Date: Sun, 30 Jan 2005 00:39:53 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Spoils Of War, Part 2

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