Date: Wed, 20 Apr 2005 07:14:59 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Spoils Of War,  Part 33

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

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

Part  33

There was a stunned silence in the Council Chamber and
then Ali's father burst into a furious tirade, saying
that the Leader could not enslave his son.  The Leader
banged his gavel several times to restore order, and
then addressed him.  "I am not enslaving your son.  He
is already a slave - you bought him, along with a
coffle of others, in the South, and then exported him
back to this country.  The laws of this country give
me, as Leader of the Council, the right to expropriate
any assets that I deem necessary to keep our state
secure, and I have decided that your slave is a threat
to the order and stability that we enjoy.
Consequently I am making such a sequestration order
against your property, your slave.  Had he been a man,
a trial would have been necessary with possible
unpleasant consequences, but a mere owned property, a
simple order from me is all that is necessary.  And I
would remind you that as the owner of potentially
dangerous property, charges could still be levelled
against you yourself;  but now this mere slave, is
removed from you without further discussion and
debate.  Now, remain silent and let us move on to the
rest of today's business in Council, or else we will
need to consider those potential charges against you
for owning dangerous materials."

Fuming, but controlling his anger and rage, Ali's
father strode out of the Chamber, and I followed him.
 After he had calmed down, Ali's father addressed me
sorrowfully.  "Steve, what can we do?  I thought I had
lost my son in our quarrels before, but you helped me
regain him by your wise counsel.  Now he is a slave to
the Leader, I fear I have lost him permanently, just
as we might have been able to start rebuilding a
proper relationship:  I am so proud of my four
grandsons that he has sired, and I hoped that we might
use them as common ground from which we could
build...."

"We must get him out of there.  I will summon the
troops, address them and tell them what has gone on,
and we will start the revolution...  We will march on
the Palace, and free Ali - we are the power in this
country, after all - Ali commands the loyalty of
thousands of hardened fighters."

"No, Steve, I do not think that will work.  Remember,
the Leader of the Council is also the Chief Priest in
our religion.  Many, if not all, of your men are firm
believers in the god about whom he preaches, and I do
not believe that you will be able to convince them to
attack the palace, which is also the chief holy
shrine!  Even if some of your men follow you, the rest
might be whipped up into a fervour, a jihad, as we
say, and you would have fighting between your men.  My
son would not want that, even if it means his
permanent enslavement."

"Return to your home, and I will consult with our
closest and loyalist men", I told him, understanding
that in this superstitiously religious country what he
said was probably true.  "We will come to you this
evening, hopefully with a plan."

Ali's father embraced me. "Steve, you helped me
before.  You are my son's closest ally and friend, and
yes, his lover.  I trust you to find a way to restore
him to both of us, and to his sons...."

The old man was almost weeping as we left, and I felt
pretty dreadful, too.  But my emotions were a mixture
of anger and rage, deep concern for what even now they
might be doing to Ali, and a terrible fear that we
could not make a plan to rescue him.  I did not know
how I would be able to live for the rest of my life
without Ali.

We were still using the old mine as a base, although
now it was almost deserted as the slaves had all been
shipped back to the USA and many of our army had
dispersed back to their homes.  Our trusted
"brotherhood of the coffle" was still there, though,
and the seven of us sat down to discuss Ali's rescue.
 After hours of debate I had to agree with them and
bow to their superior knowledge of the ridiculous
religious superstitions in the country - I'd had
experience of some of that kind of thing in the USA,
after all, even in the relative sophistication of my
home in Maine - and knew that we would not be able to
mount a direct attack on the palace.  So "stealth"
seemed to be the only way, but again this seemed to be
impossible:   the whole palace compound was guarded by
a special corps of fanatical religious
fundamentalists, who had all vowed to die rather than
allow any danger to come to the Leader, their high
priest, and to the so-called "hold places".  There had
been many examples of these men doing suicidal things,
such a throwing their bodies under the wheels of
trucks trying to force a way through the gates - they
had been conned into believing that a "future in
heaven" awaited those who died in this way.

We considered many strategies, all of which were
flawed in one or other respect.  And finally it was me
who came up with a plan, albeit one with many
uncertainties and risks.  I explained to them that as
Ali was being kept in the Leader's slave quarters,
that was where we needed to be.  And who had ready
access to the slave quarters?  Why, slaves, of course.

My plan was therefore for us to become coffle slaves
again, and for Ali's father to take us an present us
to the Leader.  There's a certain offhanded
carelessness about dealing with coffled slaves, as it
is believed that with the chains binding them together
by their necks any concerted action is impossible, and
so guards cease to focus on them.  But we would have a
coffle chain that appeared to be welded as usual, but
which was in fact detachable by the use of very strong
force.  Once in the slave quarters, therefore, we
would break free of the chain, overpower the guards,
and free Ali.

"But, Steve,  we would have no weapons", Faisel,
always one to raise objections, countered.

"True indeed.  We would have to be naked.  But even
naked, trained fighters like us, fighting for a cause
in which we believe, can overcome tremendous odds."

"Naked?"

"Yes.  Ali's father will have to take us in to the
Palace compound as a gift for the Leader.  We will
have to look like a coffle of slaves - we will need to
fit our collars again, and be entirely naked, as such
a coffle would be when presented as a gift."

There was some muttering from the guys, and Faisel
spoke up again. "But Steve, we are leaders of our
men... We cannot appear naked in front of the Leader
and his Council, and all the pleasure slaves he keeps
in his Court.... It is undignified...."

I turned the whole thing into a bit of a joke.  "Oh
come on now, Faisel!  Are you ashamed of your body now
after a few weeks of relatively soft living?  Do you
fear the laughter when they look at your belly, as it
is losing its flatness from all those sweet dates you
eat and sherbets you drink as you loll on the silken
cushions in your home with your wives?  Or do you fear
comparison of your dick against those of the pleasure
slaves -  most of us have never found it wanting,
after all, but perhaps it has shrunk now that it no
longer services strong male asses and only has to
impregnate your wives?"

When the laughter and catcalls had subsided, I
continued "But, seriously, I think this is the only
plan that has even a vague chance of success.  If any
man here is scared to join with his coffle brothers in
rescuing our leader, let him leave now:  there is no
shame, as you have all worked hard and tirelessly to
free your country.  What is proposed is dangerous, and
many of you have sons who you will wish to school to
manhood, and we will all understand your desire to
retire to private life and do this.  There is a strong
possibility we might be killed, or if the attempt goes
wrong before we can attack the guards, we might end up
as slaves to the Leader for the rest of our lives,
chained in that coffle we all hated in the South.  But
sometimes men have to pursue a goal, a higher purpose.
 I will go, even if it is only me who is taken, a
collar around my neck and a leash dragging me along,
as Ali's father presents a single naked slave to the
Leader."

Faisel at once stood up, and put his arm around my
shoulders.  "You will not be alone, Steve.  I will be
alongside you, even though my belly might cause you
offence!"

He laughed as he said this, and all the others at once
jumped to their feet, shouting their determination to
join in our cause once more.  My eyes filled with
tears as we all threw our clothes off to stand there,
naked and unashamed, embracing each other as once more
our coffle re-formed.

Of course it was hateful to have a heavy iron collar
once more around my neck -  there were plentiful
supplies in the mine, as we had used them on the
captured Americans.  And as I walked around, once more
feeling my dick bobbing up and down as it was no
longer confined by clothes, I experienced once more
that change of gait, and restriction of my natural
movements, that a heavy iron collar necessarily
imposes:  truly a man is almost a slave already once
he is collared.  The collar chafed and bit into my
flesh once more as we spent the rest of the day
experimenting with the attachment of the coffle chain
to us:  it had to be sufficiently secure to pass
scrutiny by suspicious guards, but then capable of
being torn off by a concerted effort from us, to allow
us freedom of movement.

Ali's father came to the mine on my summons, and was
at first astonished to see all seven of us standing
there coffled together.  Then he begged me to call off
the plan, saying that dearly as he loved his son, he
could not allow seven brave men like us to needlessly
sacrifice our lives, or our liberties, for Ali.  Well
this was not the kind of talk I wanted to hear -
before going into a fight men need to believe they can
win, and reminding them of death or permanent
enslavement was not the right thing at all!
"Master", I told him, "You forget that, in law, we are
still your slaves.  It is an honour to serve you, to
free your other slave who has been stolen from you!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Steve...."

"No, it is you who are being ridiculous.  We are all
determined to free Ali.  We have all voluntarily
stripped ourselves of all the trappings of free men,
and have collared ourselves and chained ourselves into
the coffle.  That is how much we respect Ali, and
should show you our determination to succeed.  You
must now assist us, by playing your part:  load us
into your vehicle, and take us to the Palace as a
'peace offering' to the Leader."

Ali's father went down the line, embracing all of us
warmly in turn.  Then he turned and said "Truly I have
never had such devotion before.  You are effectively
free men but you are enslaving yourselves for a cause
in which you believe.  Even when I have had slaves
whipped almost to the point of death, I have never
succeeded in getting such loyalty from them as you are
showing today.  You make me very proud of my son and
the loyalty and love that he has managed to build in
you all.  It would be wrong of me to prevent you
fulfilling your destiny in this enterprise on which
you are all determined, and I will render such
assistance as I can."

Our ride from the mine to the Palace was
uncomfortable, to say the least.  Ali's father had
driven himself out to the mine in a 4x4, to preserve a
measure of secrecy, and now he drove us back with all
seven of us squashed into the rear compartment - a
slave could hardly travel in the front with his owner,
if any degree of reality was to be maintained, after
all.  Still, it was good to have the warmth of the
other six guys all around me, and it was surprising
how quickly we re-learned our old habits, forced into
us during those three long years, that enabled us to
move and explore each others bodies without choking on
the chain!

At the Palace we stood in an anteroom whilst Ali's
father went further in, and it was surprising how in
those surroundings we automatically dropped into
"slave" mode - we lined up, shoulders touching so as
to consume as little space as possible, clasped our
hands behind our backs, and kept our heads lowered,
staring at a spot three feet in front of us.  There
was an almost constant flow of people through the
anteroom on their way to and from various errands
around the huge Palace complex, and although our eyes
were lowered we just knew that many of these people
stared at us in our naked magnificence - even though
the Leader was reputed to have many slaves in the
Palace, I suppose that they would not be in such
splendid physical condition as we were.  And, as you
would expect when seven healthy men are standing for
any length of time, most of us had erections as we
stood there, our thoughts focussed on our future
fight.

After what seemed like hours, a soldier in the black
uniform of the Leader's special guard came up and
ordered us to follow him.  We went into a huge
audience chamber, filled with the Leader's advisers,
courtiers and assorted other sycophants, and then were
literally "herded" across the huge marble floor
towards his throne at the end.  I remember feeling the
cold against the soles of my bare feet, and feeling
the sting of the tawse on my shoulders and butt as the
guards "hurried" us along, quite unnecessarily, but to
make more of a spectacle, I suppose.

Ali's father was standing there on the steps of the
throne, and said to the Leader "Please accept this
gift - you have taken my son, a slave, and I have
decided to retire from the Council into private life.
I will be moving to Switzerland to live out my old age
in sorrow at the loss of my son, and slaves are not
permitted there.  As a parting gift, therefore, I
present you with these other seven slaves, the coffle
mates of the one you have already taken from me.  They
are as you will see all in superb condition, and you
will be able to whip them to work extremely hard for
many years."

"I thank you for your magnificent gift, but I am
suspicious", the Leader said quietly.  "Guards - test
the chains on these slaves!"

Black uniformed figures advanced on us and tugged at
our coffle chains, so hard that a rough edge of my
collar even caused my skin to break, and a trickle of
blood to started to flow down my chest.

"I see they are properly coffled, and perhaps I will
add the other slave, your former son, back to it", the
Leader said.  "But let us have some amusement from
these slaves now - it is true that they are indeed
superb specimens, and I like to see a coffle acting in
unison."

He raised his voice and commanded "Slaves!  On your
knees, heels together, knees apart.  Then I wish to
see sexual activity - masturbate, keeping your hands
in time with each other!"

Well, I suppose we should have know something like
this might happen, and after all we'd been through in
the past, it was no big deal after all.  Still, it was
a bit of a shock, and we all hesitated just for an
instant - but long enough for the guards to lay into
our butts with the tawses again.

I knelt there, my knees touching those of the guys to
my left and right, and kept my head bowed and eyes
cast down as a slave would.  Then, being careful to
remain in step with my comrades to avoid a further
beating from the guards, I began to jerk myself off.
Of course it's relatively easy to jerk off like that,
but not as exciting as being able to vary the pace to
suit the feelings in your dick, but there's no way
that a group of seven guys are all going to cum at the
same time, is there?    I wasn't the first, and I
wasn't the last, but finally we were all kneeling
there, the slimes of our cum streaking out across the
polished marble in front of us, and with the remaining
dribbles of the "aftershocks" falling from the ends of
our dicks.    I knew that my comrades would all be
breathing deeply, as I was:  even though it's not
particularly hard work to jerk off, there's always
that excitement that causes your heart to race and
your breathing to quicken, isn't there?

"Excellent!", I heard the Leader say to Ali's father,
although I remained "in character" and kept my eyes
down.  "I thought that this might be some sort of
plot, but the slaves are harmless as they are securely
coffled, and are indeed proper slaves - no free man
would perform such an act as that in unison with his
fellows."

"I have not decided how I will use these excellent
examples of male flesh", he continued, "But it will
keep me from sleep tonight as I consider the erotic
possibilities of using eight masculine males like
these here at the Palace.  In the meantime.... Take
them to the slave quarters and cage them.  But before
you go - the floor is now soiled.  Clean up that mess
- use your tongues, slaves!"

Look, don't get me wrong - there's nothing wrong with
eating cum, especially when it's your own.  But having
to crawl in a line across the floor, watched by a
great crowd of spectators, as you lick your cum from
the floor is a wholly different experience.  I was
aware of the clanking of our coffle chain against the
floor as we shuffled along, of the faint taste of the
polish from the floor overlaying that of my cum, and,
of course, of the eyes boring into me.  The Leader
hadn't just wanted us to lick up our cum, but knew
that as we moved along on hands and knees our balls
and dicks would be exposed between our thighs, and as
we pushed our heads right down to the floor to garner
the last faint traces of our seminal fluids, the
audience would also be rewarded with tantalising
glimpses of our ass holes.  In spite of everything
that had happened to me before, I still found myself
blushing slightly at this new way in which a master
had managed to humiliate his slaves.

The guards were gratuitously cruel to us as we were
herded through the seemingly interminable corridors of
the Palace towards the slave quarters - they seemed to
delight in using short but very flexible canes to
stripe our butts as we hurried along as best we could.
 And when we were finally pushed into the main room of
the slave accommodation, we all gasped in horror:
there was a big "holding cage" against one wall, whose
sole occupant was Ali.  But an Ali very different from
when we had last seen him:  he had been shaved totally
bare, and, like us, was again collared.  But his total
nudity served only to emphasise the bruises that
covered him totally - bruises that I recognised from
my fighting days as indicating that he had been
severely and expertly worked over by hard fists.
Standing out above the yellow and black of all this
were the bright red stripes where he had also been
whipped heavily and repeatedly - they covered his
back, butt and thighs, and, more horrifically, curled
around the sides of his body to show deep weals on his
chest and around his nips where an expert whipmaster
had allowed the whip to wrap and cause him further
pain.

He had been so badly beaten that he was just like a
piece of inert meat, sprawled across the floor of the
cage.  He didn't even raise his head as we were herded
in, and we could hear the laboured breathing from his
battered body.

"Throw these in with that one", the guards told the
slave jailers.  "The Leader is deciding what to do
with them."

"Can we fuck them?"

"I don't know."

"Well, after this one had been fucked by the Leader,
and then beaten, caned and whipped, we were told that
he was to be used, and used hard, by all of us.  It
was amazing to hear how he screamed when we had him on
a horse and six of us went up him, one after the
other....  Do you think the Leader would mind if we
used some of these slaves tonight, as we've been
really turned on by this one and now all feel the need
for another fuck...."

"Well I would advise you against it!  The Leader might
be planning to use them himself, and won't want their
holes all stretched by you men in here!  If I were
you, I'd just take the first one out again and use him
a second time."

The guards then turned and left, and the "jailers"
opened the cage and went to push us in.  This was our
one chance, we all knew.  As they watched, hardly
believing their eyes, we reached for each others
throats and tore at the coffle chains in a frenzy.
Our muscled strength and our desperation had the
required effect, and the chains fell from us.  We at
once turned and attacked the jailers, stripping away
from them, before they could use them, their guns and
slave prods.

We were now in control inside the slave quarters, and
using the jailers' keys, we went along and released
the other slaves in what were clearly semi-permanent
quarters for them.  To our great delight we found that
there were several of our own men, standing fiercely
defiant at the bars of their cages, in contrast to the
sorry set of pleasure slaves, waiters, valets and
cleaners who tended to cower in the corner, afraid of
what might happen to them if they dared to join in a
revolt.  We now had about twenty men, but were in real
need of additional weapons as we had garnered only
five pistols from the jailers.  I led a small party
out of the slave quarters therefore and we slunk along
the corridors, looking for guards.

We were of course well used to ambushing individuals,
as that is what we had been doing with the occupying
forces and we had all been very "hands on" in the
first year, so it wasn't all that difficult for us to
take out the isolated guards and pairs of patrolling
men that we found.  But what to do then?  Soon all
twenty of us had as many weapons as we could manage,
and one course of action would be to carry Ali and try
to make a break for it.  But carrying an exhausted,
collapsed comrade, especially a heavy guy like Ali,
would be a huge drain on our meagre resources.  I know
they teach you in the marines that you have to leave
the injured behind in those circumstances, sacrificing
one man for the greater good of the others, but I
don't think I know of any instances when any group of
marines has ever carried out such a manoeuvre!  And I
wasn't about to recommend it here - especially as Ali
was our leader, and the object of our exercise in the
first instance.

There was no alternative to fighting our way out of
the Palace, therefore.  Look, I know we have been
criticised for the carnage that resulted, especially
when we found the majority of the palace guard lined
up in the internal courtyard waiting to receive their
orders for a thorough search of the palace once the
alarm had been raised:  five grenades hurled in
simultaneously from all directions scythed down most
of them, and left many of the others severely wounded.
 Yes, I understand that these were our countrymen, but
they supported the evil regime of the Leader, and they
supported it enthusiastically:  look at the way that
Ali had been cruelly whipped and beaten up just on the
Leader's say-so.  But our critics should tell us what
else we could have done - we couldn't carry Ali, and
had we done nothing, we would all have been captured
and enslaved, if not executed.

After that things were relatively easy - the few
remaining guards were either attempting to comfort
their injured and dying comrades, or simply fled at
the thought of the retribution we might mete out to
them.  We were able to take our pick of the vehicles
from the Palace motor pool to take Ali to the
hospital, and there we told the Administration that we
were now assuming control, and that he was to receive
the best and finest medical treatment available.

The rest is history, as they say:  the next time Ali
appeared before the Ruling Council it was to receive
the Council's supplications for him to become the
Leader - the former Leader having fled after the
destruction of his inner Palace Guard.

You can read about what happened next in any of the
standard works of history:  now in full control of the
country, we were able to surround the remaining bases
of the South - without ready access to the facilities
of our country, the South found it even more difficult
to retain control of the oil supply as our men were
easily able to ambush how ever many patrols they sent
out.  After many weeks of struggle, with the South's
bases running out of fuel and supplies generally, Ali
finally agreed to allow the South to repatriate the
remainder of its occupying forces in exchange for the
return of the few remaining men of our country - we
all watched the soldiers of the South arriving home so
joyfully, on TV.  It was a crashing defeat for the
South, of course, but for the individual soldier, the
joy of being back on his home ground without being
enslaved was palpably evident.  The subsequent
consequences for the South were of course dire - we
simply cut off their oil, and allied ourselves with
the North.  As its economy started to grow once more,
the North was able to demand the return of its men
enslaved in the South, and when Prexmire, in his
arrogance, refused, what we now call "the third civil
war" started.  It was over very quickly of course as
the South's economy simply fell apart, the Northern
slaves revolted, and Prexmire's army found fighting
with limited amounts of oil to fuel its tanks and
planes to be a very difficult task.

We seemed to be at the end of a long, long journey, a
journey that had started with us chained naked in our
coffle, and which now appeared to be ending in
victory, with my lover as the effective ruler of our
country.  But, as you will know, the story does not
end there.

End of Part 33