Date: Tue, 8 Feb 2005 21:32:44 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Spoils Of War, Part 6

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

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

Part 6

Thanksgiving was a pretty gloomy day for all of us.
Not only was there no special food - we just had a
normal helping of the standard rations - but we were
all thinking of our loved ones, and how those
traditional parties of family and close friends would
be gathering to share the holiday.  And here we were,
in this slave auction facility, waiting to be sold off
the next day.

As we were being led out to do our exercises, one of
the guys said to a guard "Look, it's Thanksgiving!
Can't we just call our folks, even for a minute or
two?  They'd accept a collect call.  This is the time
for families, and they must be worried sick about us
all...."

"Hey, slave boy, you still don't get it, do you?  You
no longer have families - you're slaves.  Slaves
should only be thinking about their owner, and how
they can best serve him.. You've no longer got a mom,
dad, wife, kids... You're a fucking slave, right? "

"But I'm still a man, and Thanksgiving goes back to
the founding of our nation... It's traditional -
surely you care about that?  Aren't you going home to
your family tonight?"

"Of course I am.  We're having turkey and all the
trimmings, and pumpkin pie....  But what's that got to
do with anything?  I'm a man, and you're a slave.
You've got to understand that things are different for
men and slaves.  Now, move your ass, slave boy, unless
you want this prod in it."

So there we were, just as if it was another day.  But
it wasn't just another day, as we all knew:  the big
sale, the sale in which we were going to be auctioned
off to new owners, was the day after Thanksgiving.  I
remembered how it was the custom in our family to all
descend on to the big stores on that day, eager to
snap up bargains.  And now those bargain hunters would
be coming here, to look us all over, and to try to get
us at a cheap price.  Somehow the appeal of the
Thanksgiving sales diminished a lot when you were
about to be one of the items on sale!

Than night as he held me tight, even Dylan was
unusually silent and didn't even want to have a "bit
of the other".   When he finally spoke, he was
extremely subdued.  "Steve, it's Thanksgiving.  Did
your folks all get together?"

"Yes, when I was a kid.  But once I joined the
marines, it was a lot more difficult, as I was out of
the country a lot.  But I expect my mom and dad, and
my brothers and their wives, will all be together..."

"And mine.  Mom, dad, my brother, my sister...."  As
he said this, Dylan sounded so depressed.

"Hey, sooner or later you'd have left home and not
been able to get back, you know.  And your dad did
sell you, remember..."

"Yes, Steve, but he had to.  I know he did."

"Well that's OK then, I guess."

"But Steve, what's going to happen to us tomorrow?"

"I don't really know - they don't have slaves where I
come from.  Or slave auctions.   But I expect we kind
of stand around, the folks look us over, and then it
will be like an ordinary auction - bids and stuff.
And then the guy who's purchased you takes you away...
 This seems to be a well-run place, I expect it will
all go well..."

"Steve, I'm scared... I don't want to be sold.  I want
to stay with you."

"Now come on, Dylan, you know that isn't going to
happen.  And hoping for it won't make it so.  I expect
whoever buys me is looking for a big strong guy for
some hard manual labour, whereas the guy that buys you
is looking for a boy to work around the house... It's
very unlikely that we'll be sold to the same person."

"So I'll never see you again, Steve?"

"Probably not.  Look, that's what life is like - you
meet people, you like them, but then the job or
whatever means you have to move away... It happened to
me all the time in the marines, when guys got
reassigned.... It's part of growing up:  you like
someone, you have fn, you're buddies, but then you
lose them."

"But Steve, I don't want to lose you..."

"We don't have any choice, Dylan.  We're slaves,
remember?  And you told me that you wanted to be a
man, a proper man, not a kid... Well, tomorrow's your
chance to show it:  when the auction's over, we'll
just shake hands, maybe hug, like buddies do, then go
our separate ways...   You always hope you might meet
people again, but you rarely do: that's life."

I knew he didn't like to hear this, but I thought it
was better to tell it to him like it was.  Life wasn't
going to be easy for him, especially as a slave, and
the sooner he got hardened to it, the better.

He lay holding me close all night, and in the morning,
as we all stood there, mostly boned, he looked really
sad and pathetic compared to all us big tough guys.
Several of the guys tried to be nice to him, ruffling
his hair and giving him a farewell hug and joking
about how he was the only one of them who'd managed to
fuck me, but it wasn't much use - it was as much as he
could do to not break down, and it made me feel awful
to see him.

We'd been got up specially early though, as the guards
told us there was a lot to be done!  We were taken
first to a different part of the complex where,
instead of a shower, we were all made to get into a
big communal bath that was, at first, OK.  But we
could feel hot water flowing in to it, and soon it was
very hot indeed.  The guards refused to let us get
out, and told us our best bet was to submerge
ourselves up to our chins, and then all to sit very
still in the near-scalding water.  Some of us
protested, and they told us not to be such wimps -
this is how baths were in Japan, except that we would
have had to lower ourselves in to the scalding water,
and the idea was that we'd soak for half an hour to
really clean our pores, and make us "squeaky clean"
all over.

They let us out one by one, shaved us, trimmed our
pubes again, and shaved our balls as stubble had
started to grow there.  Then we were subject to an
enema - or, more accurately, three enemas in turn, "to
make sure you're properly clean inside".  I'd never
had this done before, and absolutely hated having the
nozzle inserted up my ass and the feel of the water
flowing in.  I was used to crapping in front of the
other guys, but somehow having to squat there with the
sheer violence of the water rushing out of me when I
was allowed to "let go" made it somehow totally
humiliating all over again.  After all this , we went
through the regular showers to wash off any traces of
cut hair and shit, and then had to stand there as two
slaves rubbed oil all over us - on the smooth guys
their skin now shone dully in the overhead lights, but
on me it didn't make all that much difference.  At
least they allowed us to put the oil u our own asses,
though - the slaves would have done it, would probably
have liked to do it, but the guard in charge seemed a
nice old guy who said that we ought to be allowed to
do this ourselves - as you know,  it's not all that
easy, and perhaps he liked seeing us lying on the
floor, legs bent at all angles, as we probed at our
asses with our fingers.   Some of the guys said they
didn't want it doing, but the guard insisted, as he
said it was "house policy, to make it easy for
potential buyers to slip a finger in, to test the
firmness of our sphincters!"

It had not occurred to me that they'd gag us before we
went on display.  But, in turn, they fastened ball
gags into our mouths, secured with leather straps
around our head.  "Easy, boy", the guard doing me
said.  "It's for your own good, you know.  Slaves have
been known to protest when a buyer examines him, and
then we have to punish him.  This way you're protected
from the consequences of your own actions.  And we
weren't  given our normal skimpy shorts and Ts,
either:  standard "costume" was rather like a towel,
draped around our hips, and fastened at the side with
Velcro.

We were marched into  the "showroom" where some of the
other slaves were already on display, and in turn each
of us was put on a low plinth, only about a foot high,
but enough to mark out a space for you from which you
could not move - once you were on your little plinth,
a shackle went around your right ankle, and held you
there.  The guard then cuffed my hands behind my back,
and I assumed that that was that.  But no - to my
horror, he produced a leather blindfold, and ordered
me to bend forward, so he could fix it around my eyes.


"Please, don't, sir...."

"Standard procedure, slave!  A lot of potential
clients are put off by the hostile stares of the
slaves, especially at these sales where you're all new
to it and haven't acclimatised properly.  This way
they can enjoy the viewings more, and if they do want
to see your eyes, they can always ask for it to be
removed.  It's a big help, too, for the clients who
want to test your reactions - some slaves react quite
differently when their nipples are squeezed if they
can see it being done, rather than if it comes as a
complete shock to them!"

He left me then, and I felt utterly alone, standing
there, not able to move for more than six inches or so
because of the chain and the size of the plinth,
cuffed, gagged, and blindfolded.

I've commented before on how it's difficult to judge
time without a watch or anything, but standing alone
and blindfolded, it's just about impossible.  I don't
know how long I was there for, whilst the rest of the
sale stock was brought in and tethered, before there
was a set of different sounds - happy chattering,
excited laughter.... And that kind of stuff.
Evidently, the public had been let in to start
viewing.

It was bad enough being tethered there, offered for
sale just as if I was a statue or a picture or
something, but being unable to see, being unable to do
anything because of my cuffed hands, and being unable
even to complain because of the gag, made it all ten
times worse.  I'd be standing there, then there would
be a touch, and a squeeze of a nipple, and as I'm very
sensitive there, I'd double up with the sensation.  Or
a  hand would suddenly feel my biceps, or rest on my
belly, or, of course, reach under the short towelling
"kilt" I was wearing to cup my balls.  It was almost
frightening, in a way, to be so isolated in one sense,
and yet so totally cruelly exposed in another, and to
be so totally at the mercy of a load of ordinary men
and women.

I couldn't help but overhear the comments made about
me, either.  Men, who I guessed were probably little
whimps, could be hurtfully dismissive of my body.  A
couple of women lifted my kilt, then laughed out loud
about the size of my dick, saying it was too big for
them.  Several men suggested they might buy me and
have me publicly flogged, "to show people that we're
not afraid of those dammed Yankees and what their
soldiers can be sent to do illegally down here."  But
one conversation, between a woman whose voice
suggested she was in her mid forties, and a young guy
who I supposed to be at college as he was her nephew,
really sent a chill through me.

There had been some general stroking of my body by the
woman, judging from the way that the diamonds or
whatever on her rings scraped my skin, then I heard
her say "This is the one, I think, Clark...  He's so
hairy and swarthily handsome - it's the new fashion,
they say, as blondes have become so common since those
dammed Yankees got all those Australian mercenaries
to come over and fight:  everyone at my bridge club
seems to have a tanned blond Australian.  This one
will create quite a stir!"

"Yes, aunt.  And if the fashion changes, you can
always have him shaved - whereas you can't grow hair
on a naturally smooth slave.  Real 'investment
protection', if you ask me."

"Be a good boy and take that kilt thing off him, will
you, Clark.  I don't think it's becoming of a lady to
undress a slave, unless he's her personal bedchamber
toy."

I felt fumbling at the fastening of the only item of
clothing I'd been allowed, and then I was totally
naked.  I had no ideas how many people were now in the
hall, but it must have been at least a couple of
hundred, all of whom could now see all of me.

"Very nice!  Well proportioned, I think we'd say....
So often these tall, muscular slaves do not live up to
the promise of a 'proportional' body - this muscle
must be all natural, and not grown in the gym, or else
his private parts would not be so well in proportion
to those shoulders, chest, belly and thighs."

"Hardly 'private' parts, Aunt, now he's standing there
like that!"

"Oh Clark, you are a wit!  But tell me, what do you
think?  I know your parents have always allowed you to
attend slave auctions, and you've got that slave of
your own...."

"He's nicely built, aunt, I'll give you that.  But
perhaps just a trifle on the large size, don't you
think?"

"Oh no, I've got a large bedroom - he'll sleep curled
up in once corner once he's pleasured me, and I'll
hardly notice him.  And my bath's very big, too, so
there will be no problem when he's helping there...."

"No, aunt - I meant isn't he a bit big dick-wise?
Wouldn't you find it, well, 'uncomfortable'?"

"What a strange boy you are, Clark!  Of course not!
You won't know this, but I think it's no secret in the
family that your uncle was on this heroic scale.  And,
in any case, I need a slave with big testicles as I
intend to make a little pin money from him by breeding
my maids - Jemimah, Beatrice, Sadie, Prudence and
Mercy are all of an age where they could breed, and
I'll have this one studded to them.  And then of
course my friends all have maids, and once the fashion
is to have your maids pregnant by a stud slave,
they'll all want to borrow him."

"Oh aunt - that's so sad... I mean, I was expecting
you'd get  him a vasectomy before he did duty as your
bedchamber toy, but if you're going to breed from him,
you'll have to leave him not tied off.... and so
you'll always have to wear those dreadful condoms!  At
High School they were always going on about not
fucking without using a condom, and I tried one once
on my slave Grant.  But never again, I can tell you -
there's just no sensation there.   I can't speak for a
lady, of course, aunt, but from the gentleman's point
of view, using a condom is just terrible, and I'd have
thought it was the same for you."

"You're right, of course.  It takes away all the
spontaneity, and all the fun of seeing the slave's
seed spray out.   And I find the smell of the latex
distasteful, too.  But there's a simpler solution -
the U-Tu."

"You, too, aunt?"

"No, that's U-T-U.  It stands for urethra tube, or
something like that - there was a long article in last
week's  'Lady Slave Owner' about how it solves the
problem simply and easily.  Basically, it's like a
nail, a big, six inch nail, but made out of polished
stainless steel.  You tell the slave to get himself
erect, then you insert the pointed end of the nail
down his slit, and push it all the way home until the
head of the nail - it's more like a little curved cap
on the U-tu, actually, is right down at the penis
head.  A dab of contact adhesive under he cap, and you
push it home so the adhesive bonds the cap to his
skin, and that's it.  The slave can't ejaculate, and
he's highly incented to keep pleasuring you, and not
to cum quickly:  when his balls fire and the semen
can't escape, it can be quite painful."

"But how does he, well, urinate?"

"Oh, you take it out, silly!  You can rip the cap away
from the skin, which is in any case delicate on the
penis head and which tears quite easily... Then he's
free to dribble hi sperm out, and his urine."

"Well it sounds cruel to me.... I'm almost wincing as
I stand here listening to that, aunt!  I mean, a nail
pushed down my urethra...."

"Well 'Lady Slave Owner' did say that even the bravest
slave tends to whimper when you're pushing the thing
home - but the trick is not to get involved:  simply
order the slave to sit on the edge of the bed, and do
it to himself.  And as for the skin on his penis,
well, it soon grows again, and as it's quite painful
whilst it's doing so, there's less of a temptation for
him to play with himself, so he's more ready for
performing his proper role as a pleasure toy.  But we
shouldn't let these petty difficulties for the slave
stand in the way of progress:  it's very cheap, as
other than the occasional tube of adhesive, there's
nothing to buy after the initial investment, except
that they do caution that the urethra can stretch, and
that therefore if the slave seems to be able to insert
it without pain, you need to buy the next biggest
diameter."

"It still sounds cruel to me, though... I don't think
I'd like it, even if I could be ordered to insert it
myself."

"Oh, Clark, I don't suppose it will happen in your
lifetime, but even free men may have to start using
this method.... The earth's resources, you know....
Think how good this is for saving the planet -  other
than that tiny dab of glue, there's nothing to replace
every time you use the slave!  No latex to
manufacture, no packaging, no shipments.... Think of
all the earth's resources saved when there's no need
to have condoms available on every street corner!"

If Clark's dick had been shrivelling up at the thought
of having this done to him regularly, I can't tell you
how badly I felt!  I'd once had a swab taken from my
dick as there had been some sexual disease scare or
other at our base, and that was bad enough!  The nurse
only swirled a tiny piece of cotton swap on a very
thin shaft about half an inch, at most, down inside my
dick, and I'd almost fainted from the sensation.  But
as I listened, worse was to come.

"Well, aunt, much as I would have enjoyed coming to
watch the studding of your slaves, as this one has an
exceptionally good butt and it would have been a
pleasure to see it in action pounding away, I don't
think you can risk buying him - look, here on the sale
sticker - he's one of those spoils of war, a captured
enemy marine.  You can't have a marine around the
place, it's too dangerous:  he's a trained fighter and
killer, not a pleasure toy for a lady like you.
Wouldn't you do better to go for one of those younger,
slimmer boys they had in the other hall?"

I began to relax a little.  I hated the idea of being
used as a sex toy to some old woman, and the thought
of serving her in her bath, like some toy lap dog, was
simply awful.  But at that moment I felt her claw-like
fingers, loaded with their rings, start to stroke my
dick, and gently to 'skin me back.  "Oh, Clark", she
almost moaned.  "I hear what you say, but this is the
one for me.  I've never had a slave with an intact
'skin before, and he's so strong - feel this...."

She was pushing my erect dick down, and it was
struggling to remain horizontal.  To my horror I then
felt a second hand join hers - Clark's it must be -
and between them they pushed down, to press my dick
into my balls.  Those of you who have really powerful
erections that push your dick way above the horizontal
will know how much it can hurt when you try to force
it down like this - well, not so much hurt, as act as
a powerful stimulation.  I cold almost feel my dick
throbbing, as if it was about to cum.

"Well, aunt, I must say, this is exceptional!  If
you're determined to have a ruthless killer like this
around the place, you'll have to have him 'calmed'.
Have him milked for a  few days and have his seed
frozen for when you want to stud your maids - AI is
perfectly good enough for them, you know - then send
him off to the veterinarians for the big snip."

"No, Clark, I want to keep the 'skin.  You silly boy -
you're not paying attention."

This was inhuman.  They were talking about my 'skin,
my body, and having it cut off.  They had no right to
talk about a man like that, as if I wasn't there, as
if it didn't matter what happened to me.  I started to
protest, but all that came out were inarticulate
ramblings through the tight ball gag.  There was a
sharp slap on my butt, and the man's voice, in quite
different tone from the one he had been using in
conversation, rapped "Silence, slave, unless you want
me to fetch a guard with a prodder.  Keep still,
whilst we're considering you!".

Almost without stopping, he changed note and went on
"No, aunt -  not the snip of the 'skin:  have him
gelded, to calm him, and that will make him safe to
have around as a lady's domestic pleasure toy."

"It would ruin him!  I particularly want a nice
showing of semen every time he cums, that's one of the
reasons I picked him - those testicles.  I couldn't
have that done to him."

Jesus fucking Christ!  Thank god for that!  My balls
were going to be safe, at least.

"I'm surprised 'Lady Slave Owner' hasn't had an
article about it, aunt!  It seems to be well up in
other matters like that.  But just last month there
was almost a whole issue of 'You And Your Slave'
devoted to it - I'll have my slave look out a copy for
you.  Basically, they no longer slice the entire sac
off, but make a small incision at the rear, and take
the testicles out.  Then the replace them with
prosthetic ones - there's some new polymer they're
importing from China that has,  apparently almost the
same 'touch and feel' as flesh.  Or you can have
stainless steel - that can be really spectacular on a
smaller slave, dragging the sac much lower with the
weight, although this one's already quite big enough,
I would say."

As he spoke, his fingers caressed my balls, and I
couldn't help shuddering at the thought that he was
only doing this to "size" me for prosthetics!

"...then they sew it all up neatly at the back so
there's nothing visible, and you can't feel anything
either, as the scar soon goes away."

"But the cum, Clark!  Even the Chinese can't replicate
that."

"Don't need to!  Most of the stuff he's squirting is
the fluid from the prostate - at least eighty percent.
 So there's only a slight loss of volume.  You can
have him calmed quite safely, still breed from him,
and still have the enjoyment of his body."

"It all sounds too complicated."

"Not at all.  They'll do it here, as their
veterinarians have special licences.  When we go and
pay for him at the end, you just ask them to do it as
'extras'."

They must have been preparing to leave, as the man
said "But before you make up your mind, do you want to
see his eyes, at least?  He's a handsome enough
looking brute, but with that mask on...  He might have
a squint or something."

"Oh  no, Clark.  As he'll be serving me when I'm
naked, I'll have him blinded, naturally.  So it
doesn't matter what his eyes are like now -  they'll
be replaced by glass ones.  It's a nuisance, of
course, as for the first few weeks they keep stumbling
around, knocking over the little tables of photographs
and knickknacks.  But they soon acclimatise, provided
you don't rearrange the furniture!  And those of us
who have had them before all swear by it - it really
turns their focus inwards, and makes them so much more
receptive to your needs when there aren't so many
other distractions of life to interfere."
I was protesting and thrashing around now, trying to
convey just how totally inhumane all of this was.  But
it had the opposite effect, as I heard the woman say,
as they walked away, "Yes, I agree with you - he does
need calming:  I couldn't tolerate that kind of noise
and general body motion from a slave - in my boudoir,
a man needs to know his place, at my feet, until I
command him to move upwards!"

Oh shit.  I'd be a fucking blinded eunuch, and a toy,
a plaything for some old lady.  This wasn't right - I
was a man, a proud fighting man.  What the fuck was I
going to do?   I stood there, in despair, clenching my
fists impotently behind my back, turning this way and
that as if searching for some solution.

"Easy, boy!".  This was a strong, commanding voice.  A
voice used to exerting authority.  I stopped, and
almost instinctively moved to "stand easy", which is
all I could do with my hands cuffed behind my back.

"Are you an ex-soldier, slave?  One of those spoils of
war, that they're selling off?"

I nodded and tried to grunt "Yes."

"You look fit and trim, anyway.  In good fighting
form, I'd say.  Let me read your history..... Ah,
marine corps.  You were a real fighter, a grunt, in
action, not  some back-room drudge, doing logistics or
paperwork?"

I tried to indicate yes, and no, simultaneously.

So, let me guess.... Long-serving private - never
promoted, as you made a few mistakes in not being nice
to the officers.... Always wanted just to fight...."

I grunted "Yes" as best I could.  They had thought of
making me a corporal or sergeant, even, but some
fucking kid, wet behind the ears, didn't like my
attitude or something.

"Good, well I think I'll have to see what I can do.
If the price doesn't go too high for you, I might have
just the opening that will suit your temperament and
experience exactly..  Now, here... Let me do this....
A marine shouldn't have to stand there, exposing his
dick to every Tom, Dick and Harry!"

I felt strong, firm hands wrapping the tiny kilt thing
around me again.  This is the first thing that anyone
had done for me since my enslavement that made me
think that I was still someone who might matter, made
me believe that it was still possible to be treated as
a man, even.


End Of Part 6