Date: Mon, 31 Jan 2005 01:44:40 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Spoils Of War, Part 3

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

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

Part 3

What the fuck did he mean by "get them coffled", I
wondered?  But I soon found out.

The guards seized each of us in turn and released our
arms from the cuffs on the collars, then, before we
could react as our muscles were stiff after being
confined for a long period, they snapped another
collar around our necks.  This one wasn't leather,
though, but steel, and they snapped it shut and locked
it closed with a special tool.  This collar was then
quickly attached to a steel chain, and again locked
permanently on to it with the tool.  Soon, they had
all of us locked there to the chain by our necks,
about twenty naked guys, now unable to move away from
each other, and who all had to go where the others
did.

There was a few feet of chain on the front, and one of
the guards now took hold of this and led us outside.
There was almost no space between us on the chain, and
if any of us faltered or stumbled, we fell into the
guy in front and caused the whole lot of us to be held
up and the guards to lash at us with their short
whips.   They took us out into the parade ground that
we'd paraded at earlier - mercifully, it had now
stopped raining -  and marched us in our humiliating
line across it.  How many times had I been on a parade
ground, proud in my uniform, revelling in marching to
the orders of the officers, and glad to be with my
comrades?  And now here I was, naked, shambling along,
unable to move away from the guys around me, and just
goaded by some Confederate scum.  They led us around
to what was evidently a loading bay of some kind, as
there were several large trucks parked there.

The female slaves who we had seen were being sent as
breeders were already standing there on the loading
bay, or, rather, most of them were.  One of them was
being held down by two guards, whilst a third had his
pants down around his ankles as he was vigorously
fucking her.  The woman was screaming, but the three
guards were all laughing.  One of our guards, standing
there and craning his neck to get a better view, said
to his comrade "Those guys get all the luck.  Trust us
to get allocated to these bucks.  Still, don't they
mind you fucking the women?"

"No, of course not", his comrade replied, laughing, as
if it was s stupid question.  "Well, not the ones
going to be breeders, anyway.  As soon as they arrive
at the breeding barn they'll be put to stud straight
away, so what does it  matter if she's started a bit
early?"

"Yes, but the breeder might want to breed from a
special stud."

"So, he can always have her aborted.  It's no big deal
for a slave.  Still, they don't have to have all the
fun over there - most of these guys are pretty good
looking - and all of them are eminently fuckable, if
you ask me."

"No thanks, I don't fuck guys.

"Well, you're the loser, then.  Look, there's plenty
of time - I think I will."

The guard pulled our coffle over to the side, where
there were some empty oil drums just lying around.  He
walked up and down the line,  looking closely at us,
then snapped at me "You - over that barrel, on your
belly."

"Sir, no, sir.  I don't take dick, sir."

"You don't have any choice, boy!  Didn't anyone tell
you that you are a slave now, and slaves obey orders!
Now, over that barrel...."

I just stood there, and the next minute the shocks
from the prod racked my body.  It went on and on, and
I was vaguely aware of the guard saying "That's still
only half power... See how you like this, slave
boy...."

I think I must have fainted, as I came to a moment or
two later as the shock of the cold steel of the barrel
against my naked belly jerked me back to
consciousness.  I was unable to move, as the two
slaves on eiter side of me in the coffle had been told
to lie on the ground, and the meagre length of chain
joining us now held me down.  To my horror, I felt
hands first on my butt, then scrabbling around as they
pried my cheeks apart.

"No!", I screamed, but it was no use.  I felt the
guy's finger tracing down my ass crack, and then
touching my hole and scratching at it..

"I think we've got ourselves a virgin here...", the
guard was almost shouting to his companion. "You can
always tell, from the way it contracts when it's
touched.... Now...."

I head that unmistakable sound of a belt being undone,
and pants being lowered.  The warm skin of the guard's
legs against the back of my thighs was a shock, and I
shouted out again, and tried , ineffectually, to kick
out with my feet.  I scrabbled behind me with my
hands, desperately trying to hit out at the guard, but
he touched one of my palms with the prod, and I had to
jerk them away.

The feeling of a finger on my anus had been dreadful,
but I now felt something soft and warm, yet at the
same time firm, starting to press against it  Oh no -
the guard had got his dick there, and it was about to
be forced into me.  I braced myself, trying
desperately to hold my ass cheeks together and clamp
my anal muscles closed, at the same time cursing and
swearing and calling the guard all the vile names I
could think of (and you do get to know a few, in the
marines!).  All this only seemed to excite him,
though, as somewhere above my own noise I heard him
shout to his buddy "We've got ourselves a real live
one here... Yes, definitely a virgin - no experienced
guy would make all this fuss just about a bit of dick!
 I'm going to enjoy breaking this buck and riding him
hard.... Not often I get myself a boy whose never been
fucked...."

The guard was thrusting himself forwards into me, and
I was doing the best I could to stop him gaining
entry.  The feel of his legs and uniform against my
naked skin was both disgusting and yet at the same
time somehow exciting.  I'd never felt a guy's dick
before, let alone one trying to force itself into my
ass, and this too was, in spite of my feeling of utter
revulsion, somehow extraordinarily erotic - my own
dick was  rigidly erect, and suffering a bit as the
frantic movements of my body scraped it along the
metal of the oil drum.  There was a hell of a lot of
noise, a lot of vigorous male action, and the
combination of the feel of the guard, of being held
down in chains, and of my imminent rape, was almost
producing overload in my brain. I suppose I knew it
was hopeless and that ultimately the guard would
succeed, and I hated it, whilst at the same time being
somehow very excited by the entire thing - my dick was
almost jerking, and I knew I must be leaking pre-cum.
But then there was a great roar and a shout, and the
guard abruptly stood up.  Craning my head around, I
could see the dealer approaching.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing with that
slave?"

"Just fucking him, sir"

"You idiot!  This is a prime buck, probably still a
virgin..."

"That he is, sir.. You can always tell..."

"Shut the fuck up!  As I said, he's a prime virgin
buck, and he's going to fetch top dollar at the sales
in Atlanta.  Whoever buys him will certainly want to
take his cherry for himself, and you, you idiot, are
about to deprive me of my profit!  Who told you that
you could fuck the male slaves, anyway?"

"No one, sir.  But they're only slaves, after all.
And they were fucking the breeders over there, and I
didn't see any harm in it.   Back home, in the Blue
Mountains, my pa and my brothers and me always fuck
our slave...."

"I don't care what you do in your hillbilly homestead!
 And I don't care what they do to those breeders - one
dick more or less up them doesn't matter.  But I do
care when you may be losing profit for me!   Now, pull
up your pants, and get this coffle secured in the
truck - we've wasted enough time already, and time is
money!"

The guard looked a bit sheepish, but snapped at us to
get to our feet as he pulled up his pants and fastened
his belt - I noticed a small wet stain spreading on
the tight khaki of his pants, where his dick continued
to leak pre-cum:  it served him right!

The truck he led us to was really old, one of those
cattle transporters you see running up and down the
interstate, with slatted sides through which you can
just see the cattle as you drive past.  It even
smelled of cattle still!  He led us up the ramp that
formed the back of the truck when it was closed, and
the front end of the coffle chain was secured to a
sturdy-looking staple that was fixed into the steel
floor.  We discovered it was absolutely immovable even
with all of us tugging at it when we pulled back the
straw that was otherwise covering the floor.

The dealer stood there watching all of this, and just
as the driver was about to push up the ramp that
formed the rear of the truck, he turned to the dealer
and said "That's it, then, sir, nineteen slaves for
Atlanta..."

"Wait a minute - I've only got nineteen slaves here,
and I've paid for twenty to be transported....".  The
dealer looked almost horrified. He shouted some
orders, and a couple of minutes later the young slave
Dylan appeared again, chest heaving, as before, and
now sweating as he'd evidently been ordered to run
from somewhere.   He stood there looking completely
bewildered as the dealer told the guard to add him to
the coffle, and he was collared and secured to the
chain along with the rest of us.

"Please, sir.... Why are you sending me away", he
wailed pitiably at the dealer.  "I thought I was your
favourite, and I work with you, on the slaves...."

"Yes, boy, you've been quite satisfactory.  But a man
needs variety, and I've been thinking for some time of
finding a replacement.  And money is money, you know -
you may not fetch much in Atlanta, but it's like the
low-cost airlines used to be:  I'm paying to send this
truck to Atlanta, whether it has nineteen or twenty
slaves on board;  any money at all I get for you will
be 'profit'."

"Sir, please.... I'll do anything... Let me stay with
you, sir... You know how I pleasure you, sir.... All
those tricks you taught me..."  The lad was almost
crying now, but it made no difference to the dealer,
who gave a signal to the driver who started to winch
the door closed, cutting the dealer off from our view.
 I guess we'd all seen another example of how cruelly
the slave system worked - the dealer had used this
young lad and taken his cherry, had him as a sexual
plaything, and made him do all those unspeakable
things to us guys, then had simply discarded him for
an additional profit.

It began to rain again, and as the truck drove out of
the base and on to the highway we discovered what a
terrible time we were in for.  The slatted sides had
been designed to let cooling air into cattle, but we
were twenty naked men, and even those of us with a
good thatch of hair on our bodies, like me, were not
as well equipped as cattle for keeping warm!  And the
rain blew in, drenching us and making us even more
miserable.  In spite of not having a stitch of
clothing between us, we soon found that we needed to
huddle together to conserve what little body warmth we
had.  Look, I know you get used to being close to your
buddies in the marines, especially when you're in
confined spaces when you're waiting to ambush rebels
or something, but then at least you have a uniform on
- now I experienced other men in a way I'd never even
dreamt of: we were just a big heap, almost constantly
in motion as those on the outside tried to get closer
to the middle, where it was warmer.

I felt really sorry for young Dylan - he hadn't got
the body mass of the rest of us, and wasn't nearly as
strong.  So he felt the cold more, and couldn't really
push his way into the middle of the writhing heap of
naked guys.  At some point I was near the outside and
he pressed up against me, and I could feel him
quivering and shivering with the cold.  In spite of my
instinctive dislike of being in such intimate contact
with a young lad, I half wrapped myself around him.

"Are you a fag or something?", one of the other guys
called when he saw me doing this.

"Who are you calling a fag?"

"Leave that young guy alone, then!"

"I'm only trying to help him - he's freezing in this
wind...."

"And he deserves to - you're one of the guys he jerked
off, aren't you?  You ought to wring his neck, not try
to help him.  And if you won't do it, push him over
here - he needs punishing, after what he did to some
of us..."

I felt Dylan's body tense against mine. "Hey, that's
unfair", I snapped back.  "He didn't have any choice -
you saw that.  Those guards would have prodded him and
whipped him if he hadn't obeyed that slave dealer.
He's just a slave, like I guess we all are... We all
ought to be in this together, not fighting amongst
ourselves.  He's only young, and we ought to help
him..."

"He's right", another guy called out.  "I'll help that
kid any day.  Help him understand what a real man's
dick is like!"   There was a lot of laughter at that,
and I felt Dylan relax slightly.

"Thanks, sir...", he said quietly to me.

"Hey, I'm Steve..."

"Yes, but you're older than me.  My folks always
taught me to call older people 'sir' and 'ma'am'."

"Well it's time you stopped that, Dylan.  You're grown
up now, maybe before you needed to, but you're a man
now, like the rest of us.  So I'm Steve, OK?"

I used my muscle to force us a bit further into the
heap - I can be pretty overwhelming physically when I
want to be - and could feel Dylan's skin beginning to
warm up as it still pressed against mine.  His teeth
had stopped chattering, so I said "How did you get
into this?  You weren't a prisoner of war... You're
not old enough!"

"No, Steve.  But I guess I'm as much part of the
spoils of war as you guys are.  My folks had a small
concession on the coast in the north of Florida.  Dad
never made all that much money, but enough to live on.
 Then when the war started, the tourists from the
north stopped coming. Things were pretty desperate,
and I've got two brothers and a sister, so as soon as
I was sixteen, dad decided he had to sell me - it was
the only way the family could keep going."

"Your dad sold you?"  I must have sounded totally
shocked, as I couldn't imagine my folks doing that to
me.

"Well he could - kids can be sold at sixteen, until
they're full adults at eighteen, of course.  And we
all talked it over, and it as the only way.  A
dealer's 'scout' negotiated a good price with dad,
then took me away with him.... Only three months ago,
but that's the longest three months I've ever
experienced..."

"But how can a free man be sold....?"

"I guess you were abroad a lot - they said that the
current batch of new slaves were the spoils of war,
captured men who were in the army and the marines and
such like, who'd been brought back to the USA to try
to defeat us.  So perhaps you didn't keep up with all
President Prexmire's new laws?  Everyone went on and
on about the 'two strikes and you're a slave'
provision, but there was a lot of other stuff as well
- kids like me could be sold, or offered as collateral
for loans (and sold if there was a default);  and it
wasn't just criminals who were enslaved - they emptied
the orphanages of kids over sixteen, and took all the
illegal aliens...."

Fortunately the rain stopped after a bit, so it was
only the wind we had to contend with.  Although we had
started off on an Interstate, we were held up for a
very long time at one point, then made an agonisingly
slow journey down an off ramp, to go along a state
road.  As we inched our way along, we pressed our
faces to the gaps in the slats and could see gangs of
naked men, coffled as we were, working away with
pickaxes and barrows, evidently repairing the
Interstate.  "We did that", one of the guys said
"Bombed the Interstate here to try to stop their
troops getting supplies.  And now they're repairing it
using our guys.... Still, I remember reading in
Newsweek when I was home on leave that their President
Prexmire had been making speeches about how they were
never going to be reliant on oil again, and how using
human muscle was so much better for the environment
anyway...."

We crawled along for another hour or so - it's
surprising how difficult it is to really know the
passing of time, when you've no longer got a watch -
then went back up on to the Interstate.  And in about
another hour or so we stopped to gas up  - it was one
of those big rest areas, and we looked out forlornly
at the usual business there - families in their cars
streaming in and out of the restaurant, slaves pumping
the gas so that drivers in a hurry didn't even need to
leave their vehicles, and in the "truckers" area other
big trucks like ours being filled with diesel.  As our
driver went by outside, one of us called out "Please,
sir, can we be let out for a few minutes?"

"Fucking no!  Don't be so fucking stupid!  Why do you
need letting out?"

"Please, sir, I need to pee, sir..."

Actually, so did I.  I was glad this other guy raised
the point, but the driver just called back "This is a
slave transporter, you dumb fuck, not some luxury bus!
 That's why you're bedded down on straw - it will keep
your bodies up off the piss, which can escape through
vents in the floor.  You boys just piss away."

"Sir, please, sir.... I need to crap", another guy
called out, and some of the other guys laughed.

"Boy, that's what the straw's for.  Do it in the
corner, until it's feeding time tonight."

With that, the driver walked away into the restrooms,
leaving us in there as the slave outside continued to
refuel us.  Then, when he returned , we were off
again.

There was not all that much traffic on the Interstate,
as the effects of the war had caused gas to become
very expensive indeed, so most of the other stuff we
saw was trucks - and there was a surprisingly large
number which, like ours, were evidently carrying
slaves - you could see the faces of the guys trying to
see out, or sometimes a hand had managed to worm its
way free and gave us a wave.  Evidently moving slaves
around the confederacy had become big business, as in
addition to "cattle" trucks like ours, we saw very
professional looking ones from UPS  whose sides
carried big advertising signs saying "Next day
deliveries of your slaves guaranteed - across the
South!".  And, we noticed, there was even a special
sign on trucks like ours:  a round symbol with a red
circle around the edge, an outline of a body on it
stencilled in black, and the ominous letters  "slaves
in transit" along the bottom.

When it was getting dark we did stop at another rest
area, and pulled around into the parking area for
trucks making a long stay.  There was a a lot of
creaking, as the driver lowered the back to form a
ramp, then he came in and undid the chain holding the
head of our coffle to the truck.  "Right you boys -
this is your chance to crap:   over in to the woods,
and squat down.  And be quick - if you're not back
here in five minutes, I won't hand out your rations."

It was all so casual!  He evidently had no worry that
we might try to escape, but as we stumbled across the
parking lot, I understood why:  when you're chained by
the neck between two other guys, and you're all naked,
there's just no escape possible.  Even if we had made
a "run" for it, which would have been difficult given
the lengths of chain involved, we'd have been so
conspicuous that we'd easily be recaptured.  We
wouldn't get far on foot (especially on bare feet),
and there wouldn't be anyone who would give us a lift
- even if there were a sympathetic motorist, he could
hardly load twenty of us into his car, could he?  I
felt the weight of slavery start to press in on me -
here, in the midst of these perfectly normal
surroundings that I might even have used in earlier
times, I was totally and utterly powerless and
helpless.  I just had to do what I'd been told, and my
freedom was slipping away from me.

I guess it was another step on our road to enslavement
to make us crap like that, too.  I mean, it would have
been easy enough to let us go and use the restrooms,
wouldn't it?  Even after all the changes that had gone
on in the south, there still were restrooms, after
all:  next door to the regular ones - now with big
signs over the doors saying "free men only" - there
were temporary structures saying "Rest rooms - male
slaves".  But no, we had to stumble into the woods,
and squat down there - still, at least that way
there's minimal mess on your body, which was just as
well as there was no toilet tissue or anything, and
most of us tried to pull up handsful of the coarse
grass growing around to clean ourselves with.

We stumbled back to the truck, and the driver coupled
our chain to the truck again.  As I said, it seemed
pointless to resist, or try anything, and we just
stood there and let it happen.  He handed us a box
with twenty standard field rations bars in it, and
pointed to a big drum which he'd rolled into one
corner and which was filling from a hose.  "Now you
boys sleep well" - I could have hit him, I was so
cross with the sarcastic tone he was using - "I'm
staying here overnight as I've exceeded my allowed
driving hours.  Still, I expect you soldiers - I mean
ex-soldiers - are used to sleeping rough, so the straw
might even seem luxurious!  You've been fed, and that
barrel there is your water:   we like to treat stock
in transit humanely, you know."

He started to crank the ramp up to form the rear door,
and we were left there, in the semi-darkness, lit only
by the security lights in the truck park breaking
through the slatted sides of our prison.

It's not easy to sleep like that - even though it was
a big truck, and there was enough floor space, a lot
of it was unusable because of the very short chains
joining our collars together.  We shuffled and crawled
to try to find a bit of space for ourselves, but it
was almost inevitable that we'd all end up touching
another guy as he lay there.  The straw was scratchy
and hard against our naked skin, and it's anyway hard
to sleep uncovered, even when it's warm (which it
wasn't that night) - you always feel better with a
light sheet, don't you?

Whether by accident or design, the line of naked men
had bent and contorted itself so that Dylan was next
to me.  "Please, Steve", he whispered, "Will you hold
me?  I'm cold, and it was good to snuggle up to you
earlier..."

Well, I didn't like it really - I mean, it's not right
to wrap your body around a sixteen year old boy, is
it?  But he was cold, I could tell that the moment I
touched him, and did as he'd asked.  At once he ran
his hand lightly over my chest, and said "Oh, Steve,
you're all hairy, like Duane."

"Who's Duane?"

"My eldest brother.  We had to share a bed, as there
wasn't much space at home.  He used to let me snuggle
up to him like this in the winter - our room was right
up under the eaves, and it could get cold up there!"

"You should have worn some clothes, then!", I said,
jokingly.

"Oh no, Steve, Duane always said that real men always
went to bed naked, and that pyjamas and even boxers
weren't hygienic.  He told me that a man's dick and
balls needed to be free at night."

"So you slept naked with your elder brother.  How old
was he?"

"Twenty one.  I used to really look forward to him
coming home from college..."

I wondered if this Duane had had the same problems
with Dylan as I was having - I could feel his dick
pushing into my belly as we lay there together.  I
tried to move away, but he kind of followed.  Then I
felt his hand on my dick!"

"Hey, cut that out, Dylan!"

"But Steve, Duane always liked me to jerk him off...
Well, at first.  Then he liked the other."

"What other?"

"You know...."

"No, I don't, Dylan.  What 'other'?"

"Well Duane liked to put his dick between my legs.  He
liked it as he said a man's dick needs to feel skin
and flesh  around it, and I liked it, as it was good
to be close to Duane..."

"You mean he fucked you!"

"No, Steve!  Don't be stupid! I wasn't sixteen then,
and it's illegal to fuck guys before they're old
enough.  He just put his dick between my legs, right
at the top.... Here.... Let me show you...."

He wriggled and squirmed to turn around so that his
back was to me - not easy, given the tight space, and
the guys around us made muffled complaints.  Then he
pressed his ass back towards me, lifted one leg
slightly, felt around to find my dick - which went
hard, as all this activity  went on - pulled it
forward, and lowered his leg again.  My dick was
trapped right at the top of his thighs, and it did
feel good - that Duane evidently knew what he was
talking about - as Dylan's skin was very soft and
tender there, and I could also feel the moist heat of
his asshole pressing down on to me.

Dylan wriggled a couple more times, pushing his firm
young smooth butt back into me, and giggling a little
as he did so.  "You're so hairy, Steve.... It's
tickling...", he whispered.  Then he caught hold of my
hand, pulled my arm over and across his body so that
it was resting on his smooth, flat belly, and gave a
sigh of contentment.

I was in big trouble now.  My dick was straining,
sending me urgent messages that it wanted to be jerked
off.  As the guys around us moved their positions as
all men do when they're sleeping, Dylan and I moved
too, and the effects of his warm skin on my dick were
disastrous - it was almost painful... You know how it
is, when you're sporting a massive boner and you don't
do something about it - there's that dull kind of
ache, not hurting, more pleasurable, but nevertheless
really uncomfortable.

Almost as if I couldn't stop myself, I started to
move, slowly and gently, moving my hips slightly
backwards and forwards.  I got the double sensation of
having Dylan's silk-smooth young body making contact
with mine and then breaking it, and my dick being
massaged between his thighs and his ass hole.  To the
little sounds, snores, whiffles and cries that came
from the sleeping guys was now added my own low moans
of pleasure and little gasps of ecstasy.  I knew I
ought to stop, but couldn't.  In an amazingly short
time my whole body arched rigid, as my dick shot a
huge load of cum, and I could give a deep sigh, and
relax.  Thank Christ Dylan didn't know what I'd done,
I thought.

But he did, of course!  After a couple of minutes he
wriggled and squirmed again, so he was facing me.  He
held my dick - which I realised was covered in cum
from where it had rubbed against his thighs - in his
hand, pulled me as close together as we could get, and
whispered "That's what Duane used to do, Steve.  And
then he liked me to hold his dick like this... Is that
OK?"

As he said this, he moved his own young, hard dick
next to mine, and stroked us both, so that a moment
later I felt his hot cum splash out onto my belly, and
run down into my pubes.  He gave a little moan, or was
it more of a sigh, or more of a whimper, and I could
tell that he was falling asleep as we lay there
together.  I know I should have pulled away, should
have slapped his butt for daring to jerk off over me,
but I didn't have the heart - he seemed exhausted, and
it must be a hell of a life for a young kid to have
been enslaved like that (it was bad enough for me,
after all!).  And whilst I could, perhaps I should do
all I could to comfort him and make him feel as loved
as his brother evidently used to.

I  was worried that the other guys would see the
shreds of dried cum in my pubes the next morning.  But
we were all young and horny, so not surprisingly at
odd times during the night if I woke from a doze I
could hear other guys jerking off, and with nothing to
catch the cum, many of them were like me with those
tell-tale white strands decorating their pubic hair
rather like ornaments of a Christmas tree.

The guard allowed us out to crap again - he looked as
if he'd slept well, and was cleanly shaven and in a
fresh uniform, but there was no provision for us to
wash or anything, and after he'd dished out more
ration bars, we were locked in again, filthy dirty and
by now starting to smell rather rank, and were on our
journey again.

It took three days and two nights in all to get to
Atlanta, and we didn't go into the downtown area.  We
turned off the Interstate shortly before the city, and
drove along into what was clearly a huge industrial
area of some sort, with the roads lined with plants
and warehouses.  We finally pulled up at one of these
- it looked rather like one of those big distribution
depots you see at most major Interstate intersections:
 just some bays at the back for trucks to pull up to,
and otherwise just long, completely featureless walls
without doors or windows, and with air-conditioning
plants scattered over the flat roof.  In big letters
on one side, so that it could be easily seen from the
road, it said "UC Department Of Slaves", and in
smaller letters, "Atlanta Regional Auction Facility".
Further along, in different lettering, designed to
catch the eye and looking less permanent was the
legend "Next Auction : Thanksgiving.  Bid On A Slave
And Really Give Thanks!  That Special Present For The
Holiday Season."

End Of Part 3