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 6

Thanksgiving was a pretty gloomy day for all of us. Not only was there no special food - we just had a normal helping of the standard rations - but we were all thinking of our loved ones, and how those traditional parties of family and close friends would be gathering to share the holiday. And here we were, in this slave auction facility, waiting to be sold off the next day.

As we were being led out to do our exercises, one of the guys said to a guard "Look, it's Thanksgiving! Can't we just call our folks, even for a minute or two? They'd accept a collect call. This is the time for families, and they must be worried sick about us all...."

"Hey, slave boy, you still don't get it, do you? You no longer have families - you're slaves. Slaves should only be thinking about their owner, and how they can best serve him.. You've no longer got a mom, dad, wife, kids... You're a fucking slave, right? "

"But I'm still a man, and Thanksgiving goes back to the founding of our nation... It's traditional - surely you care about that? Aren't you going home to your family tonight?"

"Of course I am. We're having turkey and all the trimmings, and pumpkin pie.... But what's that got to do with anything? I'm a man, and you're a slave. You've got to understand that things are different for men and slaves. Now, move your ass, slave boy, unless you want this prod in it."

So there we were, just as if it was another day. But it wasn't just another day, as we all knew: the big sale, the sale in which we were going to be auctioned off to new owners, was the day after Thanksgiving. I remembered how it was the custom in our family to all descend on to the big stores on that day, eager to snap up bargains. And now those bargain hunters would be coming here, to look us all over, and to try to get us at a cheap price. Somehow the appeal of the Thanksgiving sales diminished a lot when you were about to be one of the items on sale!

Than night as he held me tight, even Dylan was unusually silent and didn't even want to have a "bit of the other". When he finally spoke, he was extremely subdued. "Steve, it's Thanksgiving. Did your folks all get together?"

"Yes, when I was a kid. But once I joined the marines, it was a lot more difficult, as I was out of the country a lot. But I expect my mom and dad, and my brothers and their wives, will all be together..."

"And mine. Mom, dad, my brother, my sister...." As he said this, Dylan sounded so depressed.

"Hey, sooner or later you'd have left home and not been able to get back, you know. And your dad did sell you, remember..."

"Yes, Steve, but he had to. I know he did."

"Well that's OK then, I guess."

"But Steve, what's going to happen to us tomorrow?"

"I don't really know - they don't have slaves where I come from. Or slave auctions. But I expect we kind of stand around, the folks look us over, and then it will be like an ordinary auction - bids and stuff. And then the guy who's purchased you takes you away...

This seems to be a well-run place, I expect it will all go well..."

"Steve, I'm scared... I don't want to be sold. I want to stay with you."

"Now come on, Dylan, you know that isn't going to happen. And hoping for it won't make it so. I expect whoever buys me is looking for a big strong guy for some hard manual labour, whereas the guy that buys you is looking for a boy to work around the house... It's very unlikely that we'll be sold to the same person."

"So I'll never see you again, Steve?"

"Probably not. Look, that's what life is like - you meet people, you like them, but then the job or whatever means you have to move away... It happened to me all the time in the marines, when guys got reassigned.... It's part of growing up: you like someone, you have fn, you're buddies, but then you lose them."

"But Steve, I don't want to lose you..."

"We don't have any choice, Dylan. We're slaves, remember? And you told me that you wanted to be a man, a proper man, not a kid... Well, tomorrow's your chance to show it: when the auction's over, we'll just shake hands, maybe hug, like buddies do, then go our separate ways... You always hope you might meet people again, but you rarely do: that's life."

I knew he didn't like to hear this, but I thought it was better to tell it to him like it was. Life wasn't going to be easy for him, especially as a slave, and the sooner he got hardened to it, the better.

He lay holding me close all night, and in the morning, as we all stood there, mostly boned, he looked really sad and pathetic compared to all us big tough guys. Several of the guys tried to be nice to him, ruffling his hair and giving him a farewell hug and joking about how he was the only one of them who'd managed to fuck me, but it wasn't much use - it was as much as he could do to not break down, and it made me feel awful to see him.

We'd been got up specially early though, as the guards told us there was a lot to be done! We were taken first to a different part of the complex where, instead of a shower, we were all made to get into a big communal bath that was, at first, OK. But we could feel hot water flowing in to it, and soon it was very hot indeed. The guards refused to let us get out, and told us our best bet was to submerge ourselves up to our chins, and then all to sit very still in the near-scalding water. Some of us protested, and they told us not to be such wimps - this is how baths were in Japan, except that we would have had to lower ourselves in to the scalding water, and the idea was that we'd soak for half an hour to really clean our pores, and make us "squeaky clean" all over.

They let us out one by one, shaved us, trimmed our pubes again, and shaved our balls as stubble had started to grow there. Then we were subject to an enema - or, more accurately, three enemas in turn, "to make sure you're properly clean inside". I'd never had this done before, and absolutely hated having the nozzle inserted up my ass and the feel of the water flowing in. I was used to crapping in front of the other guys, but somehow having to squat there with the sheer violence of the water rushing out of me when I was allowed to "let go" made it somehow totally humiliating all over again. After all this , we went through the regular showers to wash off any traces of cut hair and shit, and then had to stand there as two slaves rubbed oil all over us - on the smooth guys their skin now shone dully in the overhead lights, but on me it didn't make all that much difference. At least they allowed us to put the oil u our own asses, though - the slaves would have done it, would probably have liked to do it, but the guard in charge seemed a nice old guy who said that we ought to be allowed to do this ourselves - as you know, it's not all that easy, and perhaps he liked seeing us lying on the floor, legs bent at all angles, as we probed at our asses with our fingers. Some of the guys said they didn't want it doing, but the guard insisted, as he said it was "house policy, to make it easy for potential buyers to slip a finger in, to test the firmness of our sphincters!"

It had not occurred to me that they'd gag us before we went on display. But, in turn, they fastened ball gags into our mouths, secured with leather straps around our head. "Easy, boy", the guard doing me said. "It's for your own good, you know. Slaves have been known to protest when a buyer examines him, and then we have to punish him. This way you're protected from the consequences of your own actions. And we weren't given our normal skimpy shorts and Ts, either: standard "costume" was rather like a towel, draped around our hips, and fastened at the side with Velcro.

We were marched into the "showroom" where some of the other slaves were already on display, and in turn each of us was put on a low plinth, only about a foot high, but enough to mark out a space for you from which you could not move - once you were on your little plinth, a shackle went around your right ankle, and held you there. The guard then cuffed my hands behind my back, and I assumed that that was that. But no - to my horror, he produced a leather blindfold, and ordered me to bend forward, so he could fix it around my eyes.

"Please, don't, sir...."

"Standard procedure, slave! A lot of potential clients are put off by the hostile stares of the slaves, especially at these sales where you're all new to it and haven't acclimatised properly. This way they can enjoy the viewings more, and if they do want to see your eyes, they can always ask for it to be removed. It's a big help, too, for the clients who want to test your reactions - some slaves react quite differently when their nipples are squeezed if they can see it being done, rather than if it comes as a complete shock to them!"

He left me then, and I felt utterly alone, standing there, not able to move for more than six inches or so because of the chain and the size of the plinth, cuffed, gagged, and blindfolded.

I've commented before on how it's difficult to judge time without a watch or anything, but standing alone and blindfolded, it's just about impossible. I don't know how long I was there for, whilst the rest of the sale stock was brought in and tethered, before there was a set of different sounds - happy chattering, excited laughter.... And that kind of stuff. Evidently, the public had been let in to start viewing.

It was bad enough being tethered there, offered for sale just as if I was a statue or a picture or something, but being unable to see, being unable to do anything because of my cuffed hands, and being unable even to complain because of the gag, made it all ten times worse. I'd be standing there, then there would be a touch, and a squeeze of a nipple, and as I'm very sensitive there, I'd double up with the sensation. Or a hand would suddenly feel my biceps, or rest on my belly, or, of course, reach under the short towelling "kilt" I was wearing to cup my balls. It was almost frightening, in a way, to be so isolated in one sense, and yet so totally cruelly exposed in another, and to be so totally at the mercy of a load of ordinary men and women.

I couldn't help but overhear the comments made about me, either. Men, who I guessed were probably little whimps, could be hurtfully dismissive of my body. A couple of women lifted my kilt, then laughed out loud about the size of my dick, saying it was too big for them. Several men suggested they might buy me and have me publicly flogged, "to show people that we're not afraid of those dammed Yankees and what their soldiers can be sent to do illegally down here." But one conversation, between a woman whose voice suggested she was in her mid forties, and a young guy who I supposed to be at college as he was her nephew, really sent a chill through me.

There had been some general stroking of my body by the woman, judging from the way that the diamonds or whatever on her rings scraped my skin, then I heard her say "This is the one, I think, Clark... He's so hairy and swarthily handsome - it's the new fashion, they say, as blondes have become so common since those dammed Yankees got all those Australian mercenaries to come over and fight: everyone at my bridge club seems to have a tanned blond Australian. This one will create quite a stir!"

"Yes, aunt. And if the fashion changes, you can always have him shaved - whereas you can't grow hair on a naturally smooth slave. Real 'investment protection', if you ask me."

"Be a good boy and take that kilt thing off him, will you, Clark. I don't think it's becoming of a lady to undress a slave, unless he's her personal bedchamber toy."

I felt fumbling at the fastening of the only item of clothing I'd been allowed, and then I was totally naked. I had no ideas how many people were now in the hall, but it must have been at least a couple of hundred, all of whom could now see all of me.

"Very nice! Well proportioned, I think we'd say.... So often these tall, muscular slaves do not live up to the promise of a 'proportional' body - this muscle must be all natural, and not grown in the gym, or else his private parts would not be so well in proportion to those shoulders, chest, belly and thighs."

"Hardly 'private' parts, Aunt, now he's standing there like that!"

"Oh Clark, you are a wit! But tell me, what do you think? I know your parents have always allowed you to attend slave auctions, and you've got that slave of your own...."

"He's nicely built, aunt, I'll give you that. But perhaps just a trifle on the large size, don't you think?"

"Oh no, I've got a large bedroom - he'll sleep curled up in once corner once he's pleasured me, and I'll hardly notice him. And my bath's very big, too, so there will be no problem when he's helping there...."

"No, aunt - I meant isn't he a bit big dick-wise? Wouldn't you find it, well, 'uncomfortable'?"

"What a strange boy you are, Clark! Of course not! You won't know this, but I think it's no secret in the family that your uncle was on this heroic scale. And, in any case, I need a slave with big testicles as I intend to make a little pin money from him by breeding my maids - Jemimah, Beatrice, Sadie, Prudence and Mercy are all of an age where they could breed, and I'll have this one studded to them. And then of course my friends all have maids, and once the fashion is to have your maids pregnant by a stud slave, they'll all want to borrow him."

"Oh aunt - that's so sad... I mean, I was expecting you'd get him a vasectomy before he did duty as your bedchamber toy, but if you're going to breed from him, you'll have to leave him not tied off.... and so you'll always have to wear those dreadful condoms! At High School they were always going on about not fucking without using a condom, and I tried one once on my slave Grant. But never again, I can tell you - there's just no sensation there. I can't speak for a lady, of course, aunt, but from the gentleman's point of view, using a condom is just terrible, and I'd have thought it was the same for you."

"You're right, of course. It takes away all the spontaneity, and all the fun of seeing the slave's seed spray out. And I find the smell of the latex distasteful, too. But there's a simpler solution - the U-Tu."

"You, too, aunt?"

"No, that's U-T-U. It stands for urethra tube, or something like that - there was a long article in last week's 'Lady Slave Owner' about how it solves the problem simply and easily. Basically, it's like a nail, a big, six inch nail, but made out of polished stainless steel. You tell the slave to get himself erect, then you insert the pointed end of the nail down his slit, and push it all the way home until the head of the nail - it's more like a little curved cap on the U-tu, actually, is right down at the penis head. A dab of contact adhesive under he cap, and you push it home so the adhesive bonds the cap to his skin, and that's it. The slave can't ejaculate, and he's highly incented to keep pleasuring you, and not to cum quickly: when his balls fire and the semen can't escape, it can be quite painful."

"But how does he, well, urinate?"

"Oh, you take it out, silly! You can rip the cap away from the skin, which is in any case delicate on the penis head and which tears quite easily... Then he's free to dribble hi sperm out, and his urine."

"Well it sounds cruel to me.... I'm almost wincing as I stand here listening to that, aunt! I mean, a nail pushed down my urethra...."

"Well 'Lady Slave Owner' did say that even the bravest slave tends to whimper when you're pushing the thing home - but the trick is not to get involved: simply order the slave to sit on the edge of the bed, and do it to himself. And as for the skin on his penis, well, it soon grows again, and as it's quite painful whilst it's doing so, there's less of a temptation for him to play with himself, so he's more ready for performing his proper role as a pleasure toy. But we shouldn't let these petty difficulties for the slave stand in the way of progress: it's very cheap, as other than the occasional tube of adhesive, there's nothing to buy after the initial investment, except that they do caution that the urethra can stretch, and that therefore if the slave seems to be able to insert it without pain, you need to buy the next biggest diameter."

"It still sounds cruel to me, though... I don't think I'd like it, even if I could be ordered to insert it myself."

"Oh, Clark, I don't suppose it will happen in your lifetime, but even free men may have to start using this method.... The earth's resources, you know.... Think how good this is for saving the planet - other than that tiny dab of glue, there's nothing to replace every time you use the slave! No latex to manufacture, no packaging, no shipments.... Think of all the earth's resources saved when there's no need to have condoms available on every street corner!"

If Clark's dick had been shrivelling up at the thought of having this done to him regularly, I can't tell you how badly I felt! I'd once had a swab taken from my dick as there had been some sexual disease scare or other at our base, and that was bad enough! The nurse only swirled a tiny piece of cotton swap on a very thin shaft about half an inch, at most, down inside my dick, and I'd almost fainted from the sensation. But as I listened, worse was to come.

"Well, aunt, much as I would have enjoyed coming to watch the studding of your slaves, as this one has an exceptionally good butt and it would have been a pleasure to see it in action pounding away, I don't think you can risk buying him - look, here on the sale sticker - he's one of those spoils of war, a captured enemy marine. You can't have a marine around the place, it's too dangerous: he's a trained fighter and killer, not a pleasure toy for a lady like you. Wouldn't you do better to go for one of those younger, slimmer boys they had in the other hall?"

I began to relax a little. I hated the idea of being used as a sex toy to some old woman, and the thought of serving her in her bath, like some toy lap dog, was simply awful. But at that moment I felt her claw-like fingers, loaded with their rings, start to stroke my dick, and gently to 'skin me back. "Oh, Clark", she almost moaned. "I hear what you say, but this is the one for me. I've never had a slave with an intact 'skin before, and he's so strong - feel this...."

She was pushing my erect dick down, and it was struggling to remain horizontal. To my horror I then felt a second hand join hers - Clark's it must be - and between them they pushed down, to press my dick into my balls. Those of you who have really powerful erections that push your dick way above the horizontal will know how much it can hurt when you try to force it down like this - well, not so much hurt, as act as a powerful stimulation. I cold almost feel my dick throbbing, as if it was about to cum.

"Well, aunt, I must say, this is exceptional! If you're determined to have a ruthless killer like this around the place, you'll have to have him 'calmed'. Have him milked for a few days and have his seed frozen for when you want to stud your maids - AI is perfectly good enough for them, you know - then send him off to the veterinarians for the big snip."

"No, Clark, I want to keep the 'skin. You silly boy - you're not paying attention."

This was inhuman. They were talking about my 'skin, my body, and having it cut off. They had no right to talk about a man like that, as if I wasn't there, as if it didn't matter what happened to me. I started to protest, but all that came out were inarticulate ramblings through the tight ball gag. There was a sharp slap on my butt, and the man's voice, in quite different tone from the one he had been using in conversation, rapped "Silence, slave, unless you want me to fetch a guard with a prodder. Keep still, whilst we're considering you!".

Almost without stopping, he changed note and went on "No, aunt - not the snip of the 'skin: have him gelded, to calm him, and that will make him safe to have around as a lady's domestic pleasure toy."

"It would ruin him! I particularly want a nice showing of semen every time he cums, that's one of the reasons I picked him - those testicles. I couldn't have that done to him."

Jesus fucking Christ! Thank god for that! My balls were going to be safe, at least.

"I'm surprised 'Lady Slave Owner' hasn't had an article about it, aunt! It seems to be well up in other matters like that. But just last month there was almost a whole issue of 'You And Your Slave' devoted to it - I'll have my slave look out a copy for you. Basically, they no longer slice the entire sac off, but make a small incision at the rear, and take the testicles out. Then the replace them with prosthetic ones - there's some new polymer they're importing from China that has, apparently almost the same 'touch and feel' as flesh. Or you can have stainless steel - that can be really spectacular on a smaller slave, dragging the sac much lower with the weight, although this one's already quite big enough, I would say."

As he spoke, his fingers caressed my balls, and I couldn't help shuddering at the thought that he was only doing this to "size" me for prosthetics!

"...then they sew it all up neatly at the back so there's nothing visible, and you can't feel anything either, as the scar soon goes away."

"But the cum, Clark! Even the Chinese can't replicate that."

"Don't need to! Most of the stuff he's squirting is the fluid from the prostate - at least eighty percent.

So there's only a slight loss of volume. You can have him calmed quite safely, still breed from him, and still have the enjoyment of his body."

"It all sounds too complicated."

"Not at all. They'll do it here, as their veterinarians have special licences. When we go and pay for him at the end, you just ask them to do it as 'extras'."

They must have been preparing to leave, as the man said "But before you make up your mind, do you want to see his eyes, at least? He's a handsome enough looking brute, but with that mask on... He might have a squint or something."

"Oh no, Clark. As he'll be serving me when I'm naked, I'll have him blinded, naturally. So it doesn't matter what his eyes are like now - they'll be replaced by glass ones. It's a nuisance, of course, as for the first few weeks they keep stumbling around, knocking over the little tables of photographs and knickknacks. But they soon acclimatise, provided you don't rearrange the furniture! And those of us who have had them before all swear by it - it really turns their focus inwards, and makes them so much more receptive to your needs when there aren't so many other distractions of life to interfere." I was protesting and thrashing around now, trying to convey just how totally inhumane all of this was. But it had the opposite effect, as I heard the woman say, as they walked away, "Yes, I agree with you - he does need calming: I couldn't tolerate that kind of noise and general body motion from a slave - in my boudoir, a man needs to know his place, at my feet, until I command him to move upwards!"

Oh shit. I'd be a fucking blinded eunuch, and a toy, a plaything for some old lady. This wasn't right - I was a man, a proud fighting man. What the fuck was I going to do? I stood there, in despair, clenching my fists impotently behind my back, turning this way and that as if searching for some solution.

"Easy, boy!". This was a strong, commanding voice. A voice used to exerting authority. I stopped, and almost instinctively moved to "stand easy", which is all I could do with my hands cuffed behind my back.

"Are you an ex-soldier, slave? One of those spoils of war, that they're selling off?"

I nodded and tried to grunt "Yes."

"You look fit and trim, anyway. In good fighting form, I'd say. Let me read your history..... Ah, marine corps. You were a real fighter, a grunt, in action, not some back-room drudge, doing logistics or paperwork?"

I tried to indicate yes, and no, simultaneously.

So, let me guess.... Long-serving private - never promoted, as you made a few mistakes in not being nice to the officers.... Always wanted just to fight...."

I grunted "Yes" as best I could. They had thought of making me a corporal or sergeant, even, but some fucking kid, wet behind the ears, didn't like my attitude or something.

"Good, well I think I'll have to see what I can do. If the price doesn't go too high for you, I might have just the opening that will suit your temperament and experience exactly.. Now, here... Let me do this.... A marine shouldn't have to stand there, exposing his dick to every Tom, Dick and Harry!"

I felt strong, firm hands wrapping the tiny kilt thing around me again. This is the first thing that anyone had done for me since my enslavement that made me think that I was still someone who might matter, made me believe that it was still possible to be treated as a man, even.

End Of Part 6