealer and his assistant then began to inspect the rest of us in turn. Those of you who have never seen a dealer in action probably don't know that an "inspection" isn't just looking at you. It's more like an "evaluation", where they probe and test your body. He was very skilled at it, as you might expect, and it didn't take as long to do as it felt like at the time - somehow, time elasticates and feels longer when you're being punished, or humiliated, doesn't it?
Starting at my shoulders, his hands probed into my muscles, then they slid down to feel my pecs, and he commented on how good and firm they were. I didn't like it when he tweaked my nipples, as I'm very sensitive there, and I drew away from him involuntarily, as you do when something vaguely unpleasant is happening to you. This elicited a "Steady, boy" from the dealer, but he didn't have me whipped or prodded or anything, as I managed to control myself and stand there.
When he felt my belly, he had one hand running lightly over it whilst the other was lightly resting on the small of my back, as if to hold me stationary. It would have been ineffective if I had moved, of course, but somehow I felt "controlled" by this action and somehow it made me feel very much as if I was no longer truly my own man. He went behind me then, and both hands were used to run down my back, his fingers occasionally probing around to my ribs, and then on, over my butt. I heard him commenting to his assistant "Good musculature here, too", before moving on down my thighs, where his fingers almost tried to curl around my big muscles as he attempted to gauge their power.
It was the inspection of my dick and balls that I was dreading. Look, as I've said, I'd never had another man touch me there before - well, not unless he was a doctor. I know there are a lot of stories about how marines "play" with each other, but it wasn't like that in my unit, honest! As I've told you, I fucked when I could, and the rest of the time I just jerked myself off in my bunk at night, and all the other guys were like that, too. As you lay there you knew your buddies were jerking off, as you were, but we never talked about it or anything - we all knew we all did it, and that was enough, somehow. There was never any suggestion that we might have a circle jerk or anything like that, and even when we had captured prisoners, none of my unit ever made any attempt to use them sexually. So as the dealer's hand touched my dick and his other hand went to cup my balls, I flinched, and he again said "Easy, boy... You're not used to this, are you?"
"Sir, no, sir."
"Well, it won't hurt.... Honest...." As he said this, I felt his warm finger stroking my dick, and then his thumb was faintly scratching at my 'skin, as he started to 'skin me back. If I felt naked before, I now felt utterly and totally exposed, in a way that I'd never previously experienced. Those of you without 'skins just can't imagine how awful it is to have your dick head exposed to public view: you're just not used to it, as the only people that ever see it usually are any women you're fucking. Even in the communal showers in the barracks I always turned away from the other guys when I 'skinned back to keep it clean, that's how sensitive I was about it.
"Nice dick head", the dealer commented. "A proper diameter, like his shaft. It's so disappointing when you 'skin back some of these guys and find that the head is undersized. But this one's a good one. And his balls are nice, too - I can feel that they're really good ovals, and I'd expect him to be a good cum producer. Mimd you, he is so hairy, and it's difficult to get a proper impression of how he looks, but once he's shaved clean down here, I think his current display will be even better."
"So are you thinking about using him as another entrant for the breeders' show, boss?"
"Yes, I think so, definitely."
"Shall I have him milked then?" I almost went into shock. The thought of having that young slave kneeling there, jerking me off, with everyone watching, was more than I could bear.
"No, wait until I see what else might be eligible."
I breathed a great sigh of relief as he moved off to start his inspection of the next guy. This truly had been one of the worst moments of my life - I wasn't used to having my body examined like that - sure, I had lots of body contact with my buddies when we were practising unarmed contact and things like that, but actually having hands run all over you for no other reason than to assess you as some as a slave was utterly vile. And all this talk of sending me as a potential stud to the breeders' convention - no, I couldn't stand it; it wasn't right, using a man to produce new slaves like that. What the fuck was I going to do?
I watched as all the other guy went through the same process, and he clearly considered that he had the right "uses" for some of them as he barked orders to his assistant, who in turn got the guards to lead them away. After a time there were about fifteen of us left, and the dealer called over one of them, a blond guy, about my size, an told him to stand next to me.
"Right, now, here's a test for you.", he said to hi s assistant. "I've got these two - a blond one and a dark one, and I need one more stud to go off to the breeders' convention. Which of these shall we try to sell as a stud, and which one joins the consignment going off to Atlanta for the Thanksgiving Day sale?"
"You've handled them both, boss - which one has the better balls?"
"Let's just say that they're both alike on that score.
The dark one's still got his 'skin, but if he's to stud they can soon tidy that up as it's really trivial to take it off . No, there's perhaps something you're overlooking, something that really makes the difference."
"Well, boss, I guess that anyone who's into breeding wants a good body, and both of these studs have that. I wouldn't think there's anything in it."
"Quite so. Anything else?"
"Well, the hair colour, I suppose - blond versus black. And the black one's really hairy - all that thatch on his pecs, that treasure trail, across his belly, the wiry growth all over his arms and legs... And you said yourself that his balls are really hairy.
The blond one looks a lot smoother, almost as if he's shaved..."
"Yes , that's it. Now, what do you think the market tells us about the kind of stud that's required?"
"I don't know, boss."
"OK, well, you aren't really expected to know this yet at your stage in your career, as it's pretty advanced slave dealing theory! Look, any breeder going in to breeding slaves, whether it's for labourers in field gangs or just a ordinary servants has to take the long view - what will the market want to buy, when the pups are ready to go on sale sixteen years down the line? Now some of those choices are obvious - there'll always be a need for the kind of tall, heavily muscled nigga that is typified by the black we saw earlier. So he's an obvious choice as a stud, and that's easy. But faced with these two, the choice is more difficult - in sixteen years time, will the market respond better to nice blue-eyed fair slaves, or to more masculine dark ones? That's what we have to guess, and that's the decision facing our buyers."
"So what will they choose, boss?"
"How the fuck should I know! I was just teasing you. In the current market I think there's actually as many breeders who would want to breed from the blond as from the dark one. There are advantages one way, and advantages the other. Blondes make a nice contrast if a man owns a lot of niggas, but on the other hand dark, swarthy slaves are less trouble generally - you don't need to worry so much about exposing them to the sun, and they're a bit less susceptible to the cold when you're working them naked as that thatch helps to keep them warm. But it's impossible to predict what will be popular in sixteen years time, so most breeders will be producing blondes and dark ones, so it doesn't matter which one we sent to Atlanta: potentially, they'll both fetch good prices as studs."
"So why not send them both, boss?"
"Space! I've only got a few spaces reserved in the transporter. And since that scandal last year when some slaves died from being crammed in very tightly when their truck broke down in the middle of summer, they've been vigorously enforcing the livestock transport regulations - you can't get a trucker now to overload his transporter for any price. So I can only send one of them, so which is it to be?"
"I don't know, boss."
"Neither do I - so, heads or tails?"
As I watched, he got a quarter out of his pocket, flipped in the air an caught it deftly on the back of his hand. My whole future life depended on the toss of a coin! Oh, fuck me, this was like some terrible nightmare. If only I could wake up soon!
"Heads the blond goes, tails the dark one", the dealer said, and revealed the coin.
I breathed a huge sigh of relief when the guards were told to take the blond away for holding for transport to New Orleans. Nothing could be as bad as being a stud, surely!
"Actually, that was probably a wise move anyway", the dealer remarked to his assistant. "You know I said that you need to develop a kind of sixth sense about slaves? Well, I sense this one's potential trouble: he was in the marines, and they're always hard to tame, and hard to classify. Some of course just knuckle down well, as obeying orders from their owners is just like being in the service: they only joined as they aren't really capable of making life's decisions for themselves, and enjoy the security of obeying - they even take a pride in it! But some are in there because they have a suppressed violent streak that they possibly don't realise they have - they don't fit in well in civilian life as they'd be bar-room brawling and so on, but in the marines they can go out and beat the shit out of the enemy and that satisfies some inner need. They're difficult to control even then, and that type of soldier is always in trouble with his sergeant and usually never gets promoted. I think this one's possibly one of the latter type - he looks intelligent, and was in the marines for several years, but is still a grunt private. If he's potentially violent, and hard to control, then we'd be doing no one any favours by selling him as a stud: those are not the type of characteristics we want to breed in to the next generation of slaves - they need to be subservient, and know how to live as slaves and obey their owners utterly."
"Still", he went on, "As I said, that kind of thing only comes from experience, and I hope you'll start to develop it as you go along. But as for this slave, we'll let someone else worry about it - there's all types at the big Thanksgiving Day sale in Atlanta, and as it's the traditional start of the shopping season in the run up to Christmas, they often fetch very high prices. Now, get the guards to coffle these up, and we'll go and attend to all the paperwork: it isn't all fun as a dealer, you know!
End Of Part 2