Worldwide Boy Gladiators Part 15
By istari

copyright 2007 by istari, all rights reserved

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This story contains scenes depicting sexual acts and various other extreme humiliations involving minor males. This story is intended for adult audiences only, and is a work of complete and total fiction. If you should not be reading things like this, then don't.

Story, characters and content are copyright 2007 by istari. Do not repost without permission of the author.

Comments are welcome and can be directed to
[email protected]
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Chapter 31:

Half a world away from Gladiator Island, Samuel 'Shaka' Nguni hurried along the streets of suburban Johannesburg, his backpack slung carelessly over his right shoulder. The eleven-year-old's pleasant light brown skin stood against his white school shorts and khaki socks. His blue and yellow striped tie had been loosened the second he stepped off school grounds, and he'd undone the first three buttons of his light blue shirt. He'd stuffed his cap into his bag. The boy kept his hair in dreadlocks, the fashion for upper-class South African boys these days, and he hated wearing that stupid school hat. He was tall for his age, with a lean sinewy frame perfect for swimming and running, at both of which he excelled. The boy was eager to get home today to catch the latest tape-delayed broadcast of Worldwide Boy Gladiators. Like most of the black ruling class in South Africa, he got a particular thrill from seeing lowly whites being humiliated and tormented for his entertainment. But he knew there was more to it that just that. He liked watching the boy's nude bodies, watching their cocks flopping about as they ran and jumped and strained and struggled. He always ended up with a raging boner in his shorts.

As he ran home, he passed a work brigade of slave boys, all white, all under the age of thirteen and all naked except for the iron collars around their necks. They were chained together by their collars, sweeping the dirt and trash from the curbs. Two overseers, young black men in official government uniforms were supervising the boys, with shock sticks at the ready. The two men tipped their caps to Samuel as he went by. Samuel returned the gesture and smirked at the six white boys. His eyes paused briefly at the chastity pods that encased their genitals. The boys on WBG also wore things like those. He wondered what it would feel like to have his penis locked away forever. Just the thought was enough to make his boyhood jump to life in his shorts. Now with a plainly visible erection, the young eleven-year-old turned through open gate of his family's walled estate.

"Good evening, Mister Samuel," his family's white gardener said to him as the boy strode up the walk toward the sprawling single story mansion. Sam knew that once upon at time the gardener's ancestors probably lived here, but today in South Africa whites were kept strictly in their place.

Samuel acknowledged the man with indifference and scampered under the colonnades of the main house.

"Pieter!" he called out rather impatiently when he reached the hallway. His voice was just showing the first signs of puberty. "I'm home . . ."

Seconds later, a nude white boy scurried into the hall. He was roughly the same age as Samuel, a few months older perhaps, but several inches shorter, with firm little muscles reflecting a life of hard work. He had blonde hair and blue eyes and a sweet round freckled face. An iron collar was welded around his neck, and a small ID tag hung from the steel ring in front of it. His genitals were somewhat small for a boy soon to be twelve. He had plump grape-sized testicles stretched low by a two-inch wide metal band locked tightly around his scrotum. It was a rather painful adornment that he'd received when he was nine. The result was that his balls now formed a swollen purple mass at the end of the shiny metal band. Simply touching them was enough to make the boy wince. The boy had a slim two-inch long, tightly circumcised penis, the end of which was pierced with a thick heavy steel ring. Except for the shoulder-length hair on his head, his body was completely hairless. He'd sprouted a few pubic hairs in recent months, but they were always removed before they could thicken or spread.

"You're supposed to be waiting for me," Samuel almost pouted as the white naked white boy took his backpack.

"I'm sorry, Master," Pieter replied with his head bowed.

"Well, you should be . . . and why aren't you wearing your belt?"

Pieter normally wore a wide leather belt around his slender waist. The ring at the tip of his tightly skinned cock would be clasped to a ring in the center of the belt, holding his cock up toward his stomach. Pieter's frequent erections were generally ignored, and he was strictly forbidden to touch himself. The belt served as a humiliating and constant reminder of his status in the Nguni household.

Pieter gave Sam an embarrassed look. "The missus, Master Sam, she was washing me this morning . . . I had a couple of hairs down there that had to come out . . . " he winced at the memory of the mistress' tweezers. "She sent me out to work in the garden, Master Sam, till you got home, Master Sam. She said she didn't want the belt to get dirty . . . " Pieter was generally not allowed to say much more than variations of 'Yes, master' or 'No, master', and so he stumbled awkwardly over his words. Like Samuel, his voice was just beginning to change.

"Oh," Sam smiled. "Well, we should go find it. You know you're not allowed to have your thing hanging free like that."

Pieter gave his master a shy grin and gazed down at his soft penis. "I know, sir. It feels weird."

"Let's hurry," Sam said, attaching a chain leash to Pieter's collar. "Gladiators is on at six. If you make me miss it, I'll have your ass whipped."

Pieter van der Merwe, eleven years and nine months old had been a slave in the Nguni house since he was five. He and his young master had grown up together. It could be said that they were friends, up to a point, but Samuel never let the white boy forget that he was a slave, his slave. Pieter knew the treat of an ass whipping was not an empty one. He still had a hard time sitting down from the one he got the week before at Samuel's command. Pieter was always kept naked, even in public, and so his perpetually red and bruised rear end was always on display for everyone to see.

At five minutes to six, Pieter was once again properly secured in his belt and the two boys were in Samuel's big room on the cool south side of the house.

"Turn the television on," Sam said as he took off his clothes and rummaged through his drawers to find a pair of shorts. Pieter had seen Samuel naked since they were little, and of course Pieter himself could not remember ever wearing clothes at all. Still, on the cusp of puberty, seeing Sam's smooth brown skin and his long thick penis, considerably larger than his own, caused him to get a weird tingly feeling between his legs. He turned on the liquid crystal HD set and programmed the right channel. He enjoyed Gladiators just as much as his master did, and for the next two hours, he and Sam would shout and giggle and cheer like best boy friends, rather than boy-master and boy-slave.

Sammy pulled on a pair of white cotton shorts, adjusted the ample contents hidden inside them and sat down on his soft floor cushion. "Go get me a snack," he ordered. "Hurry or you'll miss something."

Pieter took off toward the kitchen. Sam picked up the remote and adjusted the volume. He slid his right hand absent-mindedly into his shorts and fondled his dick. He was fully erect by the time the WBG logo flashed on the screen and the 'Olympics'-style theme music began. He was stroking himself slowly when Pieter returned with sodas and cold sandwiches for them both. Sam grinned shamelessly and pointed to the obvious and rather large tent in his shorts. "You can take care of this for me after the show."

"Yes, Master Sam," Pieter replied, handing his master, and his only friend in the whole world, his noticeably larger share of the early evening snack he'd sneakily procured from the pantry.





Back on the island. Christopher remained in the training room with Bruce and Lance well into the evening. At the moment he was hanging upside-down, suspended by his slender ankles, a large thick dildo shoved deep into his rectum and a nasty metal clamp on his foreskin. His two temporary masters were beating the soles of his feet with bamboo canes. Already there were livid red stripes on the soft pads of his cute and not-so-little boy-feet. Walking, or even standing, was going to be very difficult for the next few days. The boy was exhausted, but he still managed to shriek and whimper each time they hit him. Even gentle Lance was starting to get into it more and more, enjoying the rare sensation of total power over another human being. Of course, strictly speaking, thirteen-year-old Chris was not a human being. Slaves, even indentured ones, were commodities, often valuable ones to be sure, but they were simply objects to be bought, sold, traded, used and abused as their owners saw fit. There were precious few rules regarding their treatment, and with that great freedom, naturally, came great excess and extraordinarily inventive cruelty. Thus, it was easy enough for Lance (still legally a slave himself) to believe that the naked, crying and suffering boy was getting exactly what he deserved. Any sympathetic understanding that may have existed between the young man and the young teen had gradually faded away as the hours of torment went by in the training room. Ironically it was Bruce who finally had to grab his young partner's hand and put a stop to Christopher Andrews' ordeal. "There are rules here about how much pain we can inflict on the boy's feet," Bruce told Lance. "If he can't walk, he can't compete. I don't want to get stuck with an extra fee for damaging the kid." Lance dropped the cane and gazed at the sobbing upside-down boy. The soles of the thirteen-year-old's feet were a mess. "Oh, god," Lance whispered. "I didn't mean to . . . " "Now you're starting to understand," Bruce said. "Help me get him down." When Chris was lowered to the cold concrete floor, he curled into a defensive little ball. He was covered in welts and bruises from his shoulders all the way down to his feet. His foreskin was still clamped and the end of the large thick dildo was still sticking out of his butt. His cock hadn't been hard in hours, in fact it was small and shriveled, looking more like it belonged to a little ten-year-old. He felt Bruce's hand on his shoulder and he immediately flinched and tensed, fearing another beating was about to begin. Instead he felt the dildo being slowly pulled from his rectum. It hurt every bit as much coming out as it did going in, but Chris no longer had any strength left to scream. He felt all raw and sore and very wide open back there, and he could feel something wet trickling out of him. "Roll over, son," Bruce then said in a surprisingly gentle voice. "I can't take that clamp off you dick if you're all curled up." Chris wasn't sure if he should trust Bruce or not. Maybe this was just a trick. But he really, really, wanted that clamp off his foreskin. It was hurting so bad. With a soft whimper the young teen straightened his legs and rolled onto his back, wincing when his well-punished butt touched the floor. Chris gasped sharply went the clamp came off and the blood rushed back into his foreskin. He looked down at his cock and saw how shriveled and pathetic it looked, and red and sore the tip of his foreskin was. "You're gonna be hurting for a while," Bruce told him, gently stroking the young teen's soft four-inch penis. "But we didn't break the skin, so I don't want to hear you complaining. Now, on your feet. We'll get you cleaned up once we get back to the room." Chris had a hard time getting his legs to work at all, and when he finally did, the pain in his feet made it impossible for him to stand up. He tried twice while Bruce and Lance watched him, but there was no way he was walking out of this room. "I can't do it," the boy mumbled as he dropped to his knees. He was ashamed and humiliated and deathly afraid that this would only result in even more punishment. "You can crawl then," Bruce announced, attaching the leash to the boy's collar once more. Lance gathered up all of the extra gear, including Chris' chastity cage, and the two men led the boy out of the training room. Chris got no relief from his exhaustion as he was again harnessed to the cart, this time on all fours, and made to pull them back to their luxury suite on the other side of the island. It was painfully slow going. Bruce was at least lenient with the whip. The sun had already gone down when Chris brought the cart and its passengers back to their room. He was quickly released from the harness, leashed again, and led back into the cool air-conditioned opulence of the VIP quarters.

A glass of cold water, a piece of fruit and an hour locked in the cage helped the boy regain a little of his strength. Chris actually felt rather strange as he lay curled up in the cage. The young teenager was growing accustomed to always being the center of attention. At the moment however, he was being largely ignored. Lance and Bruce were watching various clips and tape-delayed action from other parts of the island. Chris caught a glimpse of the black room. There was Josh, covered from head to toe in black latex and leather. Chris had no way of knowing if Josh was actually still being punished or not. Seeing his brother that way actually made his sore tortured penis twitch and swell and become half hard. Blushing and ashamed of himself, the boy looked away managed to get in a quick cat nap before the unlocking of the cage door woke him.

Chris was given the luxury of twenty minutes to shower, all by himself. He was, of course, under strict orders not to touch his genitals, except to get them clean, but given his recent ordeal in the training room, he had no desire at all to play with himself. His nice teenaged cock hung soft between his smooth shapely legs as he stood under the warm stream and let all the sweat and dirt and blood wash away down the drain. He washed his hair, and then took great care in scrubbing his sore and aching genitals. Chris' balls were still red and swollen, and his penis hurt when he pulled back his foreskin to get clean. With two minutes to spare, his hair still wet, his flanks still dripping, Chris presented himself to Bruce and Lance. He was no longer particularly modest about being naked around them, or anybody for that matter. He served them their dinner that night and once again got the privilege of feasting on their unwanted scraps. He then helped them pack their bags for their return home in the morning. "Too bad we can't take you with us, boy," Bruce said, running his hands over Chris' taut abdomen and playfully flicking the thirteen-year-old's soft dangling penis. "We've got a nice big dungeon we could keep you in." Chris wasn't sure if Bruce was serious. He didn't know anything about the legal details of his indenture. Maybe he could be sold. Either way he knew he wouldn't have any say in the matter. He decided it was best just to keep his mouth shut and keep working. Bruce smiled privately, seeing the fear in the young boy's eyes. He'd been thinking about acquiring a new slave boy, now that Lance was a young man, and Chris certainly fit his preferred criteria, intelligent, blond, muscular, and fairly well hung for a boy of thirteen. Naturally he knew young Christopher Andrews was not for sale. His indenture made him untouchable where that prospect was concerned. But perhaps it was time. And there were hundreds of suitable boys to choose from at the regional processing centers. That hadn't been the case back when he'd bought Lance. Lance had been sentenced to slavery as an orphaned juvenile delinquent, as most boys were in the earliest days of the Child Enslavement Act. The court system was originally the only real source of new stock for the boy slave markets. That was ten years ago. Things were very different now. Boys from all levels of society were finding their way into the processing centers or the sweltering slave pens, some sold by their parents, some seized by creditors in payment for their parents' debts, some still sent there by the courts, and, increasingly a number of boys who had 'volunteered' to become slaves, in much the way the Boy Gladiators had signed their own indentures. Bruce would have no problem finding the perfect boy to keep locked in the dungeon. But he did decide that before he left the island, he would get young Christopher's home address. A visit to the boy's parents might just be in order. Chris, for his part, spent the rest of the night naked at Bruce and Lance's feet, being a quiet, submissive little slave boy, fetching them food and drinks, sucking their cocks whenever they demanded it. He was free of his chastity device, and in spite of its recent ordeal his teenaged penis managed several strong erections. He was learning to ignore them, and Bruce and Lance made no further comments about it, nor did they touch it whenever it was hard. The two men took the boy with them into their bed and set the cute young teenager between them as if he was their beloved pet. Chris' cock-cage remained on the table in the living area. Bruce gave him a stern lecture. "I'm not going to put that cage on your dick tonight, boy. But you are not to touch yourself, and I don't want to wake up to hear you humping the mattress like some dog in heat, got it?" "Yes, sir," Chris answered sleepily as he stretched his slim lean torso across the silken sheets. It was the first night Chris had spent in a real bed in almost four weeks. With the two men pressed against him, the exhausted boy drifted off to sleep. He was awakened once, to the not unpleasant feeling of Lance slowly entering him. The younger man fucked the boy gently, came quickly, and withdrew his cock from the boy's well-used hole. They were both asleep again in a matter of minutes.

In the barracks the next morning, eight boy gladiators were all lined up in the showers, washing their slim athletic bodies down under the watchful eyes of the guards. The matron wasn't here this morning, which meant that the boys' erect or semi-erect penises went for the most part unnoticed. Still, all the boys were careful not to touch themselves, and their hard boycocks wagged comically back and forth as they scrubbed and rinsed.

"Wow, Danny," Gabe said to his partner as they showered side by side, "I think your dick is actually getting smaller."

"Stop teasing me, Gabe," the twelve-year-old redhead replied. His was the only penis not currently in some state of erection. Gabe's on the other hand was presently at full mast, a nice thick five-and-one-half inch boy-boner proudly on display. Danny blushed when he once again noticed the huge difference between himself and his partner. "I know. I know its small, ok, I get it."

Gabriel's expression turned serious. "I'm not kidding, Dan. It really does look smaller." He pointed at Daniel's little undersized organ. Danny looked down at himself and surveyed his meager endowment. It did look smaller, even accounting for the effects of the ice cold shower. It wasn't even two inches long. The boy swallowed hard and stared back up at Gabriel in dismay.

"See what I mean?" Gabe asked. "I think your balls are smaller too." Dan lifted his soft little wiener out of the way and took a hard look at his balls. "Oh, god, they are smaller!" the boy almost shrieked. "What's happening to me?" By now the other boys had joined the conversation. "Maybe it's the pills they give us every morning," David suggested. "But that's supposed to make our dicks bigger," ten-year-old Miles observed, wiggling his slender hips and showing off his presently rock-hard little pickle, all two and three-quarter inches of it. "Yeah, but they changed Danny's a few days ago," David replied astutely. "They're a different color than the rest of us get, so they must be giving him something different . . . something to make his dick and balls shrink." Danny just stood there with a dumbfounded and rather horrified expression on his face. He already had a tiny little dink between his legs, now they were giving him pills to make it even smaller. "Oh, man, this sucks," he said, resting his hands on his hips and once again staring down at his genitals. "If they get any smaller, I won't have anything down here at all." David, as the oldest, took on a brotherly role and laid his hand gently on Danny's shoulder. "I think that's kind of the idea, mate," he said sympathetically. Danny wiped his eyes. It was totally unfair. If any boy needed help to make his dick grow bigger it was him, and instead they were going to make it smaller. He didn't have time to complain about it though, as the guards turned off the water, lined the boys up and proceeded to roughly scrub the boys' genitals, leaving eight sets of sore red penises and scrotums ready to be locked away in chastity devices once more.

After breakfast, Calvin Mayfair escorted Danny to the medical department. As always, Danny was required to run at full pace all the way there. Calvin trotted along behind, enjoying the site of the cute muscular naked boy in front of him. Danny had a great set of legs, and all the running was toning them up even more. And the kid's butt was simply fantastic, firm, tight and smooth as silk. Calvin could see the blunt end of the plug sticking out as the boy ran ahead. Doctor Trench welcomed the young gladiator with a clinical smile and quickly put him on the scales. "You're at your ideal body weight, Zero-Five. Excellent." She then went through the normal quick check-up routine, listening to his heart and lungs, then checking his eyes, ears, nose and throat. "Any problems keeping your food down?" she asked the boy. Nausea was a common side-effect of testroxil treatments. Danny shook his head. "No, ma'am," he answered softly, keeping his eyes at his feet. "Good. Now, let's get that belt off you and have a look. I'm going to give you a very thorough examination, and you'll be getting several injections today. You're going to be a big boy and behave for me, right?" "Yes, ma'am."
Calvin handed over the keys to Daniel's chastity belt and the doctor quickly removed it and set it aside. Danny remained silent and perfectly still, with his hands clasped behind his head. Immediately Doctor Trench could see that the testroxil was beginning to have the desired effect. The boy's penis was noticeably smaller than the last time she'd examined him, and his testicles were beginning to shrink nicely too. "What's happening to me, ma'am?" the twelve-year-old red-head summoned the courage to ask. "Whatever do you mean, Zero-Five?" Trench replied, knowing full well the urgency of the boy's question but relishing in watching him squirm and curl his little toes in apprehension. "My . . . umm . . . my dingle-dangle, ma'am . . . I think it's getting smaller . . .so are my, you know . . . my balls." The boy's face was a red as the hair on his head. Trench smiled. "A boy your age is old enough to use the right term," she scolded him, gently flicking his circumcised penis with her forefinger. "From now on, in this office, you will refer to it as your penis. Although, it won't even be a dingle-dangle when we're finished with your treatments. I'm sure you've noticed that you're getting a different pill from the other boys. Danny nodded his head. "I didn't at first, ma'am. But yesterday I saw it was a different color, ay." "That's right. Your little parts were so small, we've decided to make them even smaller." Young Daniel gulped and looked down at his little boy package. "How . . . how small are they gonna get, ma'am?" "Well," the woman explained in a kindly, matter-of-fact way, "for the most part your penis will disappear entirely. Your little acorn head there will still stick out, but that's it. That should happen by the end of next week. Your balls will take longer to shrink, but they'll end up the size of marbles. Your scrotum will shrink too." Danny had never really had much interest in that stuff between his legs, but it was still a devastating blow. He started to tear up almost immediately. "Oh, it's not that big a deal," Alison Trench told him. "You'll be happier being castrated. Trust me." Danny's green eyes shoot up at her in panic. He'd heard that word before and he knew what it meant and he knew slave boys often got their boyparts removed. "You're . . . you're gonna cut my balls off?!" he nearly shrieked he was so distraught. "No, silly. We don't need to. The chemicals are doing the same thing. You'll still have everything down there, they just won't work anymore." "Is it . . . is it gonna be, like, forever?"
"No, Daniel," the doctor replied, using his real name for the first time. "Once you stop taking the pills, everything will start to grow back. But the company is going to keep you like this for your entire indenture." Danny wiped his eyes. It was still terrible, but at least he knew it wasn't permanent. "When was the last time you had an erection?" the doctor asked as she examined the boy's testicles and gave them a firm squeeze. The twelve-year-old boy wrinkled his nose in thought. "Don't know, ma'am. It's been a few days, ay. I guess when Josh 'n me were wrestling." "And your little penis hasn't been hard since?"
Danny shook his head morosely. "Not really, ma'am. It kinda swells up in the morning, just a bit." "Rub it for me. Let me see if you can give yourself an erection." By now, the doctor's assistants had gathered round the naked boy. Danny blushed fiercely and wrapped three fingers around his soft limp little penis. After ten minutes of intense pumping and pulling and yanking, he'd managed to make it red and sore, but it was still perfectly soft. "Good," Doctor Trench announced after ordering him to stop. "No sign of an erection. You won't be having any more of those for a long time. Now, climb up on the exam table and put your feet in the stirrups. I need to administer an injection into your testicles. This is really going to hurt. Strap him down, ladies." Once Daniel was on the table, Anna tightened the leathers straps over the boy's thighs and locked his ankle shackles to the stirrups. Karin fitted the chest strap snuggly and secured it in place beneath the table. Together they moved the stirrups out and up, spreading the twelve-year-old's legs painfully and embarrassingly wide. Danny's little parts were now utterly defenseless. Anna then buckled a thin leather strap around the boy's scrotum, forcing his balls out from his body. Doctor Trench had meanwhile prepared the syringes for injecting a concentrated dose of testroxil directly into the boy's testicles. Curious in spite of his terror, Danny watched as the first needle was pressed against his right testicle. The doctor held it there for a few seconds. Danny winced at feeling of the cold thin sharp point. Then, with wide bewildered eyes, he watched as the three-inch long needle was pushed half way into his testicle. He opened his mouth to scream in pain and panic, but no sound came out, just a shocked and desperate little squeal. Trench pressed the plunger, injecting the clear fluid. Danny's eyes grew even wider and he winced sharply. "You'll feel a little burning at first, then it will go numb for a while." She pulled the needle out and set it aside, picking up the second one. "Now let's do the left one." Again Danny endured the horror of having the thin sharp needle jabbed into one of his testicles. It was all over in an instant, but from the boy's perspective it seemed to take forever. Anna and Karin released the straps and got him back to his feet. The leather strap around his balls remained cinched tightly in place for another five minutes while the doctor continued her examination. "Bend over and grab your ankles. Keep still now."
Danny's butt-plug was removed and he was given a thorough prostate exam. A few clear drops of prostatic fluid dribbled out of his soft little dick. "His prostate seems healthy," she informed Calvin and her assistants. "It's going to become extraordinarily sensitive over the next few years, a rather wicked side-effect of the drug. He won't have a single erection or orgasm, and he won't produce any sperm, but he'll be leaking almost constantly." "How humiliating," Karin said in mock sympathy, playfully fondling the twelve-year-old's now dormant genitals. "We're done here for now, Cal," Trench told the boy's trainer. "We'll get him plugged and you can take him on his way." She picked up the boy's chastity belt and handed it to Calvin. "I don't think he'll be needing this anymore," she observed, "but rules are rules, aren't they?" Calvin nodded and quickly locked Daniel back into the chastity belt, making sure the metal genital plate was as tight and snug as possible. "Come on, limp-dick," he said, tugging at the ring on the boy's collar, "you've got weight training this afternoon, and I want you to do some laps in the pool first." Danny nodded, embarrassed at this turn of events, but determined that he was still going to kick everyone's ass on this island. "You know the rules, boy. Run to the pool and wait for me. I'll be along in a few minutes. Don't go in the water unless there's another trainer there, got it?" "Yes, sir," Danny said, all too happy to run from the medical center as fast his gorgeous muscular twelve-year-old legs could carry him.


Chapter 32:

Josh was released from medical at mid-morning. Hannah collared him and shackled him and hung the heavy chain from his neck once more. Just as the boy had feared, she decided to make him keep wearing the diaper. "You wear this," she said, playfully squeezing the eleven-year-old's oversized bulge beneath the thick cotton padding, "or the chastity belt." Josh wasn't sure he was actually being given a choice, but he hated that belt. It made his balls go up inside him and he hated having his penis pinned down between his legs. At least in the diaper his dick could get hard if it wanted to and no one would say anything about it. "Besides, you look adorable. Spaceships, huh? I liked the bunnies better, but boys will be boys. Come on." "Where are we going, ma'am?" Josh asked politely as Hannah lead him by his chain out into the warm humid tropical morning. "I'm taking you back to the barracks. We need to get some solid food in you before you do anything else. Then Michella and I have something nice planned for you and One-Zero this afternoon." Josh didn't much like the sound of that, but his growling stomach and the promise of real food, even slave food, was all he could really think about.


At that same moment, Chris was just waking up in the big soft luxurious bed. His body was stiff and sore, his head hurt, and for the first time since he could remember he didn't have a raging morning boner between his legs. He actually reached down and flicked his soft penis with his fingers. It still ached from being pierced with all those needles.

'No wonder it won't get hard,' Chris thought, thinking back to yesterday and the horror of the training room. He moved around under the silken sheet and arched his back and let out a big yawn. Lance was still there in bed beside him. Bruce could be heard moving around out in the living area. Chris managed to sit himself up on one elbow. He gazed at Lance's sleeping face and allowed his eyes to trail down the young man's lean and superbly muscular torso. Rather naturally or artificially, Lance's body was just as hairless as his own, except for that dark patch of pubic hair crowning his cock. Chris' sleeping penis finally seemed to wake up and swelled to a semi-erect state. The thirteen-year-old boy blushed. He felt sort of embarrassed. He'd never looked at a grown man, even though a very young one, this way before. As if it had a mind of its own, he found his hand slowly running down Lance's smooth chest. 'Oh, god, what am I doing?' the boy thought as his young heart raced. But he didn't stop. Instead he moved closer and continued his explorations until his hand reached Lance's abdomen. Lance opened his eyes and smiled at him. "I . . . uh . . . I was just . . . umm . . ."
"You're curious. It's okay. I was a gay boy myself . . . not too long ago." "Can I . . . you know . . . " Chris pointed to Lance's erection. "Can I suck it?" "Hmmm, a sexy thirteen-year-old boy wants to suck my dick," Lance said with a grin. "What should I say?" Chris smiled back shyly. In that moment, with sleep still in his eyes and his hair mussed from tossing and turning, he looked considerably younger than his proud thirteen years. He curled himself up slowly, his bruised and aching body making him wince. He stroked Lance's penis with his left hand first, then, timidly, he took the young man's sex into his mouth. Chris was quickly becoming quite adept at this task, but this was the first time he'd initiated it. It actually felt rather dizzying. "Don't ever be ashamed of who you are, Chris," Lance whispered, gently stroking the young boy's back, careful to avoid the painful welts that remained from the night before. It didn't take Chris long to make Lance cum, and the boy dutifully swallowed all of the young man's seed. Thirty minutes later, without breakfast and with a growling stomach, Chris was standing at the entrance to the barracks, once again locked in his chastity device, plugged, and wearing all of the leather gear he'd started off in. His body was bruised and sore, his back, buttocks and the backs of his thighs were covered in welts. The soles of his feet still hurt a lot. He was glad this latest ordeal was over, but he was also scared. He'd missed two days of training, and the next round of competitions was coming up. He knew he wasn't going to be ready. Bruce swatted the boy on the rump after signing him back over to the guards at the gate. "See you around kid," he said. "We'll be back next year." Lance didn't say anything at all. He gave the boy a kindly glance then turned and walked off with his partner toward the airstrip. The guards marched Chris inside, removed all of the leather and replaced it with the iron collar and shackles the boy had now become accustomed to wearing. To his delight, there was a breakfast tray waiting for him on the table. It had gone cold some time ago, but he didn't mind at all. He sat down gingerly on his sore tender butt and ate ravenously, occasionally raising his head to look around. The barracks were deserted this morning. He assumed all the other boys were out practicing and training. His eyes fell to the lighted scoreboard which was now a permanent fixture on the far wall. The points and standings for the new week so far were up there. Being out of action for two days, Chris only had the demerits he'd gotten on Sunday, and no bonus points at all. That put him squarely in the middle of the pack, which really wasn't a bad place to be when it came right down to it. 'Could have been worse,' he thought to himself. He saw that his brother was no longer in last place, although he was very much in the red. Illya was leading once again. Generally well-behaved and demonstrating amazing athletic prowess and endurance the shy Russian lad, who seldom opened his mouth, was quickly becoming the boy to beat in the early days on the island. The rest of the boys were spread out evenly. He was surprised to see little Miles in the top three. 'That'll change,' he thought smugly. All the boys liked Miles, but they didn't consider him to be a real Boy Gladiator like they were. He was just a little kid after all, what competition could he possibly be to them? Chris had just returned his attention to his breakfast, now even colder, when he heard a soft and familiar voice behind him. "Hey, Chris."
It was Josh.
Chris turned and saw his little brother for the first time in several days. Actually this was just about the longest either of them could remember ever being totally separated. Chris immediately noticed Josh's diaper but decided not to say anything for the moment. He was too happy to see him. He got up from the table and the two boys hugged, something they almost never did. "Are you ok?" big brother asked.
"Yeah, I'm good," little brother answered and the two of them sat down to talk. "What was it like in that room?"
Josh tried to put on a brave front for his older brother, but Chris could see the fear that flashed into the younger boy's eyes at the mere mention of it. "Aw, it wasn't that bad," Josh lied. "The suit they put me in felt weird, like another skin or something . . . the hood sucked . . . and they put this tube thingy in my dick . . . still kinda hurts when I pee . . . " "What's with the diaper, Joshie?"
"They said I needed that when they took me outta there. I was kinda out of it for a while. Now Hannah thinks I look cute in it, so I gotta wear it 'til she says." Chris had to admit his little brother did actually look adorable in the puffy white diaper with the colorful spaceships. If he hadn't been so tired he'd have teased him about it mercilessly. Josh looked down at his cotton-clad middle and pointed to the ships. "At least these are kinda cool. When I woke up, they had me in bunnies!" "Bunnies!" Chris laughed.
"Yeah, for serious, man, like I'm some little kid or . . . or like a girl or something." "There's boy bunnies too," Chris giggled and nudged his little brother in the leg. "Duh, I know that. What happened to you? You look like total shit." "Thanks, bro. I . . . uh, . . . I got rented, for two days . . . " "Rented? Oh, you mean . . . "
"Yeah."
"What did they do to you? Did they, you know, make you do sex stuff?" "Yeah," Chris said with a sigh. Thinking back it was so hard, the things Bruce and Lance did to him and made him do, and yet some of it was really kind of exciting. As proof, his abused cock twitched inside its cage. "Yeah, sex stuff . . . lots of that . . ." Josh was full of questions. "Did they, um, put their, uh, thingies inside you?" "You mean did they fuck me?"
Josh smiled and blushed. It was weird hearing his brother say that word. They weren't allowed to use words like that at home. "Yeah, that." "Lots of times. My butt still hurts. I had to suck their dicks too." "Bet you liked that part, didn't you?"
Chris was shocked. "You don't know anything about that, so shut up." "Oh, come on, Chris. I've known you were gay for as long as you've known you were gay. What's the big deal?" "I am NOT talking to my little brother about this, ok? Period." "K. Just want you to know its cool with me . . . you know . . . how you like boys 'n stuff. You think I'm cute?" "Shut up, Josh," but Chris said it with a smile and the Andrews brothers spent the next few minutes joking and teasing just like they did back home. Hannah then came for Josh, and Jason arrived for Chris shortly thereafter. "Damn, kid, you look like hell. What did those guys do to you anyway?" Chris didn't bother to answer. He just stood there stoically as Jason attached his chains. "Better go easy on you today. We'll start in the weight room and go from there." "Yes, sir," Chris replied with a glum and worried expression. He knew he was in no shape to lift weights, or do anything. He just wanted to sleep, but that would obviously have to wait.

In Special Training Room One, Joshua and David were presently on their knees in front of Hannah and Michella who were seated side by side. The two women had tied the boys' hands behind their backs with rope. Josh had lost his diaper and David was temporarily freed of his chastity cage. The eleven and fourteen-year-old boys had their heads between the legs of their boy-hating lesbian trainers and were learning, rather awkwardly, how to pleasure them. "Mmmm," Michella moaned, turning her gaze to Hannah. "I never thought I'd get so much fun out of a naked little boy . . . " she paused to kick David in the thigh. "Let me feel your tongue you stupid brat." "You've got him hard," Hannah said, observing David's throbbing, leaking erection. "Can't say the same for dick-boy here. Get it up, Zero-Two. I want that big thing nice and hard. Get it hard for me." At eleven, Josh really didn't have too much control over when his penis got hard and when it didn't. He knew it seemed to misbehave at all the wrong times, and now, when Hannah wanted him to spring a boner, he couldn't get one. "Five demerits, Joshie," Hannah said with relish. The boy whined plaintively, but did not dare stop using his tongue between the woman's legs. "You know, Mich, we really should look into buying a boy. If we went in together, we could get a real cute one just like these two." Michella leaned back and panted for a moment. David was clearly doing a much better job at his assigned task than young Joshua. "What was that . . . oh, a boy. I've thought about that too. You don't think Durand would object, do you?" "What business is it of his what we do in our free time? Keep going, Josh, this doesn't concern you. Durand keeps that pet boy of his, parades him around the island like a trophy. Let's save up and do it." Michella smiled and gasped again. "Good boy, David. Don't stop . . . mmmm . . ." "We can check the on-line brokerage firms tonight after the reception and see what they've got. Just think, Mich, a little piece of boy-meat all our own . . . we could do things to him we can't do with these two . . . " Michella however was getting close to an orgasm and wasn't really paying her partner much attention. She grabbed the back of David's head and pressed the boy closer. The fourteen-year-old was now groaning and struggling to somehow get his bound arms to reach around to his desperately hard dick, but there was no way he could do it. With the plug constantly massaging his over-active adolescent prostate and his penis normally encased in a stainless steel cage, to say he was frantic for an orgasm was a mild understatement. "Don't you worry about that little thing between your legs, Davy," Michella said in her most evil manner. "You have a session with the milking machine as soon as we're done." David moaned again and flinched at the mere mention of that terrible machine. He clearly remembered the last time, the humiliation of being up on that table on his hands and knees, his balls dangling between his thighs, his cock imprisoned in that steel tube, and the exquisite ecstasy and agony of being milked dry by the relentless, merciless machine.

William Durand was interrupted from reading the latest financial reports by Trevor's timid knock at the study door. "Yes, Trevor," he said rather impatiently. The boy had been cleaning the house today and not being terribly quiet about it. "I'm sorry, master, but Jason Sanborne is in the hall. He . . . um, well, he said he'd knock me silly if I made him wait on the porch. He's . . . he's got one of them with him . . . one of the gladiators, sir." Durand raised his right eyebrow. He had established strict rules about who could be admitted into his private mansion, and the ten Boy Gladiators were most definitely not on the list. "I think he's really mad about something, sir . . . " Trevor continued, nervously wiggling his toes. "Really?"
"Quite pissed, I'd say, sir," the small slender fourteen-year-old replied with a worried look. "Watch your language, Trevor. Why don't you go down to the beach while I take care of Mister Sanborne. I'll join you later." Trevor's eyes lit up and he promptly stripped off his skimpy thong (a pink one today) revealing his smooth lean body and his tiny almost non-existent genitals. He could get to the beach through the glass doors of the study and he quickly ran through. "Thank you, master," he managed to shout as his feet hit the wooden deck. Durand gazed after his prize boy for a moment, then rose, straightened his designer shirt and walked purposefully into the hall. He found Jason standing there with an angry scowl on his face and next to him, wrists and ankles in chains, just as Trevor had reported, was one of the boy gladiators. He stared at the lad for a moment and recognized him as the older Andrews boy. "Good afternoon, Jason." He did not bother extending a greeting to the naked indentured boy. "I don't suppose it occurred to you to leave that little animal chained outside." "He's the reason I'm here, sir," Jason said, trying to contain his mounting anger. Chris was simply a mess at the moment. Too sore and exhausted and too mentally distressed from his ordeal to focus on his training. He was going to be useless during the weekend competitions, if he could compete in them at all. That meant demerits, lots of them, and even though Jason had no particular hesitation to see the boy punished in extraordinary ways, the fact was that Christopher's performance, good or bad, reflected directly on him. If Chris lost, Jason lost, in a manner of speaking. "Look at him, Bill." Durand was no fool. He knew from the first that the boy must have been badly used in the last few days. His lithe thirteen-year-old body was covered in bruises and welts and even extra food and a warm shower had done little to erase his haggard appearance. "Do I need to explain it further?" Jason asked. "How in the hell do you expect me to get this boy ready to compete, or keep him in proper training, when he's spending his days with our sadistic clients?" "I certainly agree that Bruce got a bit carried away. He has that reputation." "That's not really the point," Jason continued, letting got of the chain attached to Christopher's collar. It dropped against the boy's chest. "I have no problem with seeing this boy suffer, that's part of the arrangement, I knew that when I signed on, and so did he for that matter," he swatted Chris on the butt. "But we make money and get ratings when our boys are on camera and when they're competing. It's just bad for business if I can't get this kid into the arena." "He won't be competing this weekend?"
Jason shrugged his shoulders. "Certainly not in some of the events. He can barely walk, let alone run. Show him your feet, Zero-Seven." Chris obediently turned around and raised his left foot then his right, revealing the nasty livid stripes that still made each step painful for him. "Oh, dear. That is serious," Durand replied.
"You are damn right it is, Bill. These boys represent a huge investment in time, energy and money. They're animals, yes, but thoroughbreds. We need to be more careful with them." Durand was not an unreasonable man. He hadn't become the head (and owner) of the world's most influential multi-media empire without listening to good advice when it came his way. "What do you suggest, Jason? That we stop offering the boys' services to our clients? I am sorry, but that option is just too lucrative to abandon. We made half-a-million this week from those two boys." "Just tone things down a bit, Bill. Twelve hours, twenty-four max, and certain body parts that would affect their athletic performance must be off-limits from now on." "That is a sensible compromise. We can't have them laying in medical when we go live on the weekends, can we?" "That won't be good for the project, sir."
"I agree. We'll discuss changing the rental options at our staff meeting tomorrow. Acceptable?" "Perfectly."
"Good. I'll see you at the reception this evening. Our newest group of visitors should start arriving later this afternoon." Jason grabbed the chain attached to Chris' collar and gave the boy a firm tug indicating it was time to go. "Oh, and Jason. If you ever bring one of those filthy little beasts into my home again, you will be on the next plane out. Understood?" "Perfectly."

By evening, all ten boys were together again for the first time in several days, just in time for the latest reception for the incoming group of VIPs and special guests. It was only Wednesday, but now that the show had officially begun, guests had started arriving throughout the week in accordance with their own private schedules. The regular weekly reception was thus moved up to ensure that those who arrived earlier in the week had something to look forward to. This would mark the first week of the normal competition schedule as well, with the boys engaged in intense training on Thursdays and a new round of events and ordeals starting first thing Friday morning. The boys of course were not specifically told about these changes. It was none of their business after all. It was their job to go where they were told, do what they were told and not ask questions. As before they were dressed in their short skin-tight sleeveless tunics and their even shorter and tighter white shorts which revealed ten cute boy-bulges, some very large, a few very small, but all incredibly adorable. The boys' chastity devices had been removed for the evening, and they remained under the strict rules of not touching themselves or having orgasms without permission. Once again the floor of the main arena played to host to the island's new arrivals. Some had boys with them, invariably clad in a wide array of chains, irons, leather and latex, others seemed to be alone, but all of them were sharply dressed. The boy gladiators stood at attention in the midst of this gathering of well-to-do men and women of power and influence. Showered, scrubbed and all now with nicely bronzed skin, they each turned slowly in a circle so everyone could get a good look at them. Five pairs of muscular berry-brown boy legs were on display, ten firm adorable little butts, presently clad in tight white shorts. Their hair had started to grow in some and by popular demand it had been decided that all the boys would be wearing their hair long. The boys' tunics were all embarrassingly short, revealing their taut toned abdominal muscles and their adorable and highly kissable navels. The guests applauded their appearance. The gladiators knew their roles this evening without being told and immediately went to the serving tables to pick up their trays of food. They moved about quickly from guest to guest and group to group, having formed a silent pact that speed and agility might help them avoid having their cocks and balls played with. All of them remembered their punishments for having unauthorized orgasms at this same event the week before. The spanking machine was already set up at the far end of the arena to chastise any boy whose penis misbehaved. Chris alone amongst the boys could not keep up with their swift pace. While the others, including his little brother danced and dodged playfully around the guests, the thirteen-year-old was a boy in slow motion. His feet hurt so bad, and his joints were stiff. As the only easy catch, he was the first of the boys to be relieved of his shorts, forced to walk around nude from the waist down with his nice long teenaged cock swinging provocatively between his legs. Of course, the boys' plan to avoid prodding and probing hands backfired on them. By swirling and skipping and dashing around the arena, they only incited more excitement and interest from the crowd. Catching one of the boys long enough to fondle the contents of his shorts became each guest's principle objective. The trainers all looked on with wry smiles. "Little shits thought they were going to get away with something, didn't they?" Roger Bramley said to young Sergei Casparev, Illya's big brother. Sergei himself, being only seventeen, was receiving quite a bit of attention from certain elements of the crowd too. Those who preferred older boys found him to be rather irresistible, but Sergei wisely turned down their many offers. As the junior-most trainer he had to watch his step, but he was not above flirting and teasing. On several occasions Illya came over to him in an attempt to get away from the grasping hands of the VIPs. The boy had so far managed to keep both his shorts and his tunic, but his enormous semi-erect penis, trapped inside the tight white shorts made a tempting target. Sergei showed a rare moment of mercy, allowing his little brother to stand close to him for a few minutes while he pretended to decide which finger-food he should select from the boy's tray. "Thanks, Serge," Illya whispered before he was sent back into the fray. By the time the food was consumed to everyone's satisfaction, Chris, Philippe, and David were completely nude. Danny and Gabe had lost their tunics but not their shorts. Ian, Josh, and Alexei were missing their pants but still had their tunics, and by some miracle, little Miles and tall muscular Illya were still fully dressed, if that term could be applied to those skimpy uniforms. As a special bonus, the boys were all returned to the center of the arena where a low platform had been set-up by the mules. The gladiators all stood there together wondering what was going to happen next. "I hope everyone has brought their cameras," William Durand announced. "The boys are now available for photographs. But first I think the ones who are still wearing clothes should take them off, don't you?" The guests shouted in agreement and soon chants of "Strip! Strip! Strip!" were being directed at the partially dressed boys. Moments later all ten boy gladiators were standing there under the harsh lights in all their pre-teen and teenaged glory. Being so exposed naturally induced erections in several of the boys and that's when the flashes from the digital cameras began.

For the next hour, the boys were subjected to an embarrassing photo session. They had to pose in lewd and provocative positions, bending over and spreading their butt-cheeks, having their genitals photographed from close-up, being forced to kiss one another, masturbate one another to the brink of orgasm, the older boys made to lick their pre-cum off their cocks with their fingers. One group had taken Gabe and Miles (the two British boys) aside and were making Gabriel insert his penis into Miles' little butt. Of course Miles had been plugged and had dildos shoved up there since his arrival, just like the older boys, but Gabe's was the first real penis that had been forced inside him. It hurt a lot and the little boy screamed and cried and begged for Gabe to take it out. Gabriel wanted to, but strong adult hands on his slender waist held him firmly in position as frame after frame of Miles' rough deflowering by an older boy was captured and would soon be in private collections all around the world. This of course was the first time twelve-year-old Gabe had put his five-inch erection into anyone or anything and he couldn't believe how great it felt. He came inside the crying ten-year-old's butt a few minutes later. He tried not to, but it just felt so incredibly good. He clenched his eyes closed, tensed his muscles and shot his milky not-quite-teenaged seed into the little boy's rectum. Miles was humiliated and sobbing and he collapsed on the floor when the adults finally let Gabe pull out. The older boy knelt down beside him and patted him on the back.

"I'm sorry, Miles, I really am," he whispered before being led away to the spanking machine. For having an orgasm without permission, Gabriel would soon discover that he was indeed very, very sorry.



By the end of the evening, only half of the boys had spent time on the Boy-Spank 350, but all of them were rather worse for wear. The march back to the barracks was a dead silent one. They were allowed to shower again, given a small snack and a glass of milk, locked into their chastity devices once more and secured in their cells for the night. The second week of live competition would start on Friday. Tomorrow they had a full day of harsh physical training to look forward to.

"I can't believe they took all those pictures of us," Josh said to David as the two boys settled onto their bunks. Happily he was not in a diaper. Unhappily, his cock and balls were once again confined by the metal plate of his chastity belt. "I mean can't they just watch us on TV like everyone else?"

David, for his part, got a rather strange thrill from showing off his body for camera. He was a well-built kid, with a lithe body perfectly proportioned and toned for swimming. He was proud of the way he looked, and happy about how much stronger he'd gotten since he'd been on the island. "I don't know, mate," he replied thoughtfully, his adolescent voice cracking, "I thought it was kinda nice. The way they look at us, you know . . . "

"I don't like the way they look at me, they tease me about my big dick."

"So do I," the fourteen-year-old replied with a crooked grin.

"That's different. You're my friend, and I tease you about yours too."

"Mine isn't really that small, Josh. Yours is just way too big."

"Shut up, Davy," the younger boy said, mimicking Michella's sweet sarcastic tone when saying his name.

David was across the space between the bunks instantly and on top of Josh a split second later.

"Wanna wrestle me, huh?" Josh asked, squirming under the bigger boy's weight.

The two boys laughed and grappled for a few minutes before David called it off and returned to his bunk.

"Night, mate. Let's kick ass this week, ok?"

"Totally," Josh said, curling onto his side and drifting off to sleep.


Thursday was a mad whirlwind of activity. It was now September, and the tropical hurricanes had started. The first one of the year was passing well to the east, but it brought torrential rains to the little island, adding to the boy gladiators' collective misery as they were driven along from activity to activity. By mid-day they had gotten used to being soaking wet. At least the strong winds helped keep them somewhat cool.

Still sore and tired from his ordeal with Bruce and Lance, Chris stubbornly struggled through the day, resisting Jason's offers of leniency.

"Kid's got balls," Ian's trainer Anthony observed as he stood beside Jason watching his own boy power through a set of push-ups.

"Not going to do him much good tomorrow," Jason replied. Somewhat frustrated he called to boy over to him. Chris stood in front of his trainer with a defiant look in his otherwise tired eyes.

"What?" the boy snapped, forgetting his place.

Jason reminded him with a sharp slap to the face.

"Don't speak to me that way, boy."

"Sorry, sir," Chris lowered his eyes and seemed to lose his teenaged bravado.

"Are you a complete idiot?" Jason asked.

"No, sir," Chris answered, feeling hurt and ashamed. "I don't understand, sir. I'm supposed to try my best all the time, right? I'm behind, you know . . . I gotta catch up . . . "

Jason's tone softened, as did his expression. He liked Chris. He really did. For all sorts of not entirely objective reasons. He reached out and laid a hand on the boy's shoulder. "That's true, but what's going to happen to you if you wear yourself before tomorrow even gets here?"

"I'll lose for sure."

"That's right. So take it a little easy on yourself. No one gets points for being first today."

Chris raised his head and gave Jason a quick smile. That really did make sense. He was glad Jason was thinking about stuff like that all the time so he didn't have to. It was hard enough just being a slave. With a pat on the rump the boy was sent on his way once more. Thursday ended for all the boys with an unusually large if not necessarily tasty dinner, and they were all locked in their cells early that night, with strict instructions not to stay up talking.


At eleven o'clock the next morning the blue and white flags with the WBG logo were fluttering above the high outer walls of the hippodrome, indicating an event was about to begin. Inside the stands were empty, but only because the large crowd was instead gathered along the edges of the two straightaways. Five small wooden sledges were positioned at the start-finish line. With the loud blaring of the Worldwide Boy Gladiators theme over the speakers, the ten young warriors, fresh from breakfast, ran out of the tunnel in military lockstep. Their regular slave collars had been exchanged for thicker, heavier ones with sharp spikes. They were wearing their wrist and ankle shackles, as always, but they were not chained. The boys' various chastity devices had been removed and replaced with tight-fitting cock and ball harnesses that induced erections, or at least obvious swellings in all the young penises. Even Daniel's was hanging longer and thicker than normal, simply because of the blood trapped inside it by the steel rings of the harness. He wasn't hard. By now Daniel knew that he would not be able to have an erection again for the next four years. He wasn't sure exactly how he was supposed to feel about that, but at the moment he had the latest upcoming event to occupy his mind.

Josh, much to his relief, was not wearing a diaper. He stood there in the tropical sun with his hard oversized penis jutting straight out and bobbing rapidly with the beat of his pulse. With his punishment and his time spent in medical, the eleven-year-old had missed the whole week of training, and even though his joints were still stiff and sore he was eager to get back to competing. Everything else about the island and being a slave totally sucked, but he liked the thrill of competition, of pitting himself against the bigger, older, stronger boys. He promised himself he'd never chicken out, no matter what they did to him. A little snarl came to his lips as the crowd cheered.

As a group they ran a single lap around the track, to be sure everyone on both sides got a chance to see them. Then, as with the start of each live competition, the boys formed a straight line in front of the spectators and saluted. They all smiled sheepishly at each other, giggled as if they shared a secret, then in unison they shouted:

"We are BOY GLADIATORS! We've got muscles, we've got cocks, we're brave and strong . . . and we don't wear socks . . ." Young Ian, who came up with this new chant at breakfast, then shouted in his high unbroken voice, "We don't wear anything!"

All ten of them then struck various poses and wiggled their boy-cocks and cute little butts at the spectators. The crowd laughed. The trainers frowned. William Durand, from his luxury box, smiled. His boy gladiators were definitely becoming stars.

With the preliminaries out of the way, and Mike Brussard's camera teams ready, the first of the day's events was set to start. The oldest boys were prepared first. They were made to sit down on the wooden sledges bearing their respective numbers. The sledges were completely flat with two metal rings on each side. The trainers quickly attached their boy's wrist and ankle shackles to these rings, ensuring that the young gladiators would not be able to get off the sled until the event was complete. The boys were sitting up straight, with their arms slightly behind and their legs bent up and spread wide in front of them, their harnesses and excited genitals on lewd display. Thirteen-year-old Illya's freakish eight-inch erection drew gasps of amazement and some laughter from the crowd.

The biggest of the boys just barely fit on the sledges. All of them still had their butt-plugs in, so they were squirming uncomfortably on the hard flat wooden surfaces. Their discomfort only increased when the trainers attached large heavy clamps to their nipples. Poor Chris' nipples were already sore and swollen from being pierced and tortured by Bruce. He screamed and wailed and bucked like a wild horse when the hard merciless steel clamps went on. Of course he wasn't the only boy who shouted, but he was the loudest.

"It can't be that bad, Zero-Seven," Jason told him, "all you've got to do for this one is sit and hold on to the sledge, so stop your whining. I've got even bigger clamps I could use, if you make me look like a fool out here."

That threat was enough for Chris to behave himself. With wet eyes he nodded and tried to regain his composure.

A long thick chain was attached to the end of each clamp. Two more chains of similar weight and thickness were clasped to the d-rings embedded on either side of the boys' cock and ball harnesses. The five older boys now had four heavy chains connected to the most sensitive parts of their young bodies. All the chains were momentarily allowed to lie upon the ground, while the younger boys were prepared for their part in this latest spectacle of pain and suffering. The little ones were first put into knee pads and chest harnesses, then they too received nipple clamps like the ones already bringing tears to their older counterparts' eyes. The five youngsters were given all of thirty seconds to get used to the merciless clamps on their tiny boy-nips.

"Alright, sprouts," Jason shouted, "get down on your hands and knees so your trainers can hook you up to your partners."

The nature of the event suddenly became dreadfully clear to the boy gladiators. A reverse of the positions in the chariot race, with the younger boy pulling and the older boy riding, only this time the boys were chained together by their genitals and their nipples. Ten pairs of young eyes bore very worried expressions. The trainers finished hooking the boys together. One final chain connected the back of the younger boy's harness to the front of his partner's collar.

"Twice around the track, boys," Jason shouted over the rising noise of the crowd. "Winning team is excused from the next event . . . and trust me, you want to be the winning team."

With a signal from Jason, Roger Bramley blew his whistle to start the contest. The five youngest gladiators crawled forward, groaning in distress as their genitals and nipples were pulled harshly by the chains. Their older partners joined them almost instantly. After moving forward only a few feet, all ten boys were shouting and blinking tears out of their eyes as their most tender parts were yanked away from their bodies. This wasn't going to be an event of speed, but rather simple endurance. Chained to the sledges, the older boys were basically helpless dead weight, all they could do was sit there and shout encouragement, or curses, at their younger partners. Pulling the sled proved to be a particularly difficult challenge for Miles and Ian. Miles because he was by the far the smallest boy, and Ian because his partner Illya was the biggest.

"We are not finishing last, mate!" David shouted at Josh through clenched teeth. His cock and balls had been stretched a good two inches from his hairless groin. His nipples were in much the same painful state. "Go faster!"

"That's easy for you t'say," Josh snapped back. His genitals were now being tugged painfully behind him, his big long oversized penis swinging from side to side as he crawled along. His nipples felt like they were on fire. They were currently in the middle of the pack, but all five teams were within a boys-length of each other, and the pace was slow. Every time one of the little ones tried to speed up and crawl faster, it put more tension on the chains, yanking harder on both of them. And so a team would briefly surge ahead, only to fall back a moment later with both boys screaming their heads off. The boys were absolutely forbidden to stop. The trainers walked or jogged along beside them, delivering incentives with their shock sticks to any pair of boys who looked like they might stop moving forward. All the while the sun blazed down mercilessly upon the anguished naked sweating boys. The crowd cheered and hollered and pelted the young gladiators with pebbles and small stones picked up from the dirt track.

It was, in all, the most painful, cruel, horrible ordeal the boys had yet suffered as a group, but still each team struggled forward, all five of them finishing within a few feet of each other. Danny and Gabe were the winners. Miles and Philippe came in last. This event was particularly unfair to the littlest gladiator. Unlike the chariot race, where the carts were specifically weighted to ensure that each of the pony-boys was pulling roughly the same weight, the sledges were all identical. Small ten-year-old Miles, just barely over four-feet tall had to pull fourteen-year-old Philippe around the track. It was a testament to the little boy's will and endurance that he managed to finish at all, but last was last, and both boys lost five points for being the final team to cross the line. This left Miles in tears, much to the delight of Mike Brussard who panned in for a close-up as the boy cried. Of all the boys, Miles had had things relatively easy so far, but life on Gladiator Island was harsh and unfair in the most cruel and calculated ways, and things were about to get worse for the ten brave boys who now stood under the hot tropical sun, under the glare of a crowd that was here for the sole purpose of watching them suffer.


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