Date: Tue, 19 Apr 2005 14:16:21 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Spoils Of War, Part 32

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

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

Part  32

I knew I was going to have problems with the next part
of my plan.  In spite of having been kept entirely
naked for the past three years, and having experienced
the joys of sex with each other, most of the guys
still clung to the superstitious notion that it was a
"sin" to appear in public naked, and that proper sex
would undoubtedly lead to them "burning forever in
hell".  Of course Ali, being better educated and more
sophisticated, did not share these views, but when I
had outlined my plans for the captives to him he shook
his head, as if in disbelief.

"You'll never get the guys to do that, Steve.  It's
against our religion."

"You mean their heads are filled with a load of
superstitious nonsense... You know that."

"Yes, I know it, Steve, as do you.  But there it is."

"No, Ali.  We have to go ahead with the plan.  Talk to
our guys: you're their Chief - point out that they've
been naked all this time and have only just started to
wear clothes again....  And you'll lead them, won't
you?  You'll set the example, alongside me?"

"Well actually, Steve, no I don't think  I will.  I'm
going to be the ruler of this country one day and it
would be undignified.  I'm a married man with four
wives ,remember?"

"Four wives who you never touch, as you prefer to have
proper sex with other men!  Oh, come on, Ali, here's
your chance to set a good example, to show the world
what's right."

"No, Steve, I can't.  I'm going to have to get the
Ruling Council behind me one day, and even though they
all know it's rubbish, they all pay lip service to our
stupid religion.  It would be the excuse some of them
would be looking for, to back someone else, rather
than me... You know how completely hypocritical those
who believe in religion can be - look at all those
Christians in the USA, never mind the people here."

"But we've got to do it, Ali, to bring home to the
viewers the total humiliation of enslavement....."

"Well you'll just have to do a token one, Steve.... Or
perhaps I can find a volunteer somewhere."

Anyway Ali had asked around, and from the capital we
had a volunteer who, like me, didn't mind being naked
on TV.  And when he was brought to the mine, I almost
gasped in astonishment - he was a black, just under
seven feet, and proportionately muscled!  And he
wasn't one of those blacks you see all over the USA,
either - more a dark brown than a black, really - he
was a true Nubian, absolutely jet black, as black as
coal.  When  I asked him to, he gladly slipped off his
robe and allowed me to inspect him, and totally naked
he was even more spectacular than clothed:  he had
defined muscles everywhere, and his height was as a
result of a perfect proportion between his long legs
and hard muscular thighs, and his trunk.  He was
sweating slightly, and his skin positively glittered
under the lights, as he seemed to have no body hair at
all.

It was his dick that was the ultimate crowning glory
of this superb muscled machine, though:  absolutely in
proportion to the rest of him, so long and so thick,
mounted so that it hung down over low-hanging balls
that were nicely separated in his sac as they hung
there.  He was, of course, cut, as he told me that he
had been taken as a slave to the USA where he had had
to work in the plantations, but then had been bought
by a man who wanted to "stud" him to start breeding
more big, black slaves.   He'd served at stud for a
year or so, then it had been decided that it was
undesirable to have too many progeny from one guy, so
he'd been sold on again to work in a brothel in New
Orleans, satisfying the needs of white men who wanted
to fuck a really enormous black.  It was from there
that he'd been returned to his home country, after one
client had been so impressed with him that he'd made
an offer to buy him from the brothel.

"I can pretty well do much as I like now, Steve", he
said, grinning.  "I discovered that my owner would
rather take dick than give it, and so I'm pretty much
in charge now - if  I want a night off, I just order
him to jerk himself off, as I watch, then I promise
him I'm going to really ram his ass the next night,
and leave!"

"But won't your owner mind when he sees what we plan
to do?"

"He won't see it, Steve!  He never watches TV, as he
says it's a device of the devil!  So shall we get
started?"

My conversation with the black slave did however start
me thinking:  clearly he was in charge, he was in
control, even though he was the property of his owner.
 It made me see the power of sex, and the way in which
power gravitates to the man in control.

I had determined initially that I would fuck the
sergeant, and that each of the other guys would fuck
one of the captives, hopefully with them all lined up
to make a real spectacle, something that the viewers
couldn't help watching.  But with Ali's refusal to
order the men to perform, there was only me and the
black guy, and so we would just fuck two of them -  I
didn't want to have to wait to recover to fuck a
second one, then a third and a fourth, as I thought
this would be boring for the viewers, so two would
have to do.

It still seemed to be a good plan to fuck the
sergeant, not only because he was an "authority
figure" and so his humiliation would be the greater,
but because every time I looked at his muscled body I
felt my dick twitch involuntarily - after all, I might
as well enjoy it!  But who should the black fuck?   I
scanned the other captives, and at once I knew:  the
youngest, the blond lad.  To the viewers in the South
there would be something truly dreadful, some memory
of the days of the first civil war, to see a huge
naked black slave fucking a young, virginal blond
white boy!  It would add impact in a way that was
particularly applicable to the viewers in the South,
and even though I felt dreadfully sorry for the lad,
who was still in pain from his 'skinning, this just
had to be the right thing to do to fulfil our higher
purpose.

It wasn't a big thing for me, of course - I was used
to fucking another guy under the gaze of an audience,
and TV cameras.  And the black seemed used to it, too
- he confided that quite often when he was studding,
the owner of the women slaves would want to watch, and
would even use video cameras to record the event for
future enjoyment.  But the sergeant and the young
soldier were still getting used to appearing naked at
all times, and I felt fairly certain that both of them
were anal virgins:  the boy because he was still
relatively young, and the sergeant because he had been
in the marines.  I knew that most guys in the marines
just went in for mutual jerking off, and perhaps a
little sucking, but didn't usually go on to proper
sex.

Visually I thought it would be more interesting for
the viewers, and it would make more of an impact, if I
fucked the sergeant doggy fashion - somehow it seems
to me that this is more humiliating for the guy being
fucked against his will.  Whereas if the camera saw
the huge jet black body of my companion towering over
the pale white body of the young lad, with his legs
pushed helplessly up and backwards, this would serve
to emphasise how completely the lad was under the
control of the black.  As his white legs wrapped
themselves around the black's body, the contrast would
be at once exotic and exciting, and I didn't doubt
that the lad would kick at the black's back, at first
in terror and in an attempt to prevent the inevitable
as the thick black dick powered into him, and then in
ecstasy as his body gave way to the sexuality sweeping
through him.

As I had expected, once we had the sergeant out of the
cage and secured to the standard flogging horse with
his ankles and wrists securely fastened to its legs,
he suspected immediately what was his fate and began
to protest loudly.  Then, as I first rested my hands
on his delightfully muscular butt, and then started to
slap it, hard, to both sensitise him and to make him
stop shouting, his suspicions were turned to
certainties.  As he saw the blond lad being secured to
the horse next to him, his entreaties for mercy and
threats about what would happen to me if I went ahead
changed:  he was now only concerned for the lad.  He
begged and pleaded for the lad to be spared, pointing
out that he was only young, that he was still really a
recruit, and many other irrelevant considerations.
Then when the black and I both slipped off our robes,
his efforts redoubled - instead of shouting abuse and
swearing and cursing, he lowered his voice and said,
very humbly, "Please, sir - I guess I can take it.  I
know there's no way we can avoid this.  But please,
sir, think about the young lad:  if you must do it,
sir, please fuck him, and let the black fuck me, sir.
I can take it, sir, I can take the pain of a giant
dick like that- it's not right to make the lad go
through all of that..."

I moved around to his head, and stroked his bare skull
appreciatively.  "You're a good man, sergeant.  It's a
pity you were a member of the army of the South, which
has brought you to this.  A sergeant always thinks
about the needs of his men, and looks after their
interests.  And I'm sure you would endure that
enormous dick with fortitude and courage.  But I am
afraid that  I cannot do as you wish - the viewers
need to see a young, innocent, blond lad utterly
ravaged and assaulted by a huge, strong black."

"Please, sir, I'll do anything..."

"You would do anything I commanded after a time
anyway, sergeant - you are a slave, remember?  And
slaves obey!  Slaves do not bargain with their owners
about their obedience to his orders - there is only
one standard, and that is complete and utter
submission and total obedience."

With that, I signalled to the black, and we approached
our victims.  Like me, the black was in a state of
high sexual arousal - he was already leaking pre-cum
from that giant dick - and he lifted the lad's legs up
an positioned his feet over his shoulders as if there
weighed nothing. I saw the lad start to try to
struggle, begin to try to kick out at the black, but
he just laughed;  and the next instant the most
terrible scream rent the air as the black had clearly
positioned his dick at the lad's hole, and had thrust
in.  I was a little more gentle with the sergeant,
positioning my dick at his hole and then sliding it
around a little first, to give myself that exquisite
feeling of a warm, moist ass on my dick head.  Then
when I did force my way in, I rested as soon as I had
breached the sphincter to allow the sergeant's cries
and entreaties to die down, before sliding all the way
in using one smooth movement - as most of you know,
this is hugely pleasurable for the guy doing the
fucking, but can cause the most severe problems for
the guy being fucked as the shaft of your dick rubs
against the ass flesh for what seems like a long, long
time!  The sergeant gave a loud cry of
"Nooooooooo...." as I did this, as if it might in some
way stop me.  But this soon changed to a series of
shouts as I began to thrust, vigorously, to give him a
proper hard fucking.

I shot my load surprisingly quickly, and then began to
regret that I had had the captives' bodies shaved so
completely - it would have been a nice touch to finish
by cleaning my dick in the sergeant's hair, but this
option was not open to me.  Instead, I turned my back
away from the camera and cleaned my dick of his ass
juices and my cum residue on the T, before stooping
and pulling on my robe (I had worn a T under my robe,
so that when I fucked the sergeant you could see my
butt powering away, but my tattoos, and the livid scar
from where the tracker chip had been cut out, were
concealed).  The black finished at about the same
time, and I walked over and personally rubbed my T
over his dick, putting one arm around his big muscular
shoulders at the same time - I got the most delightful
scent of his hard male body that had been working so
hard as I did this, as my nose was almost buried in
his pits!  There's a huge feeling of male pride and
joy when you bond with another guy like this, isn't
there?  We both stood there for a few moments,
enjoying that intense feeling of male togetherness,
breathing hard from our exertions - it's one of the
reasons why sessions with more than one guy can be
such an intensely rewarding experience.

It was interesting to compare the attitude of the
sergeant and the young lad as they were released of
the horses and put back into the cage:  the sergeant
looked angry, proudly defiant, his face sometimes
contorting into pain as he walked along, but the young
lad seemed utterly defeated:  he was hunched up, and
there were tears glistening on his cheeks.  I turned
to the TV cameras again, and addressed my unseen
audience:  "We will do the other slaves tomorrow,
ladies and gentlemen.  But we wanted to remind you
that part of the enslavement process is  very often
for the new owner to 'take the cherry' of the slave -
an owner, even if he does not buy the slave purely as
a sex toy, frequently decides that he can exert his
authority over the slave more precisely if the slave
has been raped, as you saw here.  So we do not expect
to reply to any of the e-mails flooding into our
website that say we were wrong to do this:  remember,
a slave is an animal, without rights.  If an owner
wants to fuck him, or rape him, then it is the owner's
choice, as you saw here, and all the slave can do is
accept it."

"I am also pleased to tell you, ladies and gentlemen,
that we have had offers from the families or
communities of four more of our slaves - so only three
of them remain 'unsold'.  Come on, America - what's
happened?  Don't you care about the other three men
who were fighting for you here in our country?  Are
they really so worthless that you are not prepared to
raise the money to buy a coffle of slaves to trade for
them?"

"Anyway", I continued, "There remains one final
process before these soldiers have been converted into
real slaves, and then we can start to trade them.  So
far you have seen us remove all their hair, collar
them, 'skin the uncut, and exert our owner's authority
over the ownership of their asses.  But hair grows
again, a collar can be removed, many free men are cut,
and unless you have seen the process happening, it is
difficult to discern if a man has been fucked against
his will!  There is one way in which a slave is always
identified as a slave, though - a way that is all but
impossible to remove, and is clear and unambiguous:
the slave brand!"

Several of the captives started shouting "No", and
"Please..." as my words came out, and I looked at them
and snapped "Silence!  Your begging will do you no
good, and will only anger me, so that I might schedule
further punishment.  You are slaves, and it is
inevitable that you are going to have your flesh
marked with the sign of a slave, a large 'S' burned
deep into the muscle of your butt!"

The men carried out eight flogging horses into the
centre of the chamber, then, with rifles cocked
against a possible suicidal attack, the cage was
opened and each of the eight slaves was dragged out
and strapped down on his belly.  As well as tying the
ankles and wrists to the legs of the horses, a belly
strap was cinched tight to hold the body firmly down,
as it is of course important to ensure there is no
movement as the branding iron bites home, if you want
a good, crisp edge to the mark.

I have to confess that I had ruled out the "humane"
option of using the iron dipped into liquid nitrogen
to make the brand.  It does a good job, admittedly,
and is indeed less painful for the slave, but somehow
it lacks the theatricality of the "traditional" method
of using a white-hot iron.  There isn't the smell of
the charring flesh, or the slow build-up of tension as
you wait for the iron to re-heat between victims, or,
indeed, the sight of the white hot iron reflected in
the sheen of sweat that is guaranteed to cover the
slave's body.

The charcoal brazier was deliberately sited in front
of the eight men as they lay there strapped to their
horses, so they could watch the coals being fanned
into a white heat, and the iron being placed carefully
in into to ensure even heating.  They could see these
preparations being made for what they knew would be an
agonising experience for them, and they thrashed their
arms and legs futilely, straining against their bonds,
as if by some miracle they could escape.  Unlike in
those old Westerns, they sensed that the Cavalry was
not going to come charging in to rescue them at the
last moment.  Our cameras showed the viewers these
scenes, occasionally cutting in to the tortured face
of one of the men, and interspersed with these shots
we had views from the rear -  there's something hugely
erotic about seeing eight butts lined up, as it really
serves to emphasise the physical differences between
the men:  although they were all fit and muscled, you
got a much better appreciation of the male form as you
scanned down the line and saw the different leg
lengths and the way in which some butts thrust out
proudly from the thighs, and some were more
streamlined.  And as their legs were spread apart, the
camera could also zoom in for enticing views of the
men's sacs and dicks from the rear, a view that you do
not often get unless you are seriously into the
appreciation of the naked male form and go out of your
way to lurk in public changing rooms and similar
places..

It all, allowing for the time taken to re-heat the
iron after each man, it took almost half an hour to
complete the process, a time when the air was rent
with the sobs of the men who had already been done,
the screams of the man whose butt was currently under
the iron, and  the continuing cries for mercy from
those awaiting their ordeal.   At least five of the
men had been unable to control their bladders and
there were pools of piss under their bodies, and two
had released their bowels, too, the steaming effluent
adding a macabre additional touch to the scene.

None of them offered any resistance as they were
released form the horses and led back into the cage,
and they just lay there on their bellies on the hard
floor, quietly moaning.  I directed the cameras to the
second cage where our as yet incomplete second batch
of victims was waiting, and said, starkly "You're
next!  As soon as we capture a few more of your
comrades so that we have a nice cosy coffle of eight,
you too will be turned into totally naked, marked,
collared slaves, just like that cage full there."

I cut away from them and addressed the audience again.
 "Well done, America!  We have just heard that all
eight of our current batch of slaves has now been the
subject of an offer for trade, against a coffle of our
countrymen for each one, and these eight slaves will
soon be in the hands of their new owners.  I use the
words 'slaves' and 'owners' advisedly, as under the
laws in the South, there is no mechanism for freeing a
man once enslaved:  these soldiers can therefore never
be free, can never once again serve the South as
combatants."

My closing was simple.  "That's the end of today's
programme, ladies and gentlemen, although our
'highlight' programme will start almost immediately.
We expect to begin processing of our next batch of
slaves in two days time, once our patrols have been
out onto the streets of our city and taken more
candidates from your occupying troops.  Good night,
and good hunting, as we say!"

I do  not believe it is necessary to tell you about
how we processed that next batch of slaves - they were
less exciting than the first, as there was no slave
who was a sexually charged for me as the sergeant or
the young blond man had been.  We changed the process
only marginally as we went on, except that as our
numbers grew, we were able to process more captured
soldiers at one time.  For example, on  Thanksgiving,
instead of watching football, the vast majority of the
audience in the South saw thirty two former soldiers
being fucked simultaneously (a number of our comrades
freed in later exchanges seemed to be less concerned
about their religion!).

As I mentioned to you earlier, and as I had sold the
scheme to Ali, we were in a cycle of virtuous
feedback.  After we'd captured our first coffle and
processed them, we got eight coffles of our own men in
exchange, so making us a force of seventy two freed
fighters in all.  After they had had a brief
"vacation" with their families, almost all these men
returned to us, so we had more resources to devote to
capturing the Southern invaders.  And the more we
captured, the more we had to trade for even more of
our own men.

There were other huge advantages, to:  occupying our
country had been very pleasant for the Southerners.
They were well housed in sequestered villas and
palaces, there was very little risk of injury or upset
as most of our fighting men had been enslaved and
carried off to the USA, the weather was hot and sunny
and they had been provided with excellent sporting
facilities, there were brothels readily available
where they could partake of a man or women, as they
chose, at minimum cost, and so on.   All in all, for
many of these poor redneck Southerners, life in the
occupying forces was a whole lot better than life at
home!  All of a sudden, that changed.  Now, life was
risky - go out alone, or even with a big party on
patrol, and you might be captured - and they all knew
what that meant!  At the very least they would be
branded and raped, and for those of them with 'skins,
there was also the worry of that special operation to
remove it.

We all laughed when we heard that men were lining up
at the medical centres to be 'skinned:  clearly we
were striking fear into their hearts, as they
preferred to have it done with an anaesthetic on the
base, rather than risk us doing it if they were
captured.  We also heard that there were many
discipline problems on the bases, as their commanders
were forced to confine off-duty soldiers to stay
within their bounds as it was simply too risky to
allow them their freedom to roam our cities.  And as
the pleasant villas and palaces emptied in favour of
tented encampments on the bases, there started to be
mutterings about men refusing to re-enlist at the end
of their terms, and trying all sorts of dodges to cut
short on their enlistment.

Our success in trading the newly enslaved for coffles
of our own countrymen was so great that you may
wonder, as I did, why the rich men in the country,
like Ali's father, did not use some of their vast
wealth to make purchases themselves in the "open
market", and hence speed up the repatriation of
fighters to assist in the struggle.  Ali went to see
his father, at my prompting, and came back seething
with anger.  "He says the Ruling Council needs to keep
its options open", he told me.  "More like they want
to keep their wealth safely stashed away in
Switzerland, in case they have to flee the country!
One day there will be a reckoning, mark my words."

The occupiers now needed far, far more men, too:
whereas a single trooper could have been sent to guard
an isolated valve on a cross-country pipeline, they
now had to send at least eight.  And if they withdrew
the guard altogether in an attempt to save manpower,
we were able to go in and jam the valve, cutting off
the oil exports.  After a year, President Prexmire was
forced into desperate measures:  he made it mandatory
to re-enlist for one more tour of duty, a tactic
which, whilst it solved the immediate  manpower
crisis, had the effect of completely drying up new
recruitment back home - everyone had seen our
continuous broadcasts, and knew the risks occupying
soldiers faced, and the thought of having to face them
almost indefinitely was too much for even the most
gung-ho potential recruit.

There were dreadful effects on the South's economy,
too.  The prices of slaves rose and rose, as more and
more coffles of our countrymen had to be bought to
trade for captured occupiers - it had always been a
fairly finely-tuned market anyway as the South had
come to rely on slave labour for so many heavy manual
tasks, and now prices rose to unprecedented levels.
And as the prices rose, so those who wanted to trade
their loved ones to bring them back home had to find
the money somehow, and so desperately sold their homes
and businesses.  This gave rise to a huge slump in
property prices as so much capacity was dumped onto
the market, which in turn led to many other people
finding that they had home loans whose value far
exceeded the costs of their devalued houses.  In turn,
these people then  tended to "walk away", so further
depressing prices as the home loan companies
repossessed the houses and fed them back on to the
market, leading to a downward spiral in which billions
of dollars were wiped off personal wealth in the
South.

President Prexmire thought to stop all this, and to
prevent the "rebel terrorists", as he styled us, from
getting further men by forbidding the export of
slaves.  We in turn let it be known that we would
trade captured soldiers back home provided that a
coffle of our countrymen was nevertheless released
from their coffle chains and uncollared, even if they
could not leave the country and theoretically remained
slaves.  A rapid consequence of this, aided by our
black propaganda, was that ordinary people in the
South became terrified of the possible effects of
bands of freed slaves roaming the countryside, looting
and pillaging!  More men therefore had to be drafted
into the state militias to help maintain order, which
further reduced the available supply of recruits to
the army and marines.

In a memorable speech, Prexmire appealed to the South
to remain calm, and to "continue to fight the great
battles for our country".  He announced the
reintroduction of the draft for all eighteen year
olds, no exceptions, and we countered in a programme
the next night where we showed again the recording of
the huge black fucking the young blond lad:  we
reminded these young men, and their parents, that this
was probably the fate that awaited them if they were
unlucky enough to be posted overseas.   Thousands of
prospective draftees fled across the border to the
North, as they perceived, rightly, that internment
there as enemy aliens was infinitely preferable to
being raped and branded in our country!

We benefited from another effect, too:  thousands of
idealistic young men flooded into our country from
Europe, to volunteer to join us to "fight the evil
slavers of the South".  They were not much direct use
to us as fighters, as we wanted battle-toughened
veterans who were truly fighting for the liberation of
our country, but they enabled us to free up our own
men:  the volunteers could carry out such activities
as guarding the captured Southerners undergoing
enslavement, leaving our own men free  to scour the
countryside looking for new potential slaves.  It was
interesting to note that many of these Europeans of
course had a very enlightened attitude to sex, and we
had no problem in finding enough rampantly virile
young men to fuck the newly enslaved!  Mind you, I had
to advise Ali to clamp down hard on a couple of
practices which we found these young men adopting:  it
became the fashion to wear slave collars, and even to
be branded (albeit under anaesthetic) "to show
solidarity with the freedom fighters".  Many of our
men complained that this devalued their experience as
slaves, and so Ali ordered it to be stopped - well, at
least he forbad the wearing of slave collars, and made
it illegal to brand the body when under the influence
of drink or drugs:  that seemed to staunch the flow
quite satisfactorily, as not many of those Europeans
wanted to really feel the searing heat of the white
hot iron!  Nevertheless, in most of our towns there
were parlours where these Europeans could go to have
their 'skins removed (most Europeans are of course not
routinely cut shortly after birth), and Ali allowed
this to continue as he personally preferred the sight
of a dick head not concealed by a 'skin.

After two years things were really desperate for the
South.  There were so few troops, who had to go around
in convoys, that control of our country became all but
impossible.  They cowered in their bases as we now
proudly stalked the streets, and soon we were able to
take back complete control of our oil.

I accompanied Ali, as his most trusted aide and lover,
to the meeting of the Ruling Council the day after
this great event.  We stood in front of them,
expecting to be congratulated on almost freeing the
country of the invaders, but the Leader was seething
with anger as "trade was disrupted, the oil was not
flowing, and payments were not being received."

"The oil is a vital strategic resource", Ali
countered.  "You used it to give the South an
advantage over the North, to help them win their civil
war.  And then you acquiesced when they invaded our
homeland, to protect that supply.  Now you have a
chance to redeem yourselves, by allying us with the
North..."

"Never!  The South is a good trading partner...."

"Rubbish!", Ali snapped.  "Their economy is on its
knees.  Those Southern dollars you are amassing will
soon be worthless."

"Leave the chamber!", the Leader ordered Ali.  "I am
appointing my own son as the new commander of the
returned army, and you are relieved of your post.  You
will return to civilian life, and play no more part in
this terrorist war."

"It is not terrorism!  How can it be terrorism, to
fight for our freedom, and the return of our enslaved
men?   We are freedom fighters, not terrorists...."

"Our American allies have called it terrorism, and so
terrorism it is.  Leave the chamber at once, or suffer
the consequences...."

Ali just stood there, and to my horror the Leader
shouted "Guards - arrest this man!  Take him out and
have him shaved and collared, and deliver him to my
slave quarters."

End Of Part 32