Date: Fri, 8 Apr 2005 07:23:51 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Spoils Of War, Part 24

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

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

Part 24

When we were in the truck I soon discovered that I was
indeed going to pay for the food, and the ride.  As
soon as we were a few miles down the highway,
inconveniently far from anywhere, the trucker turned
to me and said "So get out of those jeans, boy.... Let
me get a real good look at you..."

Now millions must have seen me naked when I was on TV,
but that's different from being cooped up  in the cab
of a truck, isn't it?  So I shook my head.

"Boy, do you think that stuff is for free in this
life? I bought you food, I'm giving you a ride - and
its all against the law!  Now, unless you want to
start walking again, get out of those jeans so I can
have a good look at you."

I'd still got the gun I'd taken from the dead soldier
tucked into the back pocket of my jeans, and I suppose
 I could have used it on him - either to insist I
stayed there, or even to kill him and drive the rig
myself.  But somehow I felt guilty about killing three
guys already - not my first, of course, as I'd killed
a fair few in  the war - but, hell, these were
Americans!  I really didn't want to add to the total,
and, anyway, there seemed to be a lot of new rules and
stuff that I knew nothing about, and I really ought to
stick with this guy and see if I could find out more.
"Time spend on reconnaissance is seldom wasted", they
taught us in basic training, and I guess they're
right.

The gun almost slipped out of my jeans a s I shuffled
them down and sat there on the seat, feeling the
leather kind of clammy against my bare butt.  The
trucker looked at me, muttered "nice package,, boy",
and then causally reached down and started to fondle
my dick.  He'll never know how lucky he was that I
didn't kill him, or at least maim him, then.  But I
struggled to keep my cool, and, as you'd expect, even
in these circumstances the physical stimulation caused
me to start to bone up.  The trucker continued to
stroke my dick, and even groped around my balls,
commenting that it was good that I was shaved down
there.  Then he began to jerk me off for real, and I
almost snarled  "Hey, man, no way!"

"Boy, you let me play with your dick, or you'll be
down on that tarmac as quick as eggs is eggs..."

Well, did it matter really?  I mean, he was only just
doing something I might well have done for myself
later that day, so I tried to relax as his chunky
hands ran up and down me.  But another guy can never
jerk you off as well as you can do yourself, can he?
He doesn't know how much pressure you like, or whether
you like your dick head fiddled with.  And this
trucker had a problem, too:   he had several big gold
rings on his fingers, and they were really
uncomfortable, particularly against the very delicate
skin just under the flange.   He didn't stop, either,
when I shot - but went on, jerking away at me as I
almost screamed with the sensation:  I never go on
after I've shot, as I'm just too sensitive.  My cum
was scattered all over the dash where it had squirted
out with its normal force, and the trucker laughed.

"Wow, boy, have you been saving that up?"  Well, I
hadn't jerked off for a day or so, and I guess that as
I was used to very regular sex, it had built up a bit.
 So I just kind of nodded, and he went on "I can't
have my rig all messed up, you know - clean it up,
then!"

Once more I had to control myself to keep calm, and I
looked around for something to use.  There wasn't any
paper or anything, so I started to scrape it off on to
my fingers, then reached down to rub my fingers along
the rubber mats on the floor.  The trucker seemed to
be enjoying watching me do all this kind of stuff, and
kept muttering "That's a good boy, doing as daddy
says..."

We drove along in silence for a time after that,
although when I went to pull my jeans up, he told me,
firmly, "No, leave them down, boy - I like the view!
And I might have another go at you soon, anyway...."

Actually it wasn't a particular problem, I suppose, as
when 'm in a bus or truck I do tend to get "rider's
knob" and my dick likes to get erect.  Having it
confined in jeans and stuff is awkward, so being able
to just have it there, so it could do what it liked,
was OK by me.  But what wasn't OK was when about half
an hour later he said "Boy, it's your turn now....."

"What?"

"I need it, boy.  I'm sporting a bone that needs
attention, boy... Get to work..."

I looked across, and the guy's jeans were bulging at
the front.  I didn't like him - my previous sex
partners had, after all, been like me:  fit and
muscular;  but this guy was fat and flabby and I felt
like telling him to fuck off.  But on the other hand,
it looked as if it might be about to start raining,
and he was heading to where I wanted to go.... So I
pulled down his zip, and fished around inside to get
his dick out.

He smiled at me as his dick stood there rigid out of
his jeans, and I went to start jerking him off.  "No,
boy.... That's no way to treat a man's dick.... Get
down on it, boy!"

Look, irrespective of what a guy's body is like, one
dick isn't so different from another if you're going
to suck it.  It's a lot more fun to be naked with a
nicely fit guy and play around together, but if you
have to, it's no big deal really to suck a dick, is
it?  I was much fitter and stronger than the trucker
and I could easily have refused, but, as I've told
you, I did want to get to New York, those rain clouds
looked ever more threatening, and there wasn't a whole
lot of traffic on the road - even if they'd been
prepared to stop for me, which seemed unlikely.  So I
lowered my head and slid my lips down over his dick
head and started to suck him.  As I bobbed up and down
on his shaft, I could smell the sort of musty smell
from his jeans overlaid with that characteristic smell
of dried piss that's always around a guy's crotch, and
he seemed to really be enjoying what I was doing:  it
didn't do anything for me, frankly, but he was moaning
with pleasure and had one of his hands on my head,
sort of holding it as if he was in ecstasy.  I began
to get worried that he wasn't focused on driving the
truck, but once I'd got started, there didn't seem to
be anything to do but to keep on going.

He shot amazingly quickly, and I let my head lie in
his lap as I licked  his dick dry of the last bits of
cum.  He rested his hand on my naked shoulder now, and
said "Boy, you sure do know what you're doing...."

I just lay there and didn't reply.  I was thinking
that it hadn't been so bad, actually.  I'd done
something that cost me nothing, and I was getting a
whole lot in return - a more or less secure ride into
the city.  As a way of earning a living it was
certainly better than being beaten up in the arena,
after all.

I'd been to New York before, but nothing had quite
prepared me for the changes that I saw once the truck
driver had dropped me off.  For one thing, the traffic
had all but disappeared from the avenues, and the once
ubiquitous yellow cabs had been replaced by the
pedicabs pulled by one or two guys - there were
actually New Yorkers willing to do this kind of work,
it seemed, and make themselves almost like slaves!
And for another, a lot of the big apartment buildings
and office blocks looked as if they were mostly
deserted. I'd still got quite a lot of money from the
soldiers I'd killed, and I decided to have a decent
night's sleep for my first night in the city and went
to check into a hotel:  I then found out the reason
for this strange emptiness. The clerk who I asked for
a room instantly said "How high, sir?" And seeing me
looking puzzled, went on "Out of town?"

"Er, yes..."

"Well, sir, the rates in this hotel depend on how high
you go.  Floors one to four are the most expensive...
And those in the towers are the least.  For those of
us who have worked here a long time it's odd, sir, as
of course the towers rooms used to be the special
executive floors.... But with no elevator service now
because of the costs of the electric power...."

I suddenly realised why those tall apartment blocks
and offices looked mostly empty:  I guess much above
twelve floors they'd be pretty useless!  The clerk was
looking at me though so I said "Well I'm pretty fit,
so I think I could go up fifteen floors or so...."

"Certainly, sir!  And we'll give you an excellent
rate.  Now, if I can just have your identity card,
sir, I'll book you in...."

"No, I'll pay cash..."

"Certainly sir, but we are no longer allowed to rent
rooms without seeing your national identity card - we
can't be too careful, can we, sir, when there's always
the possibility of spies from the South...?"

Oh shit!  I could see him looking at me, expectantly,
then as he saw that I clearly didn't have a card, his
attitude changed.

"Oh, don't bother, I've decided to go somewhere
else....", I said.  Then, as he reached for the phone,
I ran out of the hotel.

It was the same when I tried to buy a sandwich, or a
drink at a bar... No identity card, no service.  And
everyone seemed to be so suspicious - the moment I
faltered, they went for the phone:  it was almost as
if they were terrified of what might happen to them if
they found themselves serving someone without a card.
By nightfall I was getting desperate - I suspected
that sleeping in the park, or at Grand Central or
somewhere, wouldn't be a good idea, as the police
would almost certainly sweep through there looking for
"spies".  And I was hungry, and thirsty.  How could
this happen, in a country where previously the dollar
was king and bars and shops would have been delighted
to take my money!

It was  getting late and I decided to have one last
attempt, and pushed my way into a dimly-lit bar in the
hope that somewhere that looked vaguely "private"
might have a more relaxed attitude to identity cards,
and as it seemed to be fairly crowded, there might at
least be some possibility of fooling the bartender
into thinking that he'd already seen my card earlier.
 As I pushed my way towards the bar I suddenly
realised that there were only guys in the bar, and
mostly in suits... No one else was as informally
dressed as me, in Jeans and a T!  There was a distinct
drop in the noise level as I moved through the men,
and it was as if they were all looking at me - and  I
could sense at once that it was hopeless to try and
fool the barman as he'd almost certainly know I was
new in there.  I was about to turn around and get out
of there before someone reached for a phone to call
the cops, when a hand gripped my left biceps, firmly.

"Hey, buddy, what are you drinking?"

I turned to see a guy in his mid forties, I guessed,
expensively dressed.

"Beer - whatever's on tap - thanks...."

He turned to the bar, was quickly served, came back to
me and muttered "Let's go into a booth...."

Without waiting for me to reply he made his way
through the crowd, with me following, to a quieter
area at the back of the room where there were some
small leather booths, one of which was empty.  We slid
in and sat opposite each other, he pushed my beer
towards me, raised his scotch glass, and said "Cheers.
 I'm Chet...."

"Uh, Steve... Thanks for the beer..."   I drank it
thirstily, and man, did it taste good.

"So, Steve, what brings you in here?  It's mostly guys
from the banks and brokerages, and I think that's not
your kind of work....?"

"Uh, no.  I'm just visiting town, needed a drink, came
in...."

He looked at me, nodded once or twice, reflectively.
"So what are your plans for the rest of the evening,
Steve?"

"Well none, I guess."

"You're quiet, aren't you?  I thought guys like you
were usually a bit more up-front...."

"Sorry, what do you mean?"

"Oh come on, Steve!  A good looking young guy like
you,  coming in here, there's only one thing you're
after..."

"Chet, I don't know what you're on about..."

"Steve, this is a gay bar, a rather special one... For
older men who like younger ones, and vice versa.  So
if a handsome young guy like you comes in here,
displaying his wares in those tight Jeans and a T,
there's only one question we're all asking ourselves:
is he here because he really likes older men, or
because he's a working boy, looking for a bit of
trade...."

I blinked, and thought hard for a moment.  Chet wasn't
bad looking, and he was obviously well off.  And I'd
got a drink without too many problems.  I was hungry,
and tired, and needed a place to sleep.  "Are you
buying, then?", I asked cautiously.

"So are you selling?", he countered.

I nodded, thinking that at least if I was in his
apartment or somewhere there wouldn't be so much
chance of being picked up by the police.  "So drink
that beer down... And follow me."

He strode out of the bar, and I followed. It felt odd
-  I mean, I'm tough, used to taking charge, and yet
I'd just done as he'd said.  He hailed a pedicab, we
both got in, and the two guys pulling it took us off
uptown.

It wasn't an apartment, but a smart hotel - and he
must have been rich, as is room was only on the second
floor.  When we were inside he just said "Strip",
quite curtly, and when I shuffled around kind of
nervously, he just said "If you don't like it, get out
- there's plenty more men like you selling themselves
out there.   Now get your fucking clothes off so I can
see what I've bought...."

I ought not to have cared, should I?  I mean,
thousands, if not millions, had seen me naked on TV,
and a whole lot more in the audience in the arena.
But somehow standing there in that hotel room, just
him and me, it felt odd; no, wrong.  But I didn't want
to risk getting arrested for vagrancy or anything, as
they'd find I didn't have an ID card, would take my
finger prints or something, and would soon discover I
was an escaped slave and needed returning to the
South!  So I pulled my T up over my head, then let my
Jeans drop, and stood there in front of him.

"Nice!", he said.  "Turn around..."   He gave a low
whistle as my tattoo came into view.  "I thought you
said your name was Steve.  Who's Spike?"

"Ah, well, it's a long story...."

"That's a gladiator tattoo, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"So you were in the arena?  How did you get free?"

"I escaped.  Jumped the border..."

"...and they'll send you back if you're caught, won't
they?"

"Yes, so they say..."

"Well you're safe tonight, anyway.  I'm not going to
turn down the chance of a hot session with a guy like
you just because you're an escaped slave.... But you'd
better be properly respectful."

"Look, I'm not an escaped slave - I am, or was, a
marine, fighting for you and the North!..."

"Yes, but you were enslaved, and you escaped, and you
can go back there soon enough....  Now, go and shower,
as you stink a bit and I like my meat nice and
fresh...."

As I stood under the shower, which was very good as it
was a long time since I'd been able to get properly
clean, I wondered what to do.  My options ranged from
just letting him fuck me, through to picking up my
stuff and clearing out and getting as far away from
the hotel as possible, through to beating the guy up,
tying him up, robbing him, and then getting out.  The
more  I thought about it, the more the last option was
the attractive one - a masterful guy like this, who
always seemed to get his own way, would presumably
want to fuck me, and I don't like taking dick.... So
perhaps the best thing was to take what I could from
him and escape.....

I towelled myself dry, then, as I used to in the old
days but hadn't for years, I tied a towel around my
waist in some sort of attempt at modesty - I don't
know why.  Perhaps I didn't want to start beating
someone up when  I was totally naked, and didn't like
the idea of my dick bobbing up and down as I beat the
shit out of him.  I strode back into the bedroom,
ready for action, and he'd undressed and was lying on
the bed.  He hadn't got a bad body for an older guy,
and he was smiling faintly at me.

I walked cautiously towards the bed, and his smile
broadened.  "So, you're hiding the goods, are you?",
he said almost playfully, then reached out and pulled
at the towel, which dropped to the floor, leaving me
naked.  Somehow having another guy strip you, even if
it's only to pull a towel off, is sexy. At once I got
an erection!

"Good...", he chuckled.  "You take your work
seriously, I see.  And you don't find me
unattractive..."

"Look, this is all wrong....  I'm not a rent boy..."

"But you came with me...."

"I need to be off the streets... The police.... As you
said, they'll send me back if they find out I was a
slave....  And I've got money, but I can't get a room
or anything, as I don't have an ID card...."

"Come here.  Lie beside me...."

"Look, as I said, I'm not a rent boy...."

"Who said anything about paying you?  I don't need to,
do I?  If you try to leave now, I can call the front
desk and have you stopped, and the police are always
close on hand...."

Yes, I thought.  But  I could kill you now, quite
easily.  But something made me just do as he said, and
I went and lay on the bed, leaving a small gap between
our naked bodies.

"No need to be nervous... Come to Chet....."  His big
hairy arm snaked out and puled me close to him, and
once our bodies were in contact, it all seemed a whole
lot easier.  He ran his hands all over me, feeling me,
touching me, pulling me this way and that, and all the
time making encouraging noises about how strong I was
, how great my body was.  Then suddenly his legs
intertwined with mine, one hand went behind my head,
and he pulled my face down onto his and started
kissing me passionately.  I could feel my dick rock
hard pushing against his, and suddenly it seemed
somehow OK.  I returned the kisses, and in turn pulled
him to me with all my strength.  We were making those
kind of appreciative groaning noises now that guys do
who are rolling around together, sometimes one on top,
sometimes the other, as they go through some sort of
primeval foreplay ritual.

We continued to roll around, sometimes kissing,
sometimes nipping at each others bodies playfully as
we explored each other, and then, after a few minutes,
lay face to face staring into each others eyes.  We
were both smiling.

"So, Steve, or Spike, you've done this before.... All
those protests about not being a rent boy!  I thought
you were going to say you've never been with another
guy...."

"No, well, I hadn't, until I was enslaved.  And then,
you know, in the arena, I had to fight until the
winner could fuck the loser...."

"....and you like it, don't you?  You like the feel of
another man... I can tell."

"I guess so."

"And you usually win your fights, I'll bet - a tough,
resourceful guy like you who can escape from the
South...."

"I never lost."

"So you like to fuck.... There's no chance I can get
my dick into you?"

"No, not really....."

He laughed, muttered "Well, Steve, let's get on with
it then.... " and rolled over onto his back, and
pulled his legs up into the air.

Well I'd never fucked an older guy before, but I was
really horny and I needed sex.  So I knelt between his
legs, put his ankles on my shoulders, wrapped my arm
around his knees to pull him close to me, positioned
my dick at his hole, and thrust into him.

We had really great sex - he cried out as I fucked him
and that's really sexy and a huge turn on for me.  He
looked up at me as  I stared down at him, and I felt
empowered again, having this strong, rich guy spiked
on my dick.  At some point he was slamming his palms
down on the bed in ecstasy.  And all the time I was
fucking harder and harder, with longer and longer
strokes, until I shot, and then collapsed forwards
onto him.  He wrapped his legs around my waist and his
arms around my body, as if trying to holds me into
him, and we lay there, soaked in sweat and both
quietly laughing.

After a few minutes he gently ruffled my hair, and
whispered "Thanks!  But roll off me, will you?  A big
guy like you is a weight, and I'd like to breathe
again...."

We lay there, still smiling a bit, as you do after
really good sex, and he said again "Thanks... You're a
really good fucker, you know that?"

I smiled back at him.  "Some of the other guys told me
that too.  And I've never had any complaints!"

"So what are you going to do, Steve?"

"I hadn't thought... I escaped.  I crossed the border.
 The border patrol captured me and were going to send
me back, but  I escaped again.   Then I fled up here
to the city - I thought I could be kind of
anonymous.... Get a job.... Find a place...."

"Not way!  All the ID cards and stuff.  And they come
down really hard on anyone doing business without one:
aiding and abetting those inimical to our country's
security, they call it, and there are very harsh
punishments..."

"Yes, I know.  That's why I'm here.... I couldn't get
a room, or buy anything to eat..."

He looked at me with sudden concern, rolled half over,
and picked up the phone.  I was about to grab him and
choke him, but stopped just in time as I heard him say
"Room service?  I know it's late... But send me up two
big steak sandwiches, some beers, some pie a la
mode....."

He let me stay all night, although he didn't want me
to fuck him again.  The next morning I sat on the edge
of the bed feeling a bit miserable, as I knew I had
another tough day ahead.  He ran his hand down my
backbone, then rested it lightly on my shoulder.
"Steve, you're a nice guy... Let me help you."

"So are you, Chet. The meal and everything....
Letting me stay the night...."

" Sooner or later, Steve, they're going to pick you
up, you know that, don't you?  It will be a random
check of papers, or you'll get in a fight, or
something.  And when they do, if they check they'll do
your finger prints and then they'll send you back."

"I guess so."

"So the best you can hope for is to postpone it as
long as possible.  Give yourself a few more years of
freedom - and of manhood!  Isn't castration mandatory
for recaptured slaves?"

"That's what they say."

"Well then, I can help.  I can get you pretty good
false papers.  Then you can get a place to stay, a
job, even... Although that's hard, in this economic
climate.  Still, you could pull one of those pedicabs
or some grunt job like that..."

"Why, Chet?  Why help me?"

He came and sat by me now, and put his arm around me.
I felt kind of silly sitting naked next to another
naked guy who was a lot older than me and was almost
hugging me.

"It's what I do, Steve.  Look, I wasn't in that bar by
accident - I go there to pick up young guys new to the
city, mostly in from out of state, who are finding
it's tougher than they expected here.  Then I find
them somewhere to stay, a job.... And in return they
do a little evening work on the side for me."

"What sort of work?"

"Oh, come now, can't you guess?  The sort of 'work' we
did together last night.  I have a lot more of a
problem with most of them getting them 'broken in' as
you might say.... With you I'll have a problem with
the papers, but you already know all about sex..."

"I told you, I'm not a rent boy!"

"Suit yourself.  But what other choices do you have?
You can't work, you can't stay anywhere, you can't
eat....  If the police don't pick you up, you'll soon
have to give yourself up!  Now if you join my little
select group of men, all that's taken care of....."

I couldn't bring myself to do it.  As he watched, I
pulled my clothes on, and stormed out of the room.

End Of Part 24