Date: Tue, 15 Feb 2005 22:22:39 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Spoils Of War, Part 8

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

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

Part 8

I must have been thinking "militarily" as when I
pulled the shirt off and shrugged the shorts to stand
there naked, it felt so odd!  I mean, this guy had
seen me stark naked before, when he bought me, so I
really shouldn't have been concerned now.  But in man
ways it was like being back on a proper base, and they
don't make you strip there in front of the officers,
however many rules and regulations you've broken.

The Colonel looked at the file open in front of him,
and at me, then told me to turn around so he could
look at my back.  I was then facing the guard, who I
noticed was looking at my dick with interest.

"Turn back to me, boy", the Colonel said in that voice
of calm authority that knows it's going to be obeyed.
"Now, Steve, you were a marine, used to working hard,
keeping yourself in fighting-fit condition, not
causing trouble, and obeying orders.  Provided you act
the same way here, you'll have an easy life!  But
you'll have seen on the way in that I do order slaves
to be flogged - although I hope that never happens to
a good-looking guy like you as that back and butt of
yours is really too nice to spoil.  And a caning in
public is not pleasant either.  But don't worry about
that - just keep your head down, be respectful, obey
orders, just act as if you were still a marine, and
you won't get into any trouble.  We've got a little
work to do on you, then you'll be with your platoon
tonight, and the slave in charge of that will tell you
everything else you need to know.  Any questions?"

"Sir, please, sir... Can I call my folks, to tell them
I'm OK?"

"Of course not! Hasn't anyone explained to you before
that slaves don't have 'folks'?  You're a slave, my
possession, and that's all that ought to concern you.
Focus on doing the right thing for me, forget any
thoughts you might have about your old life, and you
won't go far wrong."

"But please, sir, what am I going to be doing?"

"Fighting, of course!  I expect you were overseas a
lot, then up north, where they don't syndicate the
gladiator channels.  But you're here to be trained as
a fighter - to fight in public, or, more specifically,
on the gladiator channels.  No to the death, or
anything - just a good old-fashioned knockabout:  a
mixture of boxing and wrestling, until one of you
overcomes the other.  But don't worry about it, as
we'll give you the necessary training."

"Sir, I'm trained as a fighter, sir.  I was in the
marines..."

"You were trained to kill, slave.  And that's
different.  As I said, the idea is not to kill or
permanently damage your opponent, as he's a valuable
slave too.  Just to beat the shit out of each other,
until one or other of you succumbs.  You'll find that
you need retraining:  you have to re-learn all the
things the marines taught you - so, for example, if
you've got your arm around the neck of your opponent,
you have to choke him into unconsciousness, not just
snap it so that he's permanently out of it as quickly
as possible.  But don't worry about it - we're used to
retraining guys like you, and it's part of our
programme to get you to optimum fitness and into
'fighting form'."

I just stood there, listening.  Well, I'd always
enjoyed combat, always enjoyed being fit.  Perhaps
this wouldn't be so bad after all.  But he was going
on again.... "So now we'll just do a couple of things
to you to get you ready for the public, and you'll
have to have a new name.... From here on, you're
Spike."

"Sir, please,  sir, why...?"

"The only name a gladiator is known by is his fighting
name.  His fans like to know who they're cheering,
quite unambiguously.  We already have a Steve here, so
that name's already been used up.  So from now on,
you're Spike - it's a good, hard, strong name, just
the sort of thing that a gladiator needs.  And you'll
find it a help, actually - it will be easier to put
your old life, the life of 'Steve' behind you if you
now start to think of yourself as 'Spike'.   And it's
probably kinder to those 'folks' you were on about,
too - if they do see you on TV, they'll not make the
connection between the tough, fighting machine that's
Spike, and the sweet loveable boy they used to have,
Steve!"

He picked up the phone on his desk and said, calmly,
"Send Lewis in."

There was a knock on the door almost instantly, then a
fit-looking guy in the ubiquitous singlet and shorts
came in.  He'd have stamped his foot as he snapped to
attention if, like me, he hadn't been barefooted:  I
could tell at once he was ex-army, and be had that
unmistakable look of a sergeant about him:  used to
obeying the officers, but giving the guys hell if they
failed to come up to the mark.  He was only about five
ten, so I was taller than he, but for an older guy - I
judged him to be in his mid forties - he was in
fantastic shape:  you could see that he was properly
toned,  had not an ounce of fat on him, and positively
glowed with that kind of good health that only really
hard, regular exercise can bring.  Strangely, I didn't
feel at all embarrassed at standing there in front of
him - for one thing, I guess I'm used to sergeants and
other guys in the barracks; and for another, I could
instantly recognise that we were both real men, men
who were proud of themselves and had no reason to be
ashamed of their bodies.

"This is Spike, Lewis.  He's in your platoon.  Look
after him until he finds his feet here - and it's
rumoured he's a virgin, keep him that way!"

"Sir, I'm not a virgin....", I interrupted, as I
didn't want this Lewis to think I was a wimp.  I mean,
a marine always fucks when he can.

The Colonel's demeanour changed instantly, and he
slammed his hand onto the desk.  "Don't interrupt!
I'll make allowances for you as it's your first day
here, but the next time you ever dare interrupt me or
any other free man, you'll be punished.  You are a
virgin, I believe - you may have fucked around in the
marines, but for us, what counts is whether you've
ever taken dick up that muscular ass of yours!  And I
can tell you haven't, or you'd never have interrupted
like that to tell me so - you marines are always
stupidly proud of not having had sex with your
buddies."

"Now, Lewis", he went on, "Take him down to the
medical room -  they've got their orders there about
what to do with him.  But he's still a bit wild, so
cuff him."

"Sir, yes, sir", Lewis snapped, and took a pair of
handcuffs that had been hanging on the back of his
shorts an cuffed my right wrist to his left one.  He
snapped to "attention" again, and when the boss gave a
nod, turned and, half dragging me after him, we left
the room.

In the corridor, with our bare feet slapping against
the polished thermoplastic tiles, he just said "You
heard the Colonel.  I'm your 'sergeant' - I look after
the eight of you in the platoon.  I don' want any
trouble from you, boy, understand?"

"Yes, sarge."  It somehow came naturally to my lips!

"How long were you in the marines?"

"Seven years, until I was captured...."

"Captured? You didn't go down fighting?  You
surrendered....?"

"Yes.  We were ordered to surrender.  We all wanted to
fight on, but we were out of ammo, no food, no
possibility of relief... They ordered us to give in to
these bastards..."

"And you were enslaved straight away?"

"Yes, some kangaroo court martial did it immediately.
Then  I was auctioned, and now I'm here."

"OK, Spike, you're new to slavery, this is your first
real experience, so some words of advice.  Keep your
head down.  Look to see the lie of the land.  Feel
which way the wind's blowing.  It's all confusing and
strange at first when you're made a slave, but this
isn't a bad berth - there could be far worse, I can
tell you!  Working the fields or in the factories,
chained in a coffle;  or down the mines;  or even as
some rich man's plaything.....  At least you get to
live like a man and act like a man here, doing proper
manly things!  So don't fuck it all up - don't get the
Colonel to be so pissed off with you that he just
sells you on!  And don't get a string of punishments -
it's not worth it."

"Sarge, I just can't get used to it, this idea that I
can be sold..."

"Well get used to it, Spike!  There's a lot of things
that have changed as a result of the war, and I guess
that you and I are just part of the fall out from it.
It's odd to have another man have so much power over
you, well, at least at first.  But if you think about
it, it's not all that different - in the marines you
did as you were ordered, were shipped all over the
place to fight, never had many possessions as you were
always in  the barracks.  And officers could order you
to be punished - not caned or whipped, I guess, but
you did some time in the brig like most young guys, I
bet.  And on the other hand you had a great group of
buddies, a lot of comradeship.... Well, it 's not so
different here.  But, as I said, don't rock the boat -
not until you understand the system, at least!
There's a lot worse places you could have ended up."

He stopped talking then as we were outside a door
marked "medical room".  He rapped smartly on it, and
waited, until we heard an "Enter" from inside.

It was just like any medical room on any base I'd ever
been on - a guy in a white coat behind a desk, an
examination table.  Cabinets along the wall,
presumably full of instruments and drugs.

"Ah, Lewis, is this the new slave, Spike?"

"Sir, yes, sir!"  I could see at once from Lewis's
demeanour that the guy in the white coat was not a
slave, and this was confirmed when he got up and came
over - his shirt was open at the neck, and he wasn't
wearing a slave collar.

"Right, Spike.  We've got some work to do on you.
Now, are you going to behave?  There are guards all
around, and it will be easier for all of us if you
just act sensibly and obey orders.  You're new here,
new as a slave, I see from your file, and sometimes it
takes guys like you a little time to settle.  Now, are
you going to obey?"

"Sir, yes, sir."

"Good.  Lewis - uncuff him!  And then, Spike, slip off
your singlet, and lie face down on the table for me,
there's a good chap."

Lewis released the cuffs, then I pulled the cotton
thing over my head, and saw Lewis looking approvingly
at my musculature as I did so.  The table was
stainless steel, and as I eased myself down on to it,
it was cold under my skin.  I was surprised then when,
at a nod from the doctor, Lewis gently tugged at my
arms to pull my hands above my head, and then quickly
cuffed my hands to the top of the table.

The doctor saw my reaction, and murmured "Don't worry,
Spike!  I'm not a sadist, you know!  That's only to
comply with Federal law - I'm going to cut that collar
off you, and the law requires all un-collared slaves
to be secured at all times."

He fussed around, and I could feel something heavy
being draped over my shoulders, and around my neck.
"This is a heavy heat-resistant cloth", the doctor
carried on. "Slave collars are designed not to be
removed easily, so they're tough, and tight to the
skin.  I'm going to have to use a very fast
diamond-tipped circular saw.  There will be a lot of
sparks, and the collar might heat up, and this
metallic fabric is designed to protect you from the
worst of it.    But however uncomfortable it feels, or
even if there are momentary twinges of pain, you
mustn't move, understand?  That saw is going at five
thousand rpm and it's really sharp - if it touches
your neck, because you move, at best there'll be blood
everywhere, and at worse you'll be permanently
disabled as it will slice some vital nerve or other,
or even kill you.  Do you think you can lie there and
take it?"

"Sir, yes, sir, especially to get rid of this collar,
sir!"

"Oh, you marines are always like that.  Always think
they can stand anything that is thrown at them.    We
only take the collar off you as it's too risky when
you're fighting - an opponent who got a finger, or
fingers, underneath it would have you mostly helpless
as you started to choke.  Now...."

There was that high pitched whining noise that you
normally hear at the dentist - I guess the doctor's
drill was on the same basis, with an air turbine
spinning it.  The screeching and grating sounds as he
attacked my collar were terrible, and I could smell a
kind of metallic burning smell.  But it actually
didn't hurt a bit.  After some minutes he stopped,
reached down to my neck and pulled, and the opened
collar was removed from me.  I wished my hands had
been free, as I would have really enjoyed the feeling
of freedom from that collar, and longed to run my
hands around my neck.  I hadn't realised quite how
oppressive it to be collared - or was it just
psychological, as I hated being a slave?

The doctor pulled the shielding off me, and said
"There.... Not even a scorch mark on that hide of
yours!  Now, Spike, over on to your back..."

I rolled over, and lay there looking up at him.    He
looked at Lewis, and said quietly "Take those shorts
off him", and Lewis came up to the table and started
to tug at the skimpy shorts that was all I was
wearing.  I simply lay there, so he couldn't easily
get them over my butt.

The doctor watched for a moment, then brought his open
palm down with a huge slap onto my belly.  I jerked
with the sheer surprise of it, and gave a yell.  Lewis
pulled the shorts down to my thighs, then worked them
along my legs and over my feet.  I half sat up, and
saw the doctor's hand print on my skin, in red.

"Now, Spike, I thought you said you were going to be
sensible!  And the first time something happens, you
start to be awkward!  I'm a doctor, you know.  And
like you, Lewis here is a man.  So what's the problem
in shucking those shorts?  Haven't you ever been naked
with a doctor before?"

"Sir, yes, sir.  But not one who hit me, sir..."

"Well that's one of the adjustments to being a slave,
Spike.  Doctors are obeyed here, because we're free
men.  And if you disobey, you get punished.  But  I
can see that you're not going to be very sensible, and
I don't think I can trust you to just lie there as I
'skin you..."

"Sir?"

"I'm going to 'skin you, Spike. Circumcise you.  All
fighters are 'skinned."

"No, please, sir!  I don't need it..."

"Yes you do.  Most men look better without their
'skins - it's all right when you're erect and 'skinned
back, but when you're just  'hanging around' normally,
most owners consider it less aesthetic to have the
dick head concealed from view....  And the Colonel is
one of them, so all fighters here are routinely
'skinned.  But don't worry - it won't hurt, and I'm
experienced as I do a lot of mature male 'skinnings:
it will heal very quickly, there won't be any ugly
scarring or anything afterwards, and you'll be back to
jerking yourself off within a few days."

"No!  It's mine, leave me alone... You can't do that
to a guy without his consent...."

"Spike, you're lucky you're here in my surgery!  If
you ever spoke like that to me elsewhere, not properly
respectful as a slave should be to a free man, I'd
have you punished.  But you need to remember, boy,
that you are a slave - you no longer have the power to
make decisions that affect you:  that's what your
owner, the Colonel, does.  So it's not 'mine', your
'skin does not belong to you.  Your dick does not
belong to you.  Your body does not belong to you.  It
all belongs to the Colonel, and the Colonel wants you
'skinned, and so you will be."

He went over to one of the cabinets, took out some
stuff, and I saw him fill a syringe from a bottle.  He
came back and stood by me.  "Now, lie still, whilst I
give you this shot to deaden your dick..."

"No!"  As he came close, I started to thrash my body
around, so he couldn't get the needle anywhere me.
Although my hands were cuffed, I've got a really
strong body and my feet and legs were free - there was
just no way he could approach, without getting kicked
or hurt.

"Spike, it's just as well that I'm a considerate guy!
I could just 'skin you without the anaesthetic, you
know.  But I like to do a good job, and sometimes when
the slave is really thrashing around, and it's really
hurting him, you just can't put the stitches in
properly at the end and then there's too much ugly
scarring that can ruin a perfectly good-looking slave.
 So....."

He turned to Lewis, and snapped "Ride him!"

Lewis leapt up onto the table agilely, then lowered
himself down onto my belly.  I could see his muscular
back in front of me, and felt the heat of his flesh as
he lowered himself onto me.  I could still thrash my
legs around, but with his weight on my abdomen, I was
really restricted.  The doctor handed him the syringe
and said, casually, "Straight into his dick, Lewis -
anywhere - it's all flesh.  No bones to worry
about..."

Lewis bent forward, and I felt a tiny prick, and then
the doctor came and looked down at my face.  "Now,
Spike, I'm going to use the scalpel to 'skin you, and
then sew up the cut ends.  Lewis is holding you nice
and firm, so that you can't move your dick whilst I'm
operating.. But I'm going to do so from the bottom of
the table.... If you kick at me, I'll simply have you
manacled, and then punished afterwards.   And I might
really disfigure you, too - make it so that you can't
have a really hard erection again, as I'll take too
much skin off!  So this time I'd advise you to be
sensible...."

He moved down to be between my legs, and started work,
and I can honestly say I didn't feel a thing.   I was
aware that "something" was going  on, but there was
absolutely no pain or anything, not even any
discomfort.  It only took a few minutes, too, even
with him stopping occasionally to go over to the
cabinets and get more instruments, swabs, and stuff
like that.

He then told Lewis to get off me, and I craned forward
to see my  dick - which had a big piece of plaster
stuff around the end.

"Right, that's that.  You can take that plaster off
tomorrow.  Don't jerk off for a couple of days to
allow the wound to heal - it's very quick there, as
there's a really good blood supply.  But don't fuck
for about a week - we don't want to have even a tiny
risk of infection."

"Bastard!", I almost spat at him.  "You're not allowed
to operate on people without their approval..."

"Spike, you're right, of course.  No doctor can
operate on a person without his approval.  But, as I
said earlier, you're not a person, remember?  You're a
slave.  I can operate on a slave if the owner wants me
to, and the Colonel wants this done to you.  And the
next little thing, too. But  I'm pretty cross at the
way you've consistently ignored my warnings to be
polite, as a slave should be....  The next little
procedure isn't so critical, so just to show you what
can happen to a slave who's disobedient, I'll do it
without the anaesthetic....  Lewis:  his chest!"

Lewis again vaulted onto the table, and this time sat
himself across my ribs, kind of waddling forward so
that his knees were pinning my shoulders down to the
table.  I could see the outline of his dick and balls
clearly through the skimpy shorts, and as he squatted
there, the fly, which had no fastenings in these slave
shorts, half gaped open so I could see his thick,
black curly pubic hair.  There was a faint scent of
"male" drifting towards my nose.  I felt utterly
helpless having this guy pinning me down like this,
with me naked and him almost so:  it didn't seem
right, somehow.

The doctor was behind me fiddling around, then
suddenly, before I had time to react, he gripped my
head and something cold and metallic was up my nose -
both nostrils.  I tried to struggle, but it was no use
- the weight of Lewis and the firm grip of the doctor
held me there immobile.  More fiddling, and  I wanted
to sneeze, as the thing up my nose probed around up my
nostrils.  Then I heard the doctor say "Right, that's
got the position.  Lewis - you're stronger than me...
One big squeeze, please, so we get a nice clean
operation...."

I saw Lewis lean forward, his muscles in his belly
tightening, and his fly opening even more.  He took
something out of the doctor's hands, then I half heard
a sickening "crunch", an almost electric pain shot
through my nose - like when you eat too much really
cold ice cream, only a hundred times worse - and I
started to choke as that dreadful salty taste of blood
filled my throat.

Lewis handed the doctor something, and through the
tears that were blurring my eyes, I saw that it seemed
to be a pair of pliers, but pliers made in that kind
of surgical stainless steel.  The end was dripping
with blood - my blood.

"Right, Spike.  That's a hole punched through your
septum.  Well done, Lewis - a nice clean incision, I'd
think, judging by the residue..."  I saw him shaking a
little piece of skin and cartilage off the end of the
pliers, which now I looked I could see were more like
those special things you use to stone olives.  He
fetched something over from the cabinets, and again
there was fiddling around in my nose with a piece of
cold metal - but this time it wasn't just ticklish and
unpleasant - it hurt!  My body writhed, but Lewis's
weight on my chest kept me head still.

Another pair of pliers, and I braced myself for a
second wave of pain.  But this time Lewis just bunched
his muscles again and I felt nothing.

"OK, Lewis, off him!", the doctor said.  Then coming
and standing by my head, he wiped over my face with a
swab, and said "That's it, Spike!  Your snout ring,
done.  A nice neat hole in the septum, then Lewis
closed up the ring I inserted and it's pre-glued so
that there's no risk of tearing the skin in your nose
or anything with  a weld or other join.  And it's not
a ring either, strictly speaking - more of a kind of
flattened oval so that we can get it up your nose
without causing unsightly flaring of the nostrils,
have it high enough up so that there's no risk of the
septum tearing if it's pulled a bit, and long enough
so that it hangs down properly over your upper lip.

"Sir, but why, sir...?"

"I told you - Federal law requires all slaves to be
collared.  A Slave must wear a collar at all times.
But the Colonel got a dispensation for the gladiators
here, as it's too dangerous for you to wear a collar
when you're fighting.  So slaves can wear a snout ring
instead, and you've just had yours fitted.  The rules
of gladiator combat don't allow eye gouging - no
permanent damage to valuable property is allowed - and
so you're all taught to keep hands away from the face,
and a snout ring isn't therefore a particular problem.
 Now, how does it feel?"

It felt fucking awful, actually.  I'm used to it now,
but that first time it felt as if there was some huge
thing up both nostrils, jamming them and stopping me
from breathing.  And as if it was a reflex, I couldn't
stop my tongue darting out to feel the vile thing
lying there on my top lip.  My nose hurt, too,
especially as my tongue touched the ring, and there
was that sickly taste of blood in my mouth and throat.
 All in all, it felt pretty shitty!

"I guess it's OK, sir.  But Lewis is a slave, sir, and
he hasn't got a snout ring...."

"No, Spike.  Around here, at the base, ordinary slaves
are of course collared, and it's only you gladiators
who have their snouts ringed.  If and when you
"retire", and if then the Colonel chooses to keep you
on as a sergeant to look after a platoon, or even as
one of the trainers, then we'll take out your snout
ring and give you a "normal" collar.  You should be
proud of being snouted, as we say - around here, that
marks you out as a gladiator, one of the reasons why
were' all here, after all!  Ordinary slaves collared,
real fighters snouted - consider it a badge of honour.
 Now, finally, we have just one more thing to do....
And I hope you have learned by this time that you may
as well obey, and just accept that these things are
going to be done to you.  Over on your belly
again..... And mind that dick, as I don't want it
tearing at this stage...."

Almost resignedly I rolled over, and the doctor said
"Now, I can have Lewis sit on you again, but I really
need to be able to get in and manipulate you.  Are you
going to be sensible this time?

I remembered all the things we were taught in
training, about conserving yourself to live to fight
another day;  I knew that with my hands still cuffed
Lewis could be ordered to sit on me again.  So I just
muttered "Sir, yes, sir."

I lay there as he swabbed an area of skin just under
my left shoulder blade, then gave me an anaesthetic
injection deep into the muscle.  He then came around
to where I could see him, holding a long,
sharp-looking stainless steel probe, a bit thinner
than a knitting needle.  It almost glittered under the
strong lights.

"Now, Spike - you MUST lie absolutely still, believe
me!  I've got to slide this right up under the big
bone that forms your shoulder blade, and you'll see
how long it is.  You won't feel any pain, but there
will be some 'discomfort' as you'll be vaguely aware
of it as I force it home.  IF you move, you might end
up paralysed, or, possibly dead - it's going in near
your heart!  So relax, remain calm, and absolutely no
movement, OK?"

"Sir, yes, sir.... But why....?"

"So many questions, for a slave!  It's to put your
microchip in where it can't be removed except by
sophisticated surgery - we used just to tuck them
under  a bit of skin on the belly, but you slaves
found that a sharp knife, a lot of determination, and
a bit of pain, and you could get it out.  But deep
down in the body here, you'd need full-scale surgery
to get it out..."

"A microchip, sir?"

"Yes, Spike.  You gladiators travel around to other
fighting venues, and sometimes even to private houses
for an entertainment at a big dinner, or a wedding, or
birthday... It would be too expensive to keep you
under guard all the time, so the simple way is to have
you chipped  - the GPS system can always interrogate
your position then, down to a couple of metres, so
escape is impossible - the Slave Police can always
locate you, anywhere on the planet... And remember,
the penalty for attempted escape for a slave is
death!"

"Sir", Lewis asked politely, when the doctor had
stopped speaking, "And can I tell him about the
perimeter?"

The doctor nodded, and Lewis continued "Spike, it's
the same system that keeps you in the base here  - the
system watches all of us slaves all the time, and it
'knows' the perimeter of the base.  You can move
freely around the base, between the buildings and so
on, without any need to be guarded.  But unless you
have special permission to leave the base, and that's
been programmed into the system, an alarm will go off
if you cross the perimeter - and then they can locate
you anyway!  Even though we're very close to the
border here, there just would not be time to get
across after the system triggered to say that you were
over our boundaries.  And the Colonel simply has
slaves who try to leave like that flogged.  Don't even
think about trying it, Spike!"

I sat there and felt even worse than I had been
because of my 'skinning and snouting.   I mean, you
have your pets microchipped, don't you?  I was still a
man, after all - not some fucking animal!

End Of Part 8.