Date: Thu, 24 Mar 2005 12:47:40 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Spoils Of War, Part 18

THE SPOILS OF WAR  by Pete Brown.  petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

Read all of Pete's stories in
groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories

Part 18

All four of us slaves watch almost in astonishment as
the big black stripped off, casually tossing his
clothes to the young lad who darted around to catch
them and place them neatly on the bench.  As his body
was revealed we could see that this was no fat,
overweight slob - his huge body was solid muscle, and
he was generally gleaming with good health.  And his
dick was on the same heroic scale as the rest of him -
it hung there almost thicker than the arms of the thin
slaveboy, barely covering proportionately sized
low-hanging balls.

He came over to me, put one of his huge hands on my
biceps and turned me around.  I felt his other hand
moving over my butt, then his fingers forcing their
way down between my cheeks.

"Hey!...!  I spun around to face him, blazing with
anger.

"That's twelve strokes, boy!", he snapped. "And you'd
better behave  - I'm inspecting you.  You're a slave,
remember?  And a free man has the right to inspect a
naked slave.  Now, stand still, or else I'll have you
caned before the fight, and after...."

I saw Lewis gesturing at me with his eyes, and thought
I ought to be careful.  Seeing him naked I knew that
the black wasn't a slave - there was no brand or
anything on his skin, and no sign of a collar
anywhere, as I'd been told the law required for all
slaves.  So, gritting my teeth, I stood there as his
hand slid down between my butt cheeks again, then felt
his stubby finger probing at my hole.  As he pushed it
in, I gasped.

"Nice, slave!  I like a slave with a night tight ass,
even when he's been lubed.  That's why I like fighting
you first-timers particularly.  Now, boy, have you
been fucked before?"

I could feel myself blushing as I replied "Yes, sir."

"By a dick like this one?"  As he said this, he
grabbed hold of his dick and gestured at me with it -
he was semi-erect, and it truly did look monstrous."

"No, sir."

"Well, boy, let me tell you, it's going to hurt.  And
you're going to scream.  And it won't make a blind bit
of difference - I'll carry on ramming it in, then I'll
give you the fucking of your life.  And you'll be
shouting and howling and begging me to stop, and I
won't.  You'll know what real dick is like, once I've
finished.  And when I do pull out of you, you'll be
like a beaten puppy, so when I give you my dick to
clean, you'll lick it as if it's the most precious
thing you've ever seen - and the crowd will love it!
They love to see a black beat a white.  They love
seeing black dick filling a white hole.  And they love
to see a white guy crawl in front of a black one, and
lick his dick. And then when we come back here, I'm
going to put you over that very bench there, and cane
you.  Have you got all that, boy?  Two lots of
humiliation in one night:  fucked by black dick, and a
big strong marine beaten by a nigga!"

I glared at him, and straightened my body to stop
looking subservient.  "Sir, you've forgotten one
thing..."

"And what's that, slaveboy?"

"You've got to win first, sir!"

He roared with laughter, and put his huge arm around
the shoulders of the young slaveboy, pulling him to
his body.  You could almsot see the black's fingers
causing more bruising on the poor kid.  "Well, Spike,
let me tell you, that there's no possibility of you
winning.  Young Slug here will tell you that.  I won
him in my first fight, and he's seen me win every one
since, haven't you, Sluggo?"

"Sir, yes, sir.".  The young lad's voice was strong,
but he sounded terrified.

"And do the slaves I beat all scream as they're
fucked, Slug?"

"Sir, yes, sir."

"As loud as when I fuck you, Slug?"

"Sir, yes, sir."

"And let me tell you, Spike, that young Sluggo here
screams really loud when I fuck him:  in fact, he
prays that I win, don't you Slug?  Because when I win,
I have a nice muscular white marine ass to fuck, not
this thin little runt here!"

"Sir, why are you fighting, like a gladiator?  I
thought it was only slaves who had to go into the
arena , sir?", I asked cautiously.

"You're the first one to ask that, Spike!  Perhaps
those balls of yours really are working, as most guys
don't dare speak out.  Well, I was in jail when the
war broke out - I was lucky, as they still sent you to
jail then:  I'd have been a fucking slave like you, if
I was jailed now.  But it was nothing serious, really
- I'd beaten the shit out of a few guys, that sort of
thing.  I wasn't fighting in the war, but when I got
out there weren't any jobs - it would have been tough
anyway, an ex-con, but with all you fucking slaves
flooding in, it was impossible.  I've always liked a
good scrap, though, so I went to one of the gladiator
schools and asked to fight - they weren't keen, until
they saw I always win, and that means big bucks for
them.  And it means big bucks for me, too - my fan
club likes to see a big black dick rammed up a
whiteboy's ass, a whiteboy just like you...."

Talking about the fight like this had evidently turned
him on as his big dick was now thrusting upwards.  It
really did look terrifying - much thicker than mine,
and probably a couple of inches longer.  I knew that
if that went up me, I'd be screaming - I wouldn't be
able to help myself.  But there's no point in letting
the other guy see you're afraid, is there?

"Well, nigga, you aren't going to win this one!  I'm a
trained marine, and I've won all my fights so far....
So you'd better get yourself greased up if you don't
want to get ripped in half when I fuck you...."

"Right, boy!  After the fight, you'll really get caned
now.  I told you before, you need to respect free
men.....", he almost screamed at me.

He would have gone on but the guards intervened and
told us there was only five minutes to show time.
Lewis handed me the tiny white silk pouch we wore for
the fight, and I stood there pushing myself into it
and tying the strings to hold it on.  The big black
snapped his fingers and the thin young slave knelt
down and started to try to ease his master into his.
He must have done something wrong, though, as the next
moment there was the sound of a tremendous slap as the
black hit the slave on the side of the head, knocking
him off his balance.  He lay there, sprawled on the
floor, and a trickle of blood started to flow from his
nose.

"Sir, I'm sorry, sir....", he began to whine.

"You bastard!  Leave the little guy alone!".  I almost
threw myself onto the black, and the guards and Lewis
had to pull us apart.

"You fucking slave!", the black screamed at me.  "I'm
looking forward to tanning your hide after the fight
now.  And to fucking you....."

The young slave picked himself up off the floor, and,
almost cowering as if he was expecting to be hit again
at any moment, went back to attempting to "dress" his
master.  We both stood there then at the door, naked
except for those little tiny pouches, and I couldn't
help but be worried by what  I saw - the thickly
corded arms, the broad, muscular back, the thick
thighs coming down from the muscular butt;  and he did
kind of tower over me - he had a tremendous physical
"presence" and I could see that just being in the
arena with such a man would intimidate a lot of guys
and almost cause them to fail.

The guards led us along a corridor and up a short
flight of stairs, and then we stopped outside a pair
of double doors.  I could hear the roaring and
cheering of the crowd now, loud and clear. We waited
for a few seconds, then, with almost a theatrical
rush, they flew open and we marched together into the
arena.

It was kind of scary, actually:  it was so much bigger
than the ones I'd been used to, not in terms of the
actual fighting area which is the standard size, but
with far, far more banked rows of seats stretching
way, way up into the high ceiling - seats that were
filled with  men and women, all shouting and screaming
at us as we appeared.  Some of them were waving
banners, too, and I say several "Spike we love you"
ones being waved by groups of women.  The real
difference, though, was the lighting:  this whole
place was absolutely brilliantly lit, so much so that
it almost seared the eyeballs, for the TV cameras, I
guess.  And then I noticed that the barrier that ran
all around the arena was kind of translucent - there
were cameras all around, behind this.  Looking down,
the floor was of this same tough glass-like material,
and I could see cameras down there too:  oh fuck me, I
thought, when I'm lying there having my ass ploughed,
those cameras will be able to look up and give a view
of his dick pumping straight into me!

I broke out in sweat, not just from the fear and the
embarrassment of being almost nude in front of this
huge crowd, but because it was very hot under those
glaring lights.  On the huge video screens around the
arena I could see a changing panorama of shots of us -
from the back, from the front, zooming in onto our
faces, then our crotches, and then our asses:  this
was exposure of a kind I'd never even though possible.


The PA boomed out introducing "the slave Spike from
the well known Gleeson's Gladiators", fighting our
very own free man champion, from right here in
Atlanta, let's have a big hand for Leroy!"

The crowd screamed and waved and clapped, and it was
obvious they were all rooting for the black.  Then the
PA cut in "So let's get them started, ladies and
gentleman:  remember, the usual rules of the second
channel:  no gouging, but anything else goes.  One
round only, the fight is over when the loser is fucked
by the winner.  Right, gentlemen, on your marks....
GO!"

I was almost deafened by the noise, but fucking Leroy
was clearly used to this as the moment the PA said
"GO", he leaped on me and floored me.  I could feel
his huge sweaty body crushing me to the ground, and
then he started to pummel me.....

I don't remember the rest of the fight in detail.  As
my anger and fighting rage came over me, I did manage
to get out from underneath him somehow, then kicked
out at his head, hearing a very satisfactory kind of
"crunch" as my bare foot connected with his skull.  I
didn't care what happened then - although he got to
his feet and tried to bear hug me, I managed to evade
him, and all the time the anger was building and my
body was responding by going into complete "fight"
mode.  I was no longer a civilised human being - I was
a naked animal, fighting for his life.

The problem is that he was so much bigger and stronger
than me, and every time one of his blows even vaguely
connected with me it hurt like hell, and did serious
damage to my fighting ability.  Finally, I was knocked
down to the ground, and as I struggled to try to get
to my feet, I saw him about to throw himself onto me -
that would have been the end, I knew, as once he had
me pinioned under him, there would be no hope.
Summoning up all my remaining reserves of energy I
hurled myself upwards somehow, just as he got close,
and my shoulder connected with his balls as he went to
straddle me.

Effectively, that was him finished:  as he fell to the
floor, screaming with the agony from my charge, I
pounded his skull repeatedly with my clasped hands,
and this seemed at last to make him almost pass out.
He lay there like a mighty felled tree, but I knew I
had very little time as he began to stir.

For the benefit of those of you who don't follow the
"sport", or who haven't seen one of the fights on the
second channel, I ought just to mention that it's
known that it's unrealistic to be able to subdue
another man long enough to really fuck him.  So in one
corner of the arena there's a set of handcuffs on a
short chain firmly connected to the floor, and the
idea is that you disable your opponent to the point
when you can drag him along there and secure him:
without the use of his hands and arms, it's then
relatively easy to use his body for the proper end of
match ritual.

In my weakened state it was hard to drag the black
over to the cuffs, but I did it somehow - my body
found new reserves of energy, as it knew that the
consequences of not doing so would be to lose.
Somehow, the act of closing the cuffs onto his wrists
gave me a fresh impetus, and without even a thought I
bent over him and brutally ripped the tiny scrap of
satin covering his dick and balls  so I could get at
his ass - my guess about the cameras underneath us was
right, as out of the corner of my eye I could then see
his huge dick in its bed of tight curly black hair
clearly shown on the screen.

I was no longer ashamed or embarrassed.  I was the
winner.  I'd vanquished this big, tough guy, and
almost without giving it a thought I tore off my own
pouch and stood there with my dick reaching for the
sky - the big video screens went to a split image,
showing a close up of this alongside the black.  The
crowd were cheering now, and it was no longer "LEroy,
LEroy, LEroy...." but "Spike, Spike, Spike...."
overlaid with "Fuck him, Fuck him, Fuck him...."

The wave of noise was almsot overwhelming, but somehow
this helped me:  they were no longer men and women
watching me, but some anonymous, amorphous mass.  I
could do things in front of this faceless mob that I
could never have done in front of a smaller audience.
I knelt down, put my arm under his belly and hauled
his ass into the air.  Then, as the hidden cameras
watched and relayed every hidden part of it to the
crowd, I almost pulled his butt cheeks apart savagely,
saw his hole,  paler than the rest of his black skin,
positioned my dick at it, then thrust in.

They must have had directional mikes, too, as his
cream ran right around the arena, and caused the crowd
to cheer even louder.  Then, as my natural instincts
took over and I began to fuck him vigorously, they
could all hear his continuing cries superimposed on my
own heavy breathing and shouts of triumph.

Well, when you haven't shot for a couple of days, and
you're in a high state of arousal anyway, it doesn't
take much to bring you off, does it?  I don't suppose
I'd thrust more than ten or eleven times into and out
of him when I knew I was going to cum.  My back
arched, my head went backwards, and I gave a great
shout of "Sweet Jesus..... Fffuuuucccckkkkk.....", and
then it was over for me.  I held the position for a
few seconds, feeling that exquisite sensation as my
cum pumped along my dick, then I collapsed forward
onto Leroy, whose cries of pain had now subsided into
a continual whimpering.

I ought to have been calm and sensible then.  I'd
climaxed, I'd won, it was all over.  But as I pulled
out of him, I saw my dick was covered in blood, and
his shit.  Then I remembered the arrogance of him in
not being flushed out, as I had been, and not lubing
up, as I'd done.  And as my mind raced over the scenes
in the changing room, I remembered the way he'd
treated that poor young kid, Slug.  And the way that
the kid's body was so covered in the signs of rough
treatment that he must use him like that all the time.
  I felt my blood start to pump fast again, and I
wanted revenge - revenge for all of us slaves who were
being made to suffer under these Southerners.  Fucking
him wasn't enough.  He needed to pay for his
arrogance, and for the attitude of the whole of the
South!

He was utterly defeated, and made no attempt to hinder
me s I rolled him over onto his back.  Then I
straddled his chest, and pushed his shoulders onto the
floor and held them there with my knees,  so that I
could kneel there with my dick right over his mouth.

"Right, you fucker!", I snapped, my words being picked
up by the mikes and relayed to the audience, which had
now gone silent.  "Open up - my dick's coated in your
shit, as you're just a filthy nigga who didn't have
the courtesy to clean himself out before a fight....
I need my nice white dick cleaned of nigga shit,
boy...."

He just glared at me, so I reached around and grabbed
his balls, giving them a hard squeeze so that he
screamed out.  "Now, do you want your balls torn off,
or are you going to clean my dick, nigga?"

"No, please... "

"Open wide, fucker...."

"No, please, anything...."

"Anything?"

"Please don't make me eat shit!  I'll not cane you
afterwards...."

"Open wide, fucker.... I'm going to piss on you, too,
for even mentioning that...."

"No, please... I'll give you anything.... Look, you
like that slave, I'll give you him...."

I stopped in amazement.  "You'll give me the young boy
slave you call Slug?"

"Yes.  Please... I don't want to eat shit...."

I got off him, and stood there for a moment.  Then, as
carefully as I could, to show my utter contempt for
them, I bowed slightly to the audience, turned through
ninety degrees and bowed again, then again, and again,
to cover them all.  The silence that fallen as they
listened to our conversation now turned into catcalls
and jeering, and a great chant of "Make him eat
shit..." started up.

I just turned, and walked to the arena doors, which
opened in front of me - I guess the management thought
it was better to get me out of there, before a riot
started.

The guards who escorted me back to the changing room
didn't seem too pleased, and Lewis looked a bit
thunderstruck, too - he'd been watching it on the
closed circuit TV down there.  But young Slug rushed
up to me and threw hi arms around me.  "Thank you,
thank you...", he was almost sobbing, "Thanks,
Spike.... I reckon you've saved my life... I couldn't
take too many more beatings..."

"Get showered quickly, Spike", Lewis whispered.  "And
let's get back to our holding cell before they bring
that Leroy down here, or there'll be more
trouble....".  It seemed like good advice, and so I
washed the sweat, blood and shit off me as quickly as
I could, then pulled on my Gleeson's T and shorts.
But not quickly enough, as the door opened, and a
furious looking Leroy stormed in.

He cursed and swore at me, but my anger was over now
and words don't matter all that much, do they?  So I
just stood there and took it, but then I heard him say
"And don't think you're getting that slave, either.
In fact, I'm going to give him a proper beating
tonight, to remind him that slaves don't fuck around
with masters..."

"Hey, I won him off you, fair and square.  You offered
him to me in a deal, and  I accepted...."

"Masters don't deal with slaves.  Or have you
forgotten you're a slave?"

"Fucking typical.  What should I expect, down here in
the South.  I wonder why you didn't want to clean my
dick - it's such a load of shit down here anyway hat
you ought to be used to it...."

I thought he was going to attack me then, but the
guards held him back.  Then one of them said to him
"You know, Leroy, you've got a problem here - everyone
heard you give Slug to this slave... If you back out,
you'll not be thought of as a gentleman...."

"Fuck that!  A gentleman doesn't have to keep a
bargain with a slave!"

"Leroy, you're a nigga and you can't be expected to
understand.  But down here, a gentleman keeps his word
- whether it's to another gentleman, or to a slave...
Or even to a nigga!"  As he said this, you could just
tell that the guard held Leroy in utter contempt.  And
I think Leroy must have sense this, as he just said
"Right, he gets the fucking slave!  But he earned a
good caning before the fight, and we didn't bargain
about that!"

"You!", Leroy snapped at me "Lie over that bench - and
get bare-assed.  I only cane slave's asses raw.  We
said a dozen, didn't we, for not showing proper
respect for a free man...."

"You fucker!  You beat up that poor little guy, and
now I've beaten you in a fair fight, you're taking
revenge...."

"That's just been doubled to twenty four, slave.  No
fucking slave talks to a free man like that..."

I could see the guards nodding, so even though they
had no respect for Leroy, they evidently thought he
was right about the way to treat slaves.  I was going
to argue again, but Lewis caught my arm.  "Spike -
calm down.  You can't win this one.  Remember what
they taught us in the Corps - you need to know when to
give up, even if you don't want to, as it's more
important to survive to fight another day....  For
Christ sake, don't be a stupid headstrong young fucker
- you're already going to have to take twenty four
strokes, and he's capable of ordering a lot more.  And
you are in the wrong, you know...  You are supposed to
be polite to free men."

Lewis's intervention had calmed me down a bit, and I
realised he was telling the truth - I couldn't win
this one.  Two guards and the big black could do what
they liked to me, and they could tell the Colonel that
it had been justified.  I just didn't say anything.  I
didn't want to them to have the satisfaction of
knowing I was seething inside, and with as much
dignity as I could muster, I shugged down my shorts
and lay across the bench, wincing as its wooden slats
bit into my skin, painful from the bruising I'd just
got in the fight.

I heard Leroy talking to the guards.  "So, gentlemen,
six each for you, and twelve for me?  Everyone enjoys
giving a slave a good caning, and this one's
exceptional:  look at that butt!"

They evidently agreed, as  there was a lot of ribald
laughter as they joked about beating slave butt.  Then
I heard a "swish", and then my ass exploded into pain
as the thin cane cut neatly across my left butt.  My
whole body jerked reflexively, and I heard Leroy
chuckle "Good one!  That'll start to teach him.  Go
on, don't hold back...."

Well, the six administered by one of the guards was
bad enough, and when the other one started in on me,
he was of course fresh and the pain started all over
again.  Then I just lay there, my breathing all
ragged, as I tried to keep myself under control and
prevent myself from sobbing.

"Right, fucker - now it's my turn!", Leroy rumbled in
an eager, low voice.  And then I found out what pain
could really be about in a caning:  the guards had
done what I suppose is a fairly conventional job -
ordinary strokes across my butt.  But Leroy tackled my
thighs as I lay there, and a cane stroke on the back
of the thighs is infinitely worse than across the
butt.  And, more than that, he moved from side to
side, so that the cane hit the top and inside.  I was
in absolute agony, and even though I'd decided not to
give him the satisfaction of knowing that he was
hurting me, I just couldn't help it:  as each new blow
fell, I screamed at the top of my voice and my whole
body jerked convulsively.

"There, slave.  Now, has that taught you respect?
What do you say?"  The bastard was deliberately
taunting me.

I wanted to tell him he was just a bully, a thug, an
pig-ignorant nigga, but what was the point?  He did
hold all the cards.  And I was a bit concerned that at
any moment he might decide to renege on his "deal"
with me - after all, the guards were probably more on
his side now, as he'd let them cane me.  So I just
mumbled "Yes, sir."

There was that swish, and my body again leaped as the
cane fell squarely across my shoulders.

"Say it again, slave, and be properly grateful.  Did
you learn anything?  And are you grateful?"

"Sir, yes, sir.  Thank you, sir, for teaching me to
respect a free man, sir."  It was a struggle to get
the words out without making them sound sarcastic, and
I think an intelligent man would have picked up the
contempt in my tone anyway, but Leroy just laughed a
deep belly laugh.

"Get this scum out of here", he told the guards.
"Can't you take him away and lock him up, or
something?  And his handler - and that piece of shit
he won.... Get all three of them out of here, as I
need to shower and get dressed...."

I don't know if they were afraid of Leroy, or in awe
of him as he was a star, or what, but the guards just
grabbed me and hauled me to my feet.  I couldn't
shower or anything, and they had to half drag me back
to the room where we'd been locked before.  I was in a
pretty bay way, actually - Leroy had given me a real
going over in the arena, and now I was hurting
desperately from the twenty five cane strokes.  I
collapsed onto my belly on the sleeping pad,  and
Lewis knelt beside me.  He ran his hand lightly over
my thighs, butt and back, and I flinched as he did.

"You'll live, Spike!", he said, trying to sound
cheerful.  "They may hurt now, but the skin's not
broken so there won't be scarring or anything.  What
a bastard, though...."

"Spike.... Thank you..... Master."  I'd almsot
forgotten about young Slug, but he was now kneeling on
the other side of me.  "Thank you, master, for saving
me...."

"Hey, Slug, I'm not your master!  I'm a slave, like
you and Lewis.  We're just three guys together.  You
call me Spike, OK?  And what's your real name?  You're
not really 'Slug' are you?"

"No, Spike.  Leroy called me Slug when he bought me
and had me shaved, as he said I was all white and
smooth like a slug.  But he also called me Sluggo...."

"No, what's your real name?"

"Well before I was made a slave I was Bradley - my
folks and my buddies all called me Brad."

Just then, the door opened, and the guards threw in
three of the slave chow bars.  Lewis went to pick them
up, but Brad got there first, tore off the packaging
as if in a frenzy, and was devouring it ravenously.
Without a word, Lewis handed Brad his bar, and seeing
me nodding in agreement, he gave him mine, too.  Sure,
I was hungry after the fight, but not as hungry as
this poor kid - he looked as if he was starving.

When he'd finished eating, Brad realised what he'd
done, and looked embarrassed.  "Hey, I've eaten yours
too...." The words kind of stumbled out of him.

"Didn't that bastard of an owner feed you?", Lewis
asked.

"No really.  He said that if I was hungry I'd be more
eager to suck dick, and all I got most days was the
cum from him and his buddies.   But sometimes they'd
toss me the end of a packet of fries if they had
burgers, when they'd eaten all they could themselves.
 And sometimes I could pick up something that young
kids had left as we were leaving a burger place - but
it's not easy, as if he saw me, he beat me:  and when
you're naked, there's nowhere to hide even a crust."

"He kept you like that - totally naked and shaved
smooth, even when you were out in the streets?"

"Yes.  He said that a thin white boy like me showed
off his body better."

"But why are you a slave - you weren't old enough to
be fighting in the army, surely?  How old are you
anyway?"

"Sixteen, three months ago.  My dad's in the air
force, and he'd sent me to a military school down in
Georgia.  When the war broke out they said that all
kids at a military school were effectively combatants
- they sent all the guys from the South back to their
folks, but the rest of us had to stay, although they
brought guys in from several other schools, and
installed guards and such.  All of the classes were
stopped, but they made us do exercises and stuff all
the time.  Then, as soon as you're sixteen, they take
you off and auction you - sixteen's the youngest a
slave can be, they say.    I was put up on the block
with a whole load of Arab guys who had been captured
in the fighting over there, and Leroy was swaggering
past with a load of his hangers on, and they thought
it would be cool to buy me."

"But he beat you up all the time..."

"Yes.  He doesn't like whites much.  And there's
nothing  I could do - I mean, look at him!  Even you,
Spike, had a problem beating him.   Then he thought it
kind of cool to keep me completely naked, and, as I
said, he decided to have me shaved completely so that
I looked kind of exotic against his black skin."

Lewis and I could hardly believe all of this.  I mean,
it's bad enough turning soldiers into slaves, but at
least they're mature guys, and meant to be able to
take care of themselves.  But a kid like this - it
wasn't right.  And I remembered how I'd been at
sixteen - I hated being naked in the arena now, but at
that age, to have to go around buck naked, with all my
hair shaved off, I think I'd have died of shame!"

"And he fucked you?", Lewis went on, gently.

"Yes."  Brad lowered  his head, as if he was ashamed.

In spite of my pain, I got up and put my arm around
the kid and pulled him close to me.  "Hey, there's
nothing to be ashamed of, you know..."

"But when I get back home, all the other kids at High
School will call me a fag...."

"Brad, look, there's nothing to be ashamed of.... I
hadn't taken a guy's dick before I was made a slave,
but it's OK... It's perfectly natural, no, it's fun.
But  I think it's unlikely that you'll be going back
to High School...."

"Spike, are you saying I'm a slave for life?"

I realised that he'd vocalised the thought that had
been scaring me, as I as in the same situation.

"Brad, I don't think these bastard Southerners are
going to let us go - ever."  As I said this, I hugged
him closer to me, and I could feel a shudder of
despair go through his thin body.

End Of Part 18