			Worldwide Boy Gladiators - Part 4


The Boys:

Miles Harris, boy zero-one, age 10, English
Joshua Andrews, boy zero-two, age 11, American
Ian Cloverdale, boy zero-three, age 11, Australian
Alexei Graznikov, boy zero-four, age 12, Russian
Daniel O’Hanlon, boy zero-five, age 12, Canadian
Gabriel Shelton, boy zero-six, age 12, English
Christopher Andrews, boy zero-seven, age 13, American
Illya Casparev, boy zero-eight, age 13, Russian
Philippe Dulac, boy zero-nine, age 14, French
David Brown, boy one-zero, age 14, Australian


Chapter 30:

	Young Trevor had just escorted Bruce to the front door, when
Lara Tomlinsin appeared on the veranda, dressed in light pastel
colors befitting the tropical climate. As always, Trevor felt
himself blushing as he stood in front of her. He was wearing only
a skimpy white thong.
	“Good morning, Trevor,” Lara said, well aware of the effect she
had on this boy. “Is the boss home?”
	“Master is finishing his tea, miss,” the fourteen-year-old said
shyly. “I’ll tell him you’re here, ok. You can wait inside, if
you like.”
	“Whatever won’t get you into trouble, dear boy,” the young woman
said, stepping into the marble-tiled foyer.
	Trevor flashed a wide grin, pleased that the lady was so kind to
him. He hurried off on his slender legs, providing Lara with an
excellent view of his adorable bare butt. The young teen was back
a few minutes later. “If you’ll follow me, miss,” he said with a
regal bow.
	Lara found herself once more in William Durand’s study,
overlooking the beach and the clear blue Caribbean.
	“How are you enjoying your stay, my dear?” the chief of the XB1
asked, still sipping at his morning tea. Trevor stood nearby with
the teapot at the ready.
	“Everything is working out fabulously, Bill.”
	After several minutes of polite small talk, Lara got down to
business. “I’m here because I need a green light from you for the
next phase in the development of WBG.”
	“By all means. What do you have in mind?”
	“Well, boss, it occurs to me, and hopefully to you too, that our
two oldest boys are going to age out of their indentures in
approximately eighteen months. We should begin recruiting
replacements now, so we don’t suddenly find ourselves short a
boy, or two. I’ve already taken the liberty of having our
recruitment department do some preliminary scouting, as well as
post an on-line application for boys and their parents on the WBG
website. I suggest to you that once we find two suitable boys, we
sign them to pre-indenture contracts immediately.”
	“Pre-indenture?” Durand asked. “You’re making that up, right?”
	Lara smiled and took a fresh cup of tea from Trevor. “I’m not
surprised you haven’t heard of it, sir. It’s not legal yet in the
United States, but most of the other civilized nations have
incorporated some provision for it into their juvenile male slave
laws. The ICSC in Geneva fully supports the concept.”
	“Explain it to me.”
	‘Well, sir, it is very simple. The boy and his family make a
binding, non-negotiable commitment to our standard indenture
contract, to be fully enacted once an open slot on the island
becomes available. Pre-indentures can be signed and legally
ratified up to five years before the actual indenture takes
place.”
	“So we would own the rights to the new boys without actually
having to pay out any money for them up front.”
	“Precisely. And the pre-indenture contract also gives us
specific and limited authority over the boys from the moment they
sign. That way we can ensure that they remain in top shape and
begin some very basic training while they still live at home with
their parents. It costs us nothing, and we’ll have well trained
boys that can be put to use right away, once they reach the
island.”
	“This is an excellent idea. Why isn’t this legal in the States?”
	“Legislation is pending right now, sir,” Lara informed him. “I’m
sure a man of your influence could help assure its successful
passage.”
	“I’ll make some calls this afternoon. In the mean time, go ahead
and tell the recruitment teams to find me two boys and sign them
to pre-indentures as soon as possible. Oh, and Lara . . . it
occurs to me that our current line-up is rather monochromatic, if
you get my drift. Have them focus their attention on some other
parts of the world. I don’t want boys who are too dark, mind you,
but a little color would look good out there.”
	Lara Tomlinsin made a quick note of it, then lingered for one of
Trevor’s legendary mint juleps.
	“Trained him myself,” Durand said proudly as the scantily-clad
slave boy presented them with their drinks. “He’s got quite a
knack for it.”
	‘I’m sure you’ve trained him to do all sorts of things, you sly
old bastard,’ Lara thought to herself. She had to admit though,
the julep was exceptional.
	
       Over in the training facility, Nathaniel Hilthorpe
surveyed the newly finished school room. He was impressed at the
speed with which the corporation’s facilities management staff
had fulfilled all his requests and requirements. The once vacant
room now had two large chalk-boards, three computer stations,
Hilthorpe’s large wooden desk and ten small metal desks for the
boy gladiators. The boys’ desks were bolted to the floor, as were
their chairs, made of aluminum and each with built-in ankle
restraints to ensure that the boys remained in their assigned
seats. The chairs also sported thick aluminum pegs that would be
impaled in the boys’ butts once they sat down. The pegs increased
in size for each boy, the smallest one meant for little Miles,
the larger ones, with rather nasty spikes on them, specially
selected for David, Philippe, Illya and Chris. On the wall behind
Hilthorpe’s desk were the implements of discipline that had given
him proven results over the years. Crops, strops, and a heavy
brown wooden paddle. The boys would all come to know them very
well once their schooling resumed.
       Nathaniel checked the gladiators’ current schedule. His
first interviews with the boys would be starting shortly. He
would be seeing them one at a time, giving them a variety of
pre-tests to determine their current level of achievement, and
hopefully introducing more than a few of them to his instruments
of discipline. Several of the boys were currently unavailable,
but with ten to choose from, he could afford to be patient and
take whatever boy was not currently busy in some other area. He
had no illusions. Education was going to be a relatively low
priority on Gladiator Island, but the money they’d offered him,
and the chance to work directly with the boy gladiators more than
made up for any perceived slights to his profession. He picked up
his portable radio and contacted the control room.
       “I believe boy Zero-One is free at the moment. Please send
him to the classroom at his trainer’s earliest convenience.”

       Five minutes later, a hot and sweaty Miles Harris was
delivered by his trainer, fresh from an intense workout in the
nearby weight room.
       “I won’t keep him long, Alex,” Hilthorpe said pleasantly.
He’d made it a point to learn the names of all the trainers as
quickly as possible. The boys, of course, were merely numbers,
and he had no particular interest in what their names had been
before they became indentured slaves.
       The elder trainer smiled and pushed the little boy
forward, giving him a pre-emptive smack to the back of the head.
“You behave yourself, little man,” he said, then turned his
attention back to Nathaniel. “Here are his keys, if you wish to
remove his chains or his chastity belt.”
       The young teacher took the ring of silver keys, each
marked with Miles’ number, and set them on his desk.
       “He’s scheduled for a milking session at 1300 hours . . .
not that he has anything to milk.”
       “I’m sure we’ll be finished our business long before that,
won’t we, boy?”
       Miles shrugged innocently, not sure exactly what business
he had with this stranger. “Um, I guess, sir.”
       Alex Wright departed, leaving his young charge in the care
of the teacher. “Step in front of my desk boy,” Hilthorpe said.
Miles quickly obeyed and shuffled over, his chains rattling on
the concrete floor. Hilthorpe sat down and called up the boy’s
file on the computer.
       “Were you a good student before you became a slave?” he
asked, staring at the collared and chastity-belted ten-year-old
with a critical eye.
       “Um, ok, I guess, sir.”
       “I assume you can read and write.”
       “Yes, sir,” Miles said, curling his toes nervously.
       “You are ten years old, is that right?”
       “Yes, sir,” the little boy said, standing up as tall as he
could.
       Hilthorpe paused for a moment and glanced over the
statistics in the boy’s file. Essentially every piece of
information ever recorded on young Miles Harris was available at
his finger tips. He raised his eyes to the boy once more. “Recite
your nine-times table for me, please.”
       Miles stared at him not quite sure what he meant. After
almost four weeks of training and milking and being naked and
competing and all that, thinking about school was a rather abrupt
change for the boy.
       “I don’t understand, sir . . .”
       “Your multiplication tables, silly boy. You do know how to
multiply numbers, don’t you?”
       “Oh,” Miles replied, breathing a huge sigh of relief. “Ok.
One times nine is nine. Two times nine is . . .”
       “Stop,” the teacher interrupted him. “When you are
reciting in this classroom, you are to put your hands behind your
back and stand at attention. Face forward. Eyes forward. Chin up.
Speak clearly and don’t mumble.”
       “Yes, sir, sorry, sir.”
       “Now start again.”
       Miles’ quickly adopted the required posture and began
again, his high pre-pubescent voice echoing in the silent
classroom. “One times nine is nine. Two times nine is eighteen.
Three times nine is twenty-seven . . .“ He did fine until nine
times eight, which he said was ninety-eight. Hilthorpe stopped
him there.
       “Are you sure that’s the right answer, Zero-One?”
       A sudden look of fear filled the ten-year-old’s eyes.
“Yes, sir. I’m sure, sir.”
       Hilthorpe stood up and walked around his desk. He towered
over the barely four-foot-tall boy. “You are incorrect. Go over
to the punishment bench.”
       Miles’ dark eyes welled with tears. He followed the
teacher’s gesture and marched over to a wooden bench that looked
more like a saw-horse than anything else. The boy stood nervously
in front of it.
       “Bend over.”
       Miles bent at the waist, and grabbed hold of the legs of
the bench. In this position his cute little behind was perfectly
positioned for a good striping. Hilthorpe selected the smallest
and thinnest cane from the wall.
       “Have you ever been given the cane before, young man?”
       “Nnn . . . nnooo, sir.”
       “I’m going to go easy on you today. Three strokes. You
will count them for me.”
       Hilthorpe wasted no further time and quickly and
efficiently administered the three cuts with the little cane.
Miles howled and shrieked and bucked against the wooden bench,
but he did manage to count each one aloud for his teacher. A very
teary-eyed ten-year-old was told to stand up a few moments later.
       “I have a test for you, to see how much you already know
and how much you need to learn.” He took the keys from the desk
and unlocked the ass-strap on the little boy’s chastity belt so
that he could remove the butt-plug. Miles grunted and moaned as
the metal invader slid out of him.
       “Which hand to do you write with?”
       “My left, sir.”
       Hilthorpe took the boy’s right hand and put the butt-plug
in it. “Hold that. Go sit at your desk.”
       Miles looked at the double row of desks and found number
one. It took him exactly three seconds to see the large wooden
peg attached to his chair. He looked up at his new teacher with a
quivering lip.
       “I . . . I don’t wanna sit on that, sir.”
       “Wanna? You do not use lazy English in my classroom, boy.
You will speak properly. Now sit down and get started on your
test.”
       Miles sniffled and squatted down over the chair, using the
strength in his legs to keep himself off the peg. He could feel
it pressing against his little hole as he picked up the pencil
with his left hand and looked down at the single page test. He
still clutched his butt-plug with his right.
	“You have fifteen minutes to finish.”	
	By the time the fifteen minutes had elapsed, Miles had slid down
all the way onto the wooden peg and was writhing and squirming in
his place. His little cocklet had made several futile attempts to
erect itself inside the tight confines of the chastity belt.
Somehow, despite all the distractions, the plucky ten-year-old
had managed to finish his test. That’s not to say he did
particularly well. Hilthorpe shook his head as he marked the many
wrong answers in red and handed the paper back to the nervous
trembling boy.
	“You passed. Just barely. We have a lot of work to do. Just
because you’re going to be rich when you leave here doesn’t give
you the right to be stupid.”
	Miles did not think of himself as being stupid at all. He didn’t
really like school, but he went and did his best. Some of those
questions were really hard, things he didn’t think even most of
the older boys would have known.
	“Do you have something to say to me, boy?” Hilthorpe asked,
reading the look on the boy’s face.
	Miles quickly lowered his eyes to his desk. “No, sir. I did my
best, sir . . . “
	Hilthorpe tussled the boy’s short-cropped hair. “I know that. It
is my job to make you do better. You have a trainer for your
body, right?”
	“Right, sir.”
	“Well, think of me as a trainer for your mind.”
	Miles cracked a shy smile. That made sense to him. Sort of.
	“Stand up.”
	Slowly, wincing and groaning and whining, the little
ten-year-old lifted himself off the not-so-little peg and resumed
his ‘at attention’ position beside his desk. His butt-plug was
still clenched tightly in his right hand. Hilthorpe pointed to
it.
	“Do you know how to put that back in?”
	“I . . . I guess so . . . sir . . .”
	“Then do it.”
	It took the little boy a few seconds to decide how this task was
best accomplished. Finally he got down on all fours, spread his
legs wide apart and worked the plug back into his butt, all the
while with a determined grimace on his cute round face. He was
beet-red with embarrassment, having to shove that thing up his
own behind while his teacher watched him.
	“Good boy,” Hilthorpe said when Miles again got to his feet. The
boy absent-mindedly ran his hand over the metal plate that
encased his genitals. Hilthorpe chose to ignore the lad’s
indiscretion. He reached into his desk, produced a piece of
chocolate candy and tossed it to the boy. Miles took it eagerly,
tore the wrapper off and popped the whole thing into his mouth.
	“Don’t tell anyone, boy,” the teacher warned him with a gentle
smile. “That’s our secret.”
	With his mouth full of sweet wonderful chocolate, Miles simply
grinned and nodded. Alex returned for him a few minutes later,
attached a chain to the boy’s collar and led him off to the
medical suite for his latest appointment with the dreaded milking
machine.

	Lance’s breakfast had been delivered by Mule 1674 in much the
same manner as the boy had delivered dinner the night before. The
not-quite thirteen-year-old stood obediently by the door, his
arms limp at his sides, his face cast down toward the floor. As
always when he was on duty, he was wearing the short gray slave
smock that identified him as little more than a subhuman laborer.
Chris, who was happy to be eating a piece of toast with orange
marmalade and a single pancake of his very own (thanks to Lance’s
kindness) kept looking over at the boy. He knew that some boys
were real slaves, slaves for life that is, and he wondered what
this one had done to deserve such a terrible life. Was he a
criminal? Chris was well aware that lots of boys who committed
even small crimes were sentenced to slavery. In school and at
home he’d been given that sort of warning since he was six. Maybe
his parents were poor. That’s what happened to Timmy Wildesin
last year.
	The Wildesins lived a few houses down and Timmy and Chris were
almost exactly the same age. Timmy had a way of getting himself
into trouble and dragging Chris along with him, but they remained
friends right up until the day the state’s slave control unit
arrived in the white van and took Timmy away. The hardest thing
was, Timmy knew he’d been sold weeks before they actually took
him. In fact the whole neighborhood knew, including Chris and
Josh. Chris remembered watching from the front yard when the day
finally came. Timmy was marched out of his house stark naked, his
twelve-year-old cock, considerably smaller than Christopher’s
swinging back and forth for everyone to see. They already had an
iron collar around Timmy’s neck, and his wrists and ankles were
chained.
	Chris felt sad and angry, but he also became aware that his
penis was really, really hard in his shorts. After the van had
pulled away, taking Timmy off to his new life as a slave, Chris
ran upstairs, shucked down his soccer shorts and jerked himself
off until he had a hard, satisfying cum. He never found out what
happened to Timmy. There were rumors in school that he’d ended up
being a sex slave. At twelve, Chris had a rather nebulous idea
what that meant. Now, of course, the young gladiator was indeed
quite familiar with the concept.
	“You shouldn’t keep looking at him,” Lance said, quietly sipping
his coffee.
	“Why not, sir?” Chris asked, turning his eyes away from the
other boy.
	“Mules aren’t human anymore, so you should really just ignore
them.”
	The naked boy sat up a little straighter from his place on the
floor. “Well, I’m not a human being right now either, am I? But
people look at me . . . hell they don’t ever stop looking at me .
. . you look at me . . . Bruce looks at me . . . Jason looks at
me . . . I know what’s going on . . . I mean, about the sex and
stuff . . . “
	Lance smiled and handed him a small glass of juice. “Things are
a little different for you. You’re indentured for a start. That
means you’ll be free . . . some day. So you’re sort of in a
different class from that one,” he pointed to Mule 1674.
	“I just don’t think it’s fair, that’s all. What did he do wrong
to end up like that?”
	“I don’t know, Chris,” Lance said, once again using the boy’s
real name. “It isn’t any of my business, or yours. There’s
nothing anyone can do about it now anyway. He is what he is, and
you are who you are and that’s that. Now finish eating.”
	Chris returned his attention to his plate. “That pod thing he’s
wearing over his dick and balls . . . it looks way too small . .
. I’d never fit inside that . . . “
	“Be glad you don’t have to. And believe me, you don’t want to
know what they’ve done to him down there.”
	 Chris was carrying Lance’s breakfast plate back to the waiting
mule, when Bruce returned from a very productive meeting with
William Durand. Mule 1674 quickly departed, carrying the empty
plate in his hands. The remains of breakfast smelled so good to
him, but he did not dare stop to help himself to even so much as
a meager crumb.
	“So,” Bruce said, gazing over at the two younger males, both of
whom were technically slaves, “did he behave himself, Lance?”
	“He’s the perfect little slave,” the young man replied, giving
Chris a quick wink. They had both agreed that the boy’s forbidden
orgasm would remain a secret just between them. Bruce stared at
them for a moment, quite certain they were keeping something from
him.
	“The cart’s waiting outside. Get that boy back in his leather,
don’t bother with the chains. And plug his little holes. Let’s
go.”
	Lance quickly followed Bruce’s orders. Moments later Chris found
himself once again wearing the leather harness and the matching
collar and cuffs. His butt and his piss-slit once again had plugs
in them. “You look so hot in leather,” the young man whispered in
the boy’s ear.
       “Thanks,” Chris whispered back. He did like the way he
felt. And he was beginning to understand the effect he seemed to
have on older guys and men. He blew a little private kiss at
Lance, who smiled and promptly smacked him on the ass.
       “Don’t be a tease, boy,” Lance advised him. He then led
Chris outside on the leash. The thirteen-year-old’s heart started
to race when he saw what was waiting for him. It was a larger
version of the chariot, with all the same reins, chains and
restraints he had grown so familiar with so quickly. This one
however had four wheels, and was considerably more luxurious,
with dark richly stained wood trim and padded seats for the
passengers. Chris stared at it with worried eyes. It looked
really heavy. And he would have two grown men riding on it behind
him, rather than one light-weight twelve-year-old boy. With a
downcast expression on his sweet face, he positioned himself in
front of the cart. Bruce and Lance worked leisurely to get the
chains attached to the boy’s harness. Chris noticed the cart
didn’t have the guide-poles that the chariots had. He would not
have anything to hold on to as he pulled the four-wheeler
forward. In fact, he quickly discovered he wouldn’t have the use
of his arms at all. Bruce brought a leather lace-up bondage
sleeve from the cart and quickly bound the thirteen-year-old
boy’s arms behind his back. An additional chain was connected to
the ring at the end of the bondage sleeve to the front of the
cart. Chris was immediately afraid that he wouldn’t be able to
keep his balance, but he didn’t have time to protest as the
boy-shaped bridle and bit were strapped tightly around his head.
The last of the chains were attached, and then the reins.
       “You’re going to take us around the island today, boy,”
Bruce said, as he and Lance climbed up onto the comfortable
passenger seats. Lance took the reins. Bruce held a large, long
whip in his hand. He swung it sharply, and hard, against
Christopher’s bare shoulders, instantly leaving a painful red
welt. “Start trotting.”
       Trotting was a little more than the one-hundred-and-five
pound boy could manage with all that weight behind him. The
cart’s four wheels did make it a lot more stable, but it still
was hard work just getting the thing moving. With his arms
bound-up behind him, the boy had to bend over to get leverage.
His handsome young thighs were already straining to bear the
load. Bruce continued to whip him until he was up to a good
walking pace. Lance was considerably more gentle with the reins
than his partner was with the flogger. Soon Chris was pulling the
cart along the dirt roads of the island. He took them past the
production facilities, the main arena, and the boys’ barracks,
where he saw Illya, David and little Ian doing push-ups under the
watchful eyes of their trainers.
       “Hey, there’s Chris!,” Ian said, spotting the pony-boy as
he approached with his two passengers. “Hi, Chris. Lookin’ good,
mate!”
       “No talking, Zero-Three,” Anthony corrected him with a
jolt from his electric prod. “All three of you can give us fifty
more push-ups.”
       Chris struggled on, leaving the barracks behind, hearing
Illya and David moan and curse at Ian for getting them into
trouble. For over an hour he pulled the cart across the island,
receiving several more lashes from the whip whenever he slowed
down or missed a step. Finally they ended up on the rocky,
heavily forested west shore of the island. Here there was no
beach, only steep shear drops down into the sea below. The view
however was spectacular. Lance pulled back on the reins, and a
sweaty and exhausted Chris trudged to a halt. They left him
chained to the cart while they set up blankets and chairs
overlooking the Caribbean. Chris was released and freed of the
bondage sleeve so he could carry the heavy wooden box that
contained all the picnic food and supplies. They’d packed a
portable grill too, which he had to go back for. Last were the
two wine bottles, which he was admonished not to drop under any
circumstances.
       Lance set up the grill and started the cooking. Bruce
lounged in one of the chairs while Chris, on his knees,
obediently shuffled himself between the man’s legs and sucked his
penis, with the tropical sun burning down upon his bare back.
After two weeks of running around naked on the island, Chris’
smooth hairless skin had already started to turn a nice golden
brown. Bruce gazed down at the boy’s back, then studied the
tattoo on that had been put on Chris’ flank.
       “Clever, don’t you think, Lance,” he asked, pointing at
the dark permanent inking that Anthony had given the boy.
“They’ve got these boys numbered like cattle. And did you see the
advertisements they’ve put on them?”
       Lance nodded. During their tour around the island this
morning, he’d noticed that most of the boys were sporting some
form of corporate advertising on their backs. He found young
Ian’s to be particularly amusing, since the eleven-year-old
Australian was painted with the logo of one of the leading
manufacturers of chastity devices for slave boys, the same one he
in fact was wearing. Lance had to admit it was a brilliant idea,
using the boys’ bodies as walking billboards like that. He
wondered what product would eventually be splashed upon
Christopher’s back. “I’m just glad those things aren’t
permanent.”
       “No, the only permanent marking is the tattoo on his butt.
‘Boy 07’. He’ll have that for the rest of his life, unless he
gets it removed after he’s freed. What do you say, Zero-Seven,
are you going to keep it?”
       Chris pulled off of Bruce’s rigid leaking cock just long
enough to shrug his shoulders. He’d never really thought about
it. Actually he’d sort of forgotten that his gladiator number was
tattooed on his flank. He could only see it if he craned his neck
back, but it was plainly visible to everyone watching in the
stands and on television. “Don’t know, sir . . . Guess I have a
few years to decide . . . “
       “Good answer. Now wrap those sweet lips around my cock
again . . . “
       Chris immediately slurped the man’s cock into his mouth
again. Bruce moaned in delight. Chris had proven to be a quick
learner. He let out a soft boyish moan. Bruce was using his foot
to toy with the chastity device and the perpetually frustrated
boy-cock locked inside it. Chris really didn’t understand why
being on his knees with a man’s big hard dick in his mouth made
him so horny, he just knew that it did. He took more of Bruce’s
manhood into his throat, all the while feeling his own penis
straining within its metal cage. He whined as the spikes dug into
his tender flesh. His left hand instinctively went to his groin.
Bruce firmly kicked it away with his foot.
       “None of that. The only cock that matters is the one in
your mouth.”
       “Mmmmph,” Chris nodded with moist eyes and a mouthful of
dick.
       Lance looked over from the grill, admiring the young
teenager’s lean and perfectly proportioned body, and remembering
a time, not too many years ago, when he was the naked boy between
Bruce’s legs. Was that actually a little pang of jealously he
felt? Maybe just a little.

       Meanwhile, in the medical suite, Josh had again opened his
eyes after a long nap. As he looked around the room, he saw Miles
was on one of the exam tables on his hands and knees, hooked to
the milking machine. The youngest gladiator was squirming and
squealing and having one dry orgasm after another forced from his
little body. Doctor Trench herself was supervising the little
boy’s latest session. Josh laid his head back on the pillow and
looked up at the ceiling. It was actually rather cool here, and
he shivered as he lay flat on the mattress without a sheet or
blanket. He was still restrained, with padded medical cuffs
around his wrists and ankles. He was also still in the diaper. He
could feel the soft material around his penis and testicles, he
could feel it covering his butt, which, at the moment, did not
have a plug in it. He didn’t remember them taking it out. They
must have done it when they took him out of the black room. He
was glad it was gone. He didn’t really like that funny feeling it
gave him deep inside.
        As he lay there day-dreaming, he came to the realization
that he really needed to pee, but he didn’t want to do it. Not in
the diaper.
       ‘They can make me wear this stupid thing,’ he thought to
himself, ‘but they can’t make me pee in it.’
       His eleven-year-old resolve quickly began to fade when his
eleven-year-old bladder began to insist that something be done to
relieve the ever-growing pressure. Josh struggled against the
restraints for a few seconds, then he lay still again.
       ‘Ok. Ok, maybe I’ll do it just this once . . . ‘
       Much to the boy’s own surprise, peeing in the diaper
proved exceedingly difficult. His body didn’t want to cooperate,
even as the need to go became more and more urgent.
       ‘Come on, come on . . . ‘  he closed his eyes and finally
managed to start peeing.
       Josh was screaming in agony less than a second later.
After thirty-six hours with a catheter in his dick, his urethra
was very sensitive and very sore, and the first few squirts of
piss burned him like fire. “Ow! Owww! Oh, man, that kills! Oh,
geeeeez . . . aaaaah!”
       Now that he’d started peeing, he couldn’t stop. He
continued to shout and cry as he filled the diaper with his warm
urine. Anna came over to him and took hold of his hand.
       “It’s going to hurt like that for a day at least,” she
said with the closest thing to sympathy Josh had heard in quite a
while. “Just keep going. Tell me when you’re finished.”
       With tears in his eyes, Josh nodded and tried to pee a
little more slowly, holding back his stream as best he could so
it wouldn’t hurt so bad. That strategy didn’t really do much more
than prolong his agony. Finally it came down to a weak trickle
and the eleven-year-old breathed a huge sigh of relief. The tip
of his dick still burned.
       “I’m done, miss,” he said softly. The feeling of the full,
wet, warm diaper . . . filled with his own piss . . . was not as
unpleasant as he’d first feared it would be. In fact, the boy
found it rather nice. His penis responded accordingly with a nice
hard boner.
       “Everything come out alright?” Anna asked, gently laying
her hand on the boy’s taut stomach.
       “Yes, miss.”
       “Good boy. I have to help the doctor with Zero-One. I’ll
be back later to change you. Get some rest.”
       Josh couldn’t believe she was just going to leave him
strapped to the bed with a wet diaper around his middle, but that
is exactly what she did. Josh lifted his head and watched her
return to Miles on the milking machine. He looked down the length
of his body, past his tight lean torso and once again glared at
those stupid cartoon bunnies on the diaper.
       ‘What are you laughing at?’ he asked them angrily. Then
with a colossal yawn he fell back to sleep, feeling all wet and
warm and snug and with an obvious erection between his legs.

        As Josh slept, and Miles got milked, and Chris
demonstrated his ever-improving cocksucking skills for Bruce,
young Daniel’s twenty-four hour period with Ophelia Winstrom came
to an end. Danny remained on all fours as the wealthy heiress led
him back to the barracks. He’d spent most of that time muzzled,
with his hands locked away in leather mitts. His rear end was
quite red from all the spankings and swats he’d received from the
lady for inadvertently acting like a human boy when he was, of
course, supposed to be an obedient little puppy. Spike had often
tried to help him, but since the eight-year-old never made any
noises but ‘yips’ and barks, it was hard for Danny to figure out
what was expected of him. He did like it very much when the lady
ordered Spike to crawl between his legs and suck on his penis for
a while. That was very nice indeed. Danny only managed to get
half-hard, and he didn’t have an orgasm, but he did like the way
it felt, having another boy suck on his little undersized pecker.

       He could not return the favor. Spike’s tiny cocklet
remained pinned between his legs by the chastity piercing. Danny
did lick the younger boy’s balls, which made Spike very happy. It
was, in fact, the most pleasure the eight-year-old had ever felt
down there. Normally those soft little parts were only a source
of pain at the hands of his mistress. His little cock did harden,
but, having no place to go, it quickly softened again. Needless
to say he was a very disappointed little puppy-boy when Danny was
ordered to stop. Now Spike trotted along beside his mistress, his
little puppy-tail butt-plug wagging back and forth as he crawled
on all fours.
       Lady Ophelia presented Daniel at the gate. The matron
herself was there to check the boy back in. The transaction and
final transfer of money was concluded by a simple finger-ID scan.

       “Here is his chastity belt,” the wealthy woman said,
handing over the leather and metal contraption that normally
encased the boy’s genitals. Being free of it for the last
twenty-four hours, Daniel had almost forgotten about it. “He does
not seem to need one,” she added. “I don’t think his little penis
ever got hard.”
       The matron took Daniel’s leash and all of the keys to the
various padlocks that secured the boy’s puppy-gear in place.
       “A remarkably charming boy,” Ophelia continued. “I shall
need to make inquiries about purchasing him.”
       “I don’t think he’d be for sale, ma’am,” the matron
replied respectfully.
       “Everything is for sale, my dear,” the older woman
answered softly. “One simply must name the right price. Farewell,
Daniel,” she then said, reaching down and patting the boy’s naked
and freshly reddened behind. “I’m sure we will meet again. You’d
like that, wouldn’t you?”
       “Yip! Yip!” Daniel barked, playing his role of obedient
boy-pet right up to the end. Of course young Danny didn’t like
that idea at all, but he was smart enough to pretend he did.
       “Come along, Spike,” she tugged gently on the
eight-year-old’s leash. “We need to get packed for our flight
home, then put you in your travel crate.” With that, the woman
strode proudly away with her little slave boy crawling along
beside her. Spike looked back at Danny and blinked his eyes in
goodbye. Maybe he’d get to play with the older boy again some
time, and maybe mistress would free his penis and let the older
boy suck on it. Maybe.
       The matron watched Ophelia Winstrom and her boy depart
then she gave Daniel a little kick. “Stand up, silly thing. She’s
gone now.”
       Daniel scrambled to his feet. The matron didn’t wait to
get him inside the barracks before locking him back into his
chastity belt. Daniel sighed as it was put back on. Strangely
enough it didn’t feel quite as tight as he remembered. His dick
actually had a little bit of room to bounce around inside it. He
stared down at the silvery metal plate in mild confusion. The
matron smirked knowingly, but said nothing.
       “Go to your cell,” the matron told him as she buzzed him
back into the deserted barracks and walked him inside. “You can
rest until your trainer comes to get you.” She then spoke into
her hand-held radio. “Operations . . . boy Zero-Five returning .
. . ”
       Danny stood alone in the commons room for moment. All the
other boys were out. It was weird being in here all by himself.
Everything was so quiet. He noticed the television was still
there, but the screen was blank. Josh’s punishment was over.
Close in age, sharing the same sport, and being of similar
temperament, he didn’t particularly like Josh, but he still felt
sorry for him. He hoped the other boy was okay. Not wanting to
risk the matron’s anger, he scurried off to his cell and sat down
on his bunk. The comic book he’d taken from the activities cart a
few days ago was still there, and so he crossed his smooth bare
legs, rested his back against the cool cinder-block wall and
escaped into the world of super heroes and nasty villains.

	Back in the medical suite, Anna shook Josh awake.
	“Time to change your diaper,” she said with a smile. “I’m doing
to release your ankles. You’re not going to kick me, are you?”
	“No, ma’am,” Josh answered.
	Anna unbuckled the medical restraints at the eleven-year-old’s
feet. Josh bent his legs and wiggled his toes. It felt good to be
able to move around again.
	“Okay, sweetie, lie still and spread your legs for me.”
	Josh obeyed. Anna pulled the tabs on the wet diaper and opened
it. Josh’s oversized penis shot up hard the second it was freed
of its soft cottony confinement. Anna ignored the boy’s erection
for the moment.
	“Lift your little butt,” she ordered.
	Josh arched his back and Anna took the soiled diaper away and
discarded it. Then with a warm soapy cloth she washed the boy’s
middle, paying extra attention to his ball sack and the sensitive
skin of the boy’s smooth hairless perineum. Josh let out a
contented sigh when she touched him there and his pre-teen boner
got even harder. The young woman then proceeded to wash the
eleven-year-old’s penis, being careful to get under his foreskin.
She noted that the opening of his urethra was a little red and
inflamed from the catheter.
	“Is that why it hurt when I pissed, ma’am?”
	“That’s why it hurts, cutie, but it will be better soon.”
	Josh suddenly became aware that Anna had set down the wash-cloth
and was now slowly jerking him off.
	“Oohh, miss . . . ,” he trembled and wiggled and sighed again
and looked down the length of his body, staring at his hard
five-and-one-half inch erection sticking straight up between
Anna’s fingers.
	Anna kept working on him, gently teasing the little
eleven-year-old boy and his sexy big cock. Josh was panting and
moaning, his muscular abdomen rising and falling with his rapid
breaths. He pulled against the padded wrist cuffs as he got
closer and closer to another dry cum. Only this time, his body
had a little surprise for him. Still watching, he noticed a
little drop of clear fluid oozing out of the tip of his penis.
Anna saw it too and ran her finger over it, pulling away and
forming a slender thread of sticky pre-teen pre-cum. She
tightened her grip on Josh’s rigid boycock and coaxed a few more
drops out of him.
	“You’re making pre-cum for me,” she said, running her fingers
through the boy’s blonde hair with her free hand. “Aren’t you
sweet. Let’s see how much you can make for me.”
	For the next thirty minutes, Anna kept the poor eleven-year-old
boy on the edge of a crippling orgasm, never allowing him to cum.
His cock was leaking now, a lot like he’d seen his older
brother’s do whenever they’d masturbated together. Not nearly as
much, but more than just those first few drops.
	“Am I . . . am I gonna shoot some white stuff?” Josh asked
between heavy rasping gasps.
	“I don’t think you can just yet, Joshie, but we’ll find out
soon, won’t we?”
	“Oh, yes, miss . . . ohhh, ohhhh, I’m cumming, miss!”
	And he did. And it was still mostly dry, a short weak trickle of
clear seminal fluid. Still it was the first time anything but pee
had ever come out of Josh’s dick. He was quite proud of himself.
	“Gee,” he finally said when the spasms of his orgasm passed,
“that sort of makes me a man now, right?”
	Anna laughed at him and smacked him gently on the thigh. “If you
say so. All I know is it’s time to put this young man back into
his little boy diaper.”
	Josh suddenly didn’t feel quite so big.
	“Would you like bunnies or spaceships?” Anna asked, still giving
him a wicked smile.
	“I’ll take the spaceships, miss.”
	Anna powdered his middle and his genitals and put the new diaper
on him. Josh looked down at it. It was white just like the first
one, but he had to admit the ships were kind of cool. “No more
bunnies,” he giggled. Anna patted him on the head, strapped his
ankles down once more. She held up a pacifier. Josh shook his
head vehemently.
	“Alright. But if you start making a fuss over here, it’s going
right in.”
	“I’ll be good, miss.”
	She set it down on the small table beside the bed. Josh was too
awake and too keyed up now to sleep. He’d actually shot something
out of his dick. It wasn’t much, really. Just some clear fluid,
but it made him feel bigger and stronger, and he knew enough
about how boys were made to know that in a few months time he’d
be shooting white stuff and lots of it, just like the older boys.
He couldn’t wait to see Chris and tell him.

	The pony cart was parked outside the training facility. Special
Training Room 2 was the only one currently occupied. Through the
closed door, the sounds of Christopher Andrews screaming
hysterically and begging for them to stop could be clearly heard.
Inside the training room, the thirteen-year-old boy was lying on
a metal table, his wrists and ankles locked down to the four
corners. His butt was currently six inches above the metal
surface, with a huge spiked dildo stuck half-way inside it. He
was currently being hung by his genitals. His chastity cage had
finally been removed, but a leather cock and ball harness had
been put in its place. The harness was attached to a chain pulley
directly above him.
	“We can go higher, boy,” Bruce said, pulling on the end of the
chain and forcing poor Chris’ ravaged butt another inch off the
table. Another round of agonized screams issued from the young
teenager’s throat.
	“Plllleeassse stop! Pleeeease, I can’t . . . hurts soooo baaaad
. . . plleeease,” he thrashed his head desperately, finally
fixing his wide terrified blue eyes on Lance. “Please,” said more
softly now as tears continued to fall. Lance felt pity for him
certainly, but it was Bruce’s money, Bruce’s idea, Bruce’s
special vacation. There was nothing he could do for the boy. Not
now.
	“Alright, we’ll stop. It’s time for the needles anyway.” Bruce
had brought a set with him, specially designed to pierce the soft
thin flesh of young boys. Lance shivered when he saw the silvery
things in their black case. He’d almost forgotten the pain that
could be inflicted on a kid.
	“I think we’ll do his nipples first.”
	With a dead, almost robotic expression, Lance joined his master
and selected a six-inch needle. The two men stood on either side
of the bound, helpless and screaming boy.
	“Oh, no! No! Nooooo . . . “ Chris’ shriek trailed off into a
heavy choking sob as the needles simultaneously pierced his
nipples and were pushed through half-way to their widest point.
Chris jerked wildly in his bonds, causing himself even more pain
form his bound-up genitals, which were now taking quite a bit of
the weight of his lean young body.
	They gave him a few minutes to calm down and then began to
insert needles all over his body. His belly button received one.
Six of them, two at a time, were put into his pink hairless
scrotum. Smaller thinner ones went into his ear lobes and through
the soft flesh of his upper and lower lips, which were soon
bleeding.
	By now Chris was screaming so loud that his voice was beginning
to break into higher and higher octaves. It was a sound of
suffering that made Lance cringe. Bruce however was unmoved, or
rather extremely turned on by it. He and Lance were both naked,
and his cock was hard and dripping.
	“Now we’re going to do your penis. You’d like that, wouldn’t
you, boy?”
	Chris violently shook his head and spit some blood from his lips
out of his mouth.
       “Tell me to pierce your big hard boy-cock. It is hard . .
. look at it . . . look at your dick you filthy little slave . .
. “
	Chris found the strength to raise his head and stared at his
hard leaking cock. Why did it always do that? He hated this. He
wanted out of this room so bad, and yet there was his penis,
erect and huge and throbbing and just beginning for nasty things
to be done to it.
	‘What’s wrong with me?’ the boy thought. ‘I’m a total sicko . .
. ‘
	“Tell me,” Bruce shouted at him, running the end of a sharp
needle along the length of the boy’s six-inch boner. “Say it. Say
‘Master, pierce my big hard boy-cock.”
	Chris shook his head and once again tried to look at Lance for
sympathy.
	“Don’t look at him!” Bruce reached beneath the partially
suspended boy and rammed more of the already bloody dildo up the
thirteen-year-old’s ass. Chris screamed again. “Say it! Say it
now!”
	 “P . . . pierce . . . Master, pierce my . . . my . . . my big
hard boy-cock!” With the needles piercing his lips, the boy’s
words were almost unintelligible.
	“As you wish, slave.”
	One by one, scream by scream, five thin needles were passed
through the flesh of Christopher’s tortured penis. Chris stared
open-mouthed at the silver rods that now decorated his boyhood.
He was scared. He’d never been so scared. He didn’t know if those
things were going to ruin his dick forever or what might happen
when they came out.
	Again he was allowed to rest and catch his breath. Bruce then
stared down at him, holding two more very thick dull needles in
his hand.
	“The last two. They’re going into your balls. Tell me to stick
these in your balls. Tell me.”
	Chris shook his head, sobbing uncontrollably now. “No . . . no .
. . no . . . “
	“Tell me, boy. Or I’ll find even worse places to stick them.”
	Chris stared into the man’s dark eyes. He knew he had no choice.
“Master, please . . . please stick those into my . . . stick
those into my balls!”
	Bruce threw the two needles onto the metal table and smiled down
at the boy. “Those would have destroyed you. I’ve never used them
on anyone, I’ve never needed to. You’re still hard, Chris.”
	Chris didn’t need to look to know it was true. He could feel his
erection throbbing insistently.
	“Lance wants to take care of that for you, but let’s get those
things out first.”
	With great care, the two men removed the stainless steel needles
from the boy’s abused body. Aside from Christopher’s lips, there
was very little bleeding, much to the young gladiator’s relief.
Bruce removed the dildo and lowered the pulley, returning the
boy’s backside to the table. The cock and ball harness remained,
as did the boy’s eager erection.
	Lance got up onto the table and straddled the boy’s middle.
“You’ve earned this one, Chris.”
	And so Chris got his cock sucked for the first time in his young
life. He’d sucked Joshua’s dick before, back home, but his little
brother would never return the favor. Lance worked slowly,
enjoying the feel of the boy’s hard, rigid sex in his mouth. He
breathed in deep. The sweet sweaty smell of thirteen-year-old boy
was like a drug to him. Chris was so wound up by now that it
wouldn’t have taken him long at all if Lance hadn’t been so
adept. Finally he felt that familiar burning in his balls and
knew he was going to cum. Nothing could stop that now. He
clenched his fists, closed his eyes, shouted out in ecstasy and
shot his load of creamy white boy seed into Lance’s mouth.
	“Oh, yeah!”
	Chris slumped weakly and lay motionless on the metal table. He’d
never had such a hard cum in all his life. The
thirteen-year-old’s penis slowly returned to its flaccid state,
but, constrained by the cock and ball harness, it remained
swollen, his foreskin still drawn partially back, his soft satiny
ball sack a dark angry red. The boy moaned. Now that the intense
pleasure of his orgasm was fading, the pain and ache of his
tortured body began to overcome him once more. Tears formed in
his exhausted eyes and he began to cry, softly. He would have
given anything in that moment to be allowed to go home. With his
blue eyes closed, he didn’t see Bruce select a heavy wooden
paddle from the wide array of disciplinary instruments hanging on
the wall. Lance took the older man’s wrist and slowly shook his
head.
	“Don’t, Bruce, please. I don’t think he can take anymore.”
	Bruce brushed his young submissive partner aside. “The boy will
take whatever I give him. Pleasure doesn’t come without a price.
You had to learn that lesson when you were his age. So does he.
Get him over to the stocks.”
	
	
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.


Chapter 33:

	Gabe and Danny, the winners of the first contest, were taken by
their trainers under the shade of the pavilion to prepare them
for their special role in the upcoming event. The eight remaining
boys were temporarily placed in a holding cage while the mules
scurried about setting up the next event. Chris recognized mule
1674 straining hard to keep up with the older stronger boys. He’d
learned from Lance that 1674’s steel chastity pod (which all
mules were required to wear) would come off only to be exchanged
for a slightly larger one as the boy grew. Chris had mixed
feelings about the metal cage that normally imprisoned his
thirteen-year-old penis. He hated it most of the time, of course,
but he’d already discovered that NOT being able to touch himself
was really rather arousing. He wondered what it must be like to
have your dick locked in one of those pods forever. 1674 glanced
over at him for a moment as the trainers closed the gladiators
into the cage. As always there was a sad and distant expression
in the boy’s soft gray eyes. Chris risked a quick shy wave in the
nameless boy’s direction, but 1674 went on about his arduous
labors with nearly robotic precision.
	The holding cage was small, forcing the boys to press their
sweaty nude bodies together in the sticky tropical heat. Still
free of their various chastity devices, and with cock and ball
harnesses inducing powerful boyish erections (for everyone but
poor Daniel) it was not long before the boys began rubbing their
turgid tools against each other’s bodies. David and Philippe both
ejaculated in less than a minute. Thankfully the trainers neither
saw nor heard them in the throes of orgasmic ecstasy. Ian and
Miles meanwhile were crammed in on either side of Chris and were
rutting like little animals against the thirteen-year-old’s legs.
	“Knock it off, you little hornballs. Go hump your own legs,”
Chris hissed at them, not wanting to get caught, even as he
sported a raging and dripping boner of his own, albeit a very
sore and tender one. He went so far as to finger the silver plug
in his piss-slit, but pulled his hand away immediately and just
in time.
	Ian and Miles never got a chance to finish pleasuring their
pre-teen cocks. The cage was unlocked and the boys were marched
back in a group onto the hippodrome track. Awaiting them were
eight wooden benches, twenty feet long and about one foot wide.
Along the length of each bench ten wooden prongs had been screwed
in place by the mules, spaced evenly about two feet apart. The
prongs increased in size, length, girth and thickness as they
went down the bench. The first one being no bigger than one of
the older boy’s index fingers, the last ones being enormous
bulbous invaders meant to force a boy open wide in the most
excruciating manner imaginable.
	The boys stared at the wooden benches and the wooden prongs with
expressions of dread on their young faces. No explanations were
needed as to what was about to happen. They were lined up in
front of the benches according to their numbers.
	“Attention!” Jason shouted at them. The boys immediately assumed
the now well-practiced position. They stood there waiting
silently while the noise from the crowd grew louder. A raucous
cheer went up when Gabriel and Daniel ran out from under the
shade of the pavilion. The two boys were dressed like miniature
bondage masters, black latex jockstraps, chest harnesses with
silver spikes, black leather boots up to their knees, and black
gloves just like the ones the trainers themselves wore. Spiked
leather collars completed their outfits. The boys both looked
comically and adorably awkward, and obviously very unsure about
their ability to carry out their assigned duties. Roger and
Calvin handed them both a short flogger. Gabe and Danny were
going to be the drivers of this event, whipping any boy who moved
too slowly along the benches.
	Michella took the microphone and provided a quick overview of
the next event to the crowd, and the boys.
	“We call it the Pole Vault. The rules are simple, boys,” she
said addressing them directly. “Each of you will sit down on the
first peg. When the whistle blows, you will work your way down to
the end of your bench. Your butt must make full contact with the
bench to get credit for each peg. If you are penalized for
cheating you will go back to the beginning and start over.”
	The boys nervously took up their positions in front of the
benches. Their wrists were locked behind their backs. One by one
each boy straddled his wooden bench, the first and smallest prong
directly beneath him.
	“Boys Zero-Five and Zero-Six will be helping to motivate any of
you who decide to stop,” Michella continued once she had David’s
wrists secured behind his back. “And, to make things more
interesting, we’ve treated some of the pegs with pepper gel. Its
clear, so don’t bother looking. You’ll know its there when the
peg’s up your butt! Each one of you has at least one peg with the
gel on it, some of you have four or five. One of you has gel on
all ten of them.”
	The boys all grumbled that it seemed really unfair that things
weren’t equal.
	“Life’s not fair, boys, especially for slaves, so get used to
it.”
	Michella blew her whistle and the boys immediately squatted down
over the first peg which was just three inches long a little less
than one inch wide. A few seconds later, Illya, Ian, Chris, David
and Philippe were all shrieking as the pepper gel set their
innards on fire. None of the boys lingered long on the first peg,
but the boys who’d just experienced the gel were up and scooting
forward for the next one a little more desperately than the
others.
	The first peg really wasn’t so bad, not much bigger than the
countless fingers the boys had had shoved into their butts on a
daily basis since their arrival on the island. The second peg
down the line was the real start of this ordeal. Four inches and
noticeably wider than the first, with a fat bulbous end mimicking
the male organ. With their arms bound behind them, balance was
tricky, and the boys had only the strength in their legs to lower
themselves onto the waiting prongs. Miles had a hard time and
stood back up with tears in his eyes. His butt was still sore
from being fucked by Gabriel two nights earlier. Ironically it
was Gabriel who now ran over to the ten-year-old’s bench,
straddled it in front of the crying boy and yelled into his face.

	“Move it, sprout! Come on.”
	“I can’t,” Miles shouted back. “This is all your fault . . .
your willie hurt me real bad . . . “
	Gabe swung his flogger over Miles’ shoulder. Gently, hoping the
trainers wouldn’t notice it.
	“Do it for England then,” the twelve-year-old shouted at him.
	Miles, at ten, was almost self-righteously patriotic. The only
boy among the Gladiators who seemed to have strong feelings about
representing not only himself but his country. He looked up at
his fellow Englishman and gritted his teeth. He bent his legs and
forced himself down on the peg. It hurt and tore at his little
hole. It also caused his tiny pricklet to stand straight out, as
hard as it had ever been.
	“Nice little bone ya got there,” Gabriel said. Josh then caught
his eye two benches over. He was up to the fourth peg already,
and getting up for the fifth, but Gabe noticed that the
eleven-year-old’s butt never quite touched the bench. “Foul!” he
shouted, rather delightedly, pointing to Josh who now stood
frozen, squatting halfway over the fifth peg.
	Danny, who had become Josh’s natural rival, was quickly on the
spot, lashing the younger boy’s back with all his pent up rage
and humiliation. He had the smallest dick of the boys, except for
Miles and he didn’t really count, and now they were giving him
drugs to make it even smaller. He’d never have an erection again
for the rest of his years on the island. He was ashamed and
embarrassed and tired of everyone laughing at him or pointing to
his tiny boy-parts and snickering. Seeing eleven-year-old Josh’s
big oversized dick flopping between his legs was the final straw.
He unleashed a barrage on poor Josh’s back.
	“No cheating, Josh. Get back to the beginning, ay, and start
over!” he yelled.
	Wanting to avoid further blows, Josh darted up and ran back to
the starting end of the bench. He was pissed now too, but it
served him right and he knew it. He’d cheated on the last two
pegs, not sitting down all the way and hoping he could get away
with it. But no boy ever gets away with much on Gladiator Island.
Now he was four pegs behind, but he quickly discovered that his
butt-hole was so loose and open now that vaulting the first three
pegs was easy. His penis was rock hard and bouncing up and down
as he hurried to catch up. He was starting to get that tingly
feeling again as the prongs rubbed against that special place
inside him. So far he’d lucked out. None of his pegs yet had any
of the pepper gel on them. He was actually getting close to
having an orgasm when he again returned to the fifth peg. This
one was a lot bigger and he went down on it slowly. The pressure
inside him was so amazingly intense now that he couldn’t help
himself. Remembering the standing order for boy gladiators, he
shouted, “I’m cumming!” just as a thin trickle of clear semen
dribbled from his eleven-year-old but nearly man-sized penis. He
shivered and trembled on the peg as his orgasm swept over him and
a few more weak squirts of clear fluid shot out of his dick.
	The trainers hadn’t set any rules about cumming during this
event, and Josh’s orgasm would not cost him points, though it did
cost him time. The crowd of course was absolutely delighted. A
replay of Josh’s climax was played in slow motion on the big
screen. Josh looked up just in time to see the huge image of
himself with his big stupid oversized dick squirting and
bouncing. With his ears red from humiliation he pulled himself
off the peg and scooted forward to the next one.
	It was slow going. Even with Gabe and Danny providing incentive
with their floggers. The eight boys on the benches struggled to
make progress. Poor Philippe had reached the fifth peg and was
beginning to suspect that his was the bench with pepper gel on
each of those evil looking prongs. All five of them had had it so
far. His butt was on fire and he had lost all of his brave
fourteen-year-old composure and was screaming and crying like a
little boy as he slowly sat down on the middle peg. His penis was
no longer hard, just a sad shriveled teenaged sausage flopping
between his straining legs.
	“Stop your bawling, Frenchie,” Danny shouted at him, lashing him
hard with the whip. “You’re halfway there. Move it!”
	Much to his own surprise, the very sore and very tired Chris was
currently in first place. He’d been fucked so many times by Bruce
and Lance, and Jason for that matter, that his hole was quite
loose. He had no problem taking the wooden prongs up his butt,
all of them so far had been smaller than Bruce’s gigantic cock.
Fortunately only that very first peg had the gel on it. He was
sitting on the sixth peg now and ready for the seventh. His penis
was half hard and dripping. If he could have reached around to
stroke it, he would have. Using his muscular thighs he pulled
himself up, scurried forward and sat down on the seventh prong.
This one was a lot fatter than the last one and he felt his body
resisting for the first time.
	‘Come on, come on,’ he thought to himself as he clenched his
eyes and wrinkled his cute little nose. He forced himself down
and immediately let out a high-pitched wail. This prong had gel
on it, a lot of it. The burning was almost unbearable on the
young teen’s already well-fucked and ravaged boy-hole. He cursed
and shouted and jumped up off the prong like a rabbit. Painful
enough to be sure, but not so painful as what happened next.
	“Foul! Foul!” It was Gabriel rushing over with his flogger in
hand. To Christopher’s eyes the boy looked rather ridiculous in
his leather bondage-master outfit.
       “What the fuck are you talking about?” Chris hissed back
at him, poised over the seventh prong.
       “You didn’t sit down all the way.”
“Did too!”
“Did not!”
“Did too.”
       “Look, man, I saw you! And I say who sat down and who
didn’t. That’s my job. You did not sit down.” The twelve-year-old
was about to deliver a blow to the older boy’s back, but the
glare he got from Chris made him hesitate. “Well . . . okay, but
you’ve gotta go back and start over.”
       “What! No fuckin’ way I’m doin’ that.”
       “Zero-Seven!” It was Jason’s voice and it was angry.
“Zero-Six is doing exactly what he’s been told to do. And unless
I am mistaken, you are supposed to obey any order you are given
on this island. That’s five demerits for disobeying him. If you
sit there one second longer I’ll give you twenty for disobeying
me.”
       Dejected and angry and muttering under his breath, Chris
got up and marched gingerly back to the starting end of the
bench, the soles of his beaten feet making each step an
unpleasant one. The crowd cheered, happy to see another boy
forced to start over. The fact that it was the older brother of
the first such victim only added to the wonderful sense of
theater and drama. Chris plopped down on the first peg and glared
at Gabriel again.
       “Happy now?”
       “Yes, I am,” Gabriel said matter-of-factly, lashing his
whip across Chris’ thighs and walking away. Gabe wasn’t
necessarily a cruel kid, but he and Danny had been told to take
this job seriously or they would face unpleasant consequences of
their own. The twelve-year-old wasn’t about to risk it. Twelve
year old boys are best at looking out for themselves, and Gabriel
Shelton was no exception to this general rule.
       After several more minutes of boyish screams and shouts
echoing out over the crowd, David Brown came to the tenth and
final peg, sat down with an anguished wail, raised himself
awkwardly off the bench and stood at the end of it wiping tears
from his eyes.
       “Victory. Boy One-Zero,” the announcer called as Michella
untied his hands. David was too humiliated and far too sore to
have much enthusiasm for his win. The constant stimulation of his
fourteen-year-old prostate had resulted in a constant stream of
pre-cum dribbling out of his perpetually frustrated cock. He’d
avoided the humiliation of having an orgasm while riding the
wooden pegs, but his somewhat smallish penis was still rigid and
straining and calling a great deal of attention to itself. The
young teen stood there under the glaring afternoon sun, covered
in a fine sheen of sweat, shifting his weight gingerly from foot
to foot as the discomfort in his stretched and opened boy-hole
slowly faded to a dull ache. His cock still throbbed helplessly
in front of him. He caught himself moving his hands toward it and
stopped just in time. He wanted to jerk off so badly.
       The crowd cheered for him, but of course the event was not
over until every boy had reached the end of his bench.
       The last boy to finish was Chris. Being forced to start
over had drained what little strength he had left. All the other
boys were standing at the end of their benches. Chris was still
on the sixth peg, unable to get his legs to work for him. The
crowd started jeering at him, throwing their plastic cups of beer
and wine at him. He bent over and covered his head. Danny and
Gabe stood on either side of him, showering his back with lashes,
but still the boy didn’t move.
       Jason Sanborne finally had to step in. Things were getting
out of hand, even for Gladiator Island. He blew his whistle and
ordered the two adorable junior bondage-masters to stand aside.
He knelt beside Chris and heard the boy quietly sobbing.
       “Can’t finish, can you?”
       “N . . . no, sir . . . I’m so tired, sir . . . I just
can’t do it . . .”
       “Get up. You’ll have to be given demerits for this. The
other trainers will have a fit if I don’t.”
       “I know,” the young teen said glumly. “Can you . . . you
know, help me get off this thing?”
       Jason snaked his forearms under the boy’s armpits and
pulled him up off the wooden prong. Chris came off of it with a
wet slurp. The crowd showered the thirteen-year-old loser with
boos and cat-calls and demands that he be forcefully sat upon
each prong until he reached the end. The majority of the trainers
shared the crowd’s opinion, and this placed Jason in a difficult
position.
       “If he doesn’t finish, he gets fifty demerits,” Roger
Bramley demanded.
       Jason wanted to argue. That was more than he thought the
boy should receive, but the trainers had agreed from day one that
any boy’s failure to complete any official event was a major
transgression and must be dealt with severely.
       “Those are the rules, Jason,” Hannah Dubose reminded him.
“Let the boy decide.”
       Chris was still straddling the bench, held up by his
trainer’s arms. “What will it be, Zero-Seven?” Jason asked.
“Fifty demerits, or Roger and I will put you down on each prong
until we get to the end.”
       Chris’ head was already spinning and it was hard to think
fast. Fifty demerits was a lot. It would almost certainly
guarantee that he’d finish last for the week. On the other hand,
he really didn’t like the alternative he’d just been given. The
spectators were growing restless.
       “Decide, boy, or we’ll do both.”
       Chris blurted it out quickly. “I’ll take the bench, sir.”
       Jason quickly gestured to Roger. Together the two men
picked up the thirteen-year-old boy, grasping him around his
waist and locking a firm grip on his thighs to keep his legs
spread and his little hole open and defenseless. They went back
to the beginning once again and over the next two minutes forced
the poor boy down onto each successive prong, giving him only a
few seconds to scream and wince until he was roughly pulled up,
carried forward and pushed down onto the next one. The rest of
the boys stood with their trainers, watching their fellow
gladiator’s humiliating ordeal. The crowd was ruthless, laughing
and applauding and cheering every time Chris was forced to sit
down on one of the pegs. After being lifted off the tenth and
final wooden peg, Chris collapsed trembling onto the ground with
Jason and Roger standing over him, kicking him gently but
insistently.
       “Get up!”
       Chris dragged himself to his feet. Jason made a show of
forcing the boy’s half-hard cock into its chastity cage,
resulting in painful yelps of protest from the horny and
frustrated young teenager, which in turn resulted in several
sharp smacks to his perfect teenaged butt. He then attached the
chain to the young gladiator’s collar and dragged him less than
gently out of the venue. “Make it look good,” Jason whispered to
him. Chris however did not need to act as he stumbled along
behind his trainer. He was a very happy boy when the noise of the
crowd fell away behind him. He didn’t know where Jason was taking
him, and for the moment he was only glad to be out of the glare
of the lights and cameras and the harsh wicked stares of the
adults in the crowd.
       Jason took Chris back to the barracks and marched the
naked young teen directly to his cell.
       “On your bunk. Get some rest. I’ll come back for you
later. We’re running the first marathon tonight. You’re going to
be at the starting line with the rest of the boys, and you’re
going to finish, even if it takes you all night.”
       Chris nodded. He was tired and his young body ached all
over, but he was no quitter. Chris stood at attention and
remained perfectly still while his collar and shackles were
removed, then, much to the boy’s surprise, his chastity device
was removed too.
       “Boys your age need to have full erections once in a
while,” he explained. “You can have one while you sleep. You’re
on your honor, Chris,” Jason warned him, holding the separate
pieces of the metal cock cage in his hand.  “If I found out
you’ve played with yourself, this goes back on and it won’t come
off for a month.”
       Chris had already learned that Jason never bluffed. He
swallowed hard and promised to be good, even as his long teenaged
cock twitched half-way to life. Jason left the cell momentarily
and returned with a pair of black gloves. He put them on the
boy’s obediently outstretched hands.
       “These will help you keep your hands where they belong.”
       Chris examined the gloves and discovered that the palms
and undersides of the fingers were covered with tiny sharp metal
spikes, even sharper from the looks of them than the ones on his
chastity cage. No way he’d be touching himself while he was
wearing these things. Jason fondled the boy’s balls for a moment,
then gently pushed him toward his bunk. Chris lied down on his
back and shut his eyes. He heard the door to his cell being
closed and locked. His left hand almost instinctively went toward
his semi-erect penis, but he quickly pulled it back. It felt good
to have everything free down there, even if just for a few hours,
but he didn’t dare touch it. By now all the boys knew that there
were cameras everywhere, watching them around the clock. Chris
didn’t know exactly where the camera was in his cell, but he knew
it had to be there. He was too tired to really want to jerk off
anyway. He stretched his lean frame and was sound asleep a few
minutes later.

        With the morning events over, the crowd disbursed and the
boys were led away by their trainers to various practice venues.
The day’s main event, the junior marathon, would begin with the
start of the prime-time broadcast that evening. Several of the
boys were sent to the training facility to work with the weights
and treadmills. Illya and Ian found themselves with their
trainers in the round steeply banked oval of the island’s
just-completed velodrome, where all the sprint-distance cycling
events would take place. David and Josh ended up in the medical
suite where they were scheduled for their next appointment with
the milking machine.

       As the first boys to use the velodrome, Illya and Ian were
introduced to the special bicycles the Boy Gladiators would be
required to use. A small crowd of curious spectators were in the
stands to watch this first trial run. The two boys stared
open-mouthed as their trainers Sergei and Anthony rolled two of
the bicycles over from the storage rack in the staging area of
the oval track. The first thing both boys noticed was that the
bikes looked very heavy. The second thing they noticed was that
the bikes had long latex dildos in place of seats. The height of
the dildo could be adjusted to fit the rider, not necessarily
comfortably. The pedals also caught the young slaves attention.
They were made of rubber but covered with small metal studs
designed to provide maximum pain to a boy’s tender feet without
actually cutting into their soft flesh. The bicycles also came
with leather restraint attachments on the handle bars so the boys
could be properly secured to the wicked two-wheeled vehicles.
       Illya and Ian shared a worried glance. Both of them had
finished in the middle of the pack in the last event, and both of
them had very sore butts from sitting down on those wooden pegs.
Now these long black latex dildos would be impaling them as they
rode around the track.
       The boys had their chains and butt-plugs removed and they
were led by their trainers to the bikes.
       “Hop on, boys,” Anthony said cheerfully. He took
particular delight in his role and made sure young Ian was
properly positioned over the dildo. In order to reach the pedals,
the boy had to let the latex invader slip inside him. It was very
big for an eleven-year-old boy’s rear entrance, but gravity did
most of the work. Ian shrieked as the dildo wormed its way into
his rectum and he immediately felt his penis go hard, or at least
attempt to, within the tight confines of his chastity belt.
       Sergei thought it would be fun to give the small curious
crowd of onlookers a nice view of his little brother’s not so
little penis, so he removed Illya’s cock cage before putting the
boy onto the bicycle. With the dildo working its way past the
thirteen-year-old’s prostate, the boy soon sported his full and
rather amazing eight-inch boner. His hairless body made his penis
seem even larger.
       The boys straddled the dildos with their feet still on the
ground while their wrists were bound to the handle bars with the
leather straps.
       “Alright, boys,” Anthony shouted at them. “Get your feet
on those pedals and start moving. We want you at full speed
before the first turn. Sergei and I have decided this is an
official race. Loser receives ten demerits. Winner gets his cock
sucked by the loser. Ten laps.”
       Sergei blew his whistle and the two naked boys were off,
moaning and groaning as the dildo snaked deeper into their
bodies, applying more and more pressure on their young and
already over-stimulated prostates. Ian could actually feel the
globs of pre-cum oozing out of his penis as the natural pedaling
motion moved him up and down on the dildo. Illya was leaking his
clear fluid in an almost constant stream, but that wasn’t a
terribly unusual state of affairs for him by now.
       The track was designed for sprint distances, so ten laps
did not take all that long, even with the boys struggling against
the impaling latex prongs in their butts and the painful studs on
the pedals beneath their feet. It was a close race. Illya was
naturally stronger and more powerful, but he was also
considerably less graceful on his bike. Ian was simply the better
rider, moving through the banked turns with ease. The small crowd
cheered him on and he beat his older partner by the width of his
front tire. Illya was visibly pissed about losing to the younger
boy, but he’d managed to earn only a handful of demerits thus far
so he wasn’t terribly worried about his standings. Ian on the
other hand was ecstatic. He was currently near the bottom and
although the victory earned him no bonus points, at least the
demerits went to someone else. Plus he was going to get his cock
sucked.
       The two boys were released from the bicycles and the
assembled spectators were invited to come down onto the track
where they formed a close circle around the boys. Ian and Illya
first had to bend over and grab their ankles so their trainers
could re-insert their butt-plugs. This done, everyone watched and
took digital photos as Sergei put his younger brother’s chastity
cage back on. Ian giggled at his thirteen-year-old partner’s
misfortune. Meanwhile Ian’s own pre-teen penis was sticking up in
all its hard 3 and ½ inch glory eager for attention and ready for
action.
       “You know what to do, Zero-Eight,” Sergei said. He took
particular care never to call his little brother by his name when
anyone else might be within earshot. By now it was no secret the
two were related, but Sergei had to maintain a professional
distance from his young charge. It really wasn’t all that
difficult. Sergei had been dominating Illya since they were both
very young, and now at seventeen he was thoroughly enjoying
having his thirteen-year-old brother firmly under his boot.
       Illya dropped to his knees in front of Ian and took the
smaller boy’s cock into his mouth. Just like all the boys, Ian
was still new to the joys of having his cock sucked, and at
eleven-and-a-half he was also still quite new to cumming. He’d
only started having wet orgasms in the last month or so, and it
was still a mind-blowing sensation for the young boy. Ian gasped
and moaned as Illya moved his lips up and down over his rock-hard
penis. Unable to contain himself, he locked his hands around
Illya’s head and starting thrusting his hips in and out. Little
high-pitched squeaks issued from his throat as he got closer and
closer. It never takes a pre-teen boy long to reach orgasm and
Ian was about to have one.
       “Slow down, Zero-Eight,” Sergei said, swatting his younger
brother’s ass with his prod. “Give the crowd a good show. If you
let him cum right now, you’ll be punished. Suck his balls for a
while.”
       Illya let out a muffled grunt to indicate he understood.
       “And don’t you cum yet, Zero-Three,” Anthony ordered his
young charge, smacking the end of the plug in the
eleven-year-old’s butt.
       A very disappointed Ian was left with a very hard and
frustrated dick pointing up toward his belly. He cooed joyously
though when he felt the older boy’s warm mouth engulfing his
barely ripe young balls. Illya rolled his tongue over the boy’s
smooth silken ball sack and sucked firmly on the kid’s testicles.
       “Oooohh, yeah . . . “ Ian sighed, throwing his head back
in delight. He didn’t mind not cumming right away if this was his
reward for holding back.
       Illya performed a minor miracle by managing to keep the
incredibly horny eleven-year-old from having an orgasm for nearly
fifteen minutes. Finally Ian just couldn’t stand it any longer.
       “I’m cumming, mate!” he shouted to his partner, tensing
his muscles, thrusting his hips forward, gasping breathlessly and
squirting his meager supply of pre-teen boy-juice into Illya’s
mouth. “Oh, man, that was totally awesome!”
       Ian’s cock was still hard and glistening with spit and his
own clear semen when Illya pulled back. The crowd applauded both
boys, snapped more photographs and were each given an opportunity
to stroke young Ian’s cock, keeping him nice and hard for another
twenty minutes. Illya meanwhile was helping the two trainers set
up the racks for the bicycles and was then sent out with a broom
to sweep the track clean. All the while his own penis was
painfully engorged within the restrictive confines of its metal
cage. Of all the boys on the island, it was Illya’s misfortune to
have, thus far, experienced the fewest orgasms. He was incredibly
horny, and the humiliation of having his cock locked away in the
cage while he knelt in front of a younger boy and sucked him off
had made him only more desperate for his own release. Sergei knew
his little brother was about to explode with sexual frustration,
but that was his general plan for the care and treatment of his
brother.
       “You’re going to have to let that boy cum sooner or
later,” Anthony observed. Illya’s sadly swollen dick was obvious
to anyone who gave his chastity cage a second glance.
       “He can put that energy into the competitions,” Sergei
replied coldly. “That’s what he’s here for.”
       Anthony just smiled, no longer surprised at the young
man’s strict treatment of his little brother. Sergei had made it
clear from the moment their relationship was revealed that he
wasn’t going to go soft on his brother, and so far he had more
than lived up to his promise. Illya was a slave now and nothing
more. A valuable one to be sure, but a slave nonetheless. Sergei
had no problems at all in treating him like one.

       In the sterile confines of the medical suite, David and
Josh were on their hands and knees atop the milking tables, both
sporting throbbing erections from the vibrating plugs lodged in
their rectums. This milking would prove to be somewhat different
from the first one they experienced, since this time a small
audience of VIP guests was on-hand to witness their ordeal.
It was bad enough for the boys being up on that table with their
hard cocks and swollen balls swinging between their slender legs,
but now with an eager crowd of spectators looking on, it was
positively humiliating. The cameras were there too, and the boys’
latest milking session would be broadcast on tape delay later
that night.
	Among the small gathering of visitors was well-dressed woman
with her two young pre-teen sons. The little boys were dressed
for the tropics, wearing thin white khaki shorts and loose
fitting cotton shirts. They were both nicely tanned all the way
down to their toes. Both of them were in flip-flops at the moment
and their hair was still wet from the beach. Behind them, his
head bowed submissively, was their fourteen-year-old houseboy. He
was stark naked except for a thick heavy iron collar around his
neck. His ankles were shackled and chained. His hairless
genitals, average size for his age, were locked into a tight
leather harness which forced them to stand out provocatively from
his body. The boy’s penis was soft, the end of his foreskin
pierced with a large golden padlock. The younger of the two boys,
barely eight years old, was playfully fondling the slave boy’s
ripe teenaged balls. The older boy however was utterly fascinated
by the proceedings just beginning on the milking tables. He was
staring at the dangling balls of the two naked boys, particularly
on David’s larger and low-hanging set. The front of his shorts
was visibly tented, his little pricklet stiff and straight as a
nail.
	“That one has big balls, mother,” he giggled excitedly. All of
the adults smiled at him indulgently.
	“He’s welcome to inspect the boys more closely, Ms. Symington,”
Allison Trench said as she finished sliding Josh’s half-hard
penis into the milking tube. “By the looks of him, your slave boy
is reaching the age where he’ll require regular milkings. Your
sons should know how it’s done. Proper care and control of a
slave boy’s sexual organs is a skill every young master or
mistress should learn.”
	“Oh, that would be lovely, doctor. Thank you.”
	Trench smiled. “Step closer . . . “
	“Sean,” the young boy replied.
	“Step closer, Sean. We’ll let the machine take care of Zero-Two
here, but we’ll milk One-Zero by hand today. Would you like to
help me?”
	“Oh, yes, please, doctor,” the ten-year-old replied
enthusiastically. He’d played with his slave’s boy-parts before
and even made the boy shoot his white stuff a few times, but this
was going to be a special treat.
	Doctor Trench helped the boy into position beside the milking
table. “Just reach between his legs and wrap your hand around his
penis.”
	Sean did as instructed. “His thingy is a lot bigger than
Cameron’s,” he observed, craning his neck back to the family’s
houseboy. The Symington’s had owned Cameron since he was ten,
thus Sean had known him for nearly half of his life.
	“Well dear, his penis is hard right now. Cameron’s isn’t. Is
Cameron allowed to have erections?”
	The boy shot her a puzzled look. Trench smiled and rephrased the
question. “Do you let Cameron have boners once in a while?”
	“He’s not supposed to, ma’am,” Sean replied respectfully,
adjusting his own rigid little boy-pole with his free hand, “but
he does whenever me or Ryan play with it.” Sean wasn’t
particularly shy about admitting that he played with Cameron’s
boy-parts, or that he often had Cameron play with his. “It’s ok,
right. I mean that’s what Cameron is for, right?” he asked shyly,
suddenly worried that maybe he was doing something wrong.
	“Cameron is there for whatever you want him for, dear,” his
mother interjected. Trench nodded her approval.
	“Have your little brother get Cameron’s penis nice and hard and
we’ll see how much bigger it gets.”
	Eight-year-old Ryan was happy to oblige, quickly and rather
roughly stroking the older boy’s penis to a firm five-inch
erection.
	“Well, I see One-Zero is a bit bigger than your boy. But it
doesn’t really matter.”
	All this time, Sean’s hand was firmly wrapped around David’s
penis, slowly stroking it up and down. David was totally
humiliated, having a younger boy handling him like a piece of
meat.
	“That’s good, Sean,” Trench praised the eager little lad. “Keep
rubbing it up and down like that, very slowly.” Karin meanwhile
had helped snap a latex glove on Sean’s other hand. Doctor Trench
herself removed the vibrating plug in David’s butt. “Put two of
your fingers up there, sweetie,” she instructed the little boy.
	Sean wrinkled his nose and stared at her. “In his poop hole? I
don’t think so! That’s gross.”
	“It has to be done, dear. That’s why we put the glove on you.
Just stick them right in there. Go ahead.”
	Sean looked back at his mother, who nodded that he should obey.
His little brother was wearing that famous ‘I dare you’
expression on his cute round freckled face.
	“Well, okay,” the ten-year-old replied. “Here goes.” He stuck
his middle and index fingers into David’s loose and waiting
rectum. David moaned aloud as the two short digits entered him
and immediately found his prostate.
	“Do you feel a little bump in there?” the doctor asked Sean.
	Sean rolled his fingers around inside David’s butt, causing the
older boy to moan even louder and large glob of pre-cum to
dribble from the end of his dick.
	“Yes, ma’am.”
	“That’s called his prostate. All males have one. You have one.
Ryan has one. Cameron has one. When something touches it, it
makes boys feel very very funny inside.”
	“Funny good, or funny bad?” Sean asked.
	“Good at first. But if you keep doing it to him, it won’t feel
so nice after a while. He needs to shoot his sperm, but we’re not
going to let him. We’re going to get it out of him a little bit
at a time. You should start doing this with Cameron. He should
not be allowed to shot his boy-juice anymore.”
	“Okay, ma’am. What now?”
	“Keep pushing on his little button and give his penis a single
stroke every few seconds. Remember you don’t want him to have an
orgasm.”
	“That’s when he shoots out his stuff, right?”
	“Right. You’re a smart boy, Sean. Keep going.”
	For the next half hour the crowd watched in delight as young
Sean methodically milked David dry. David was a sobbing
teary-eyed wreck when he finally achieved what amounted to a dry
orgasm. On the table next to him, the machine was still taking
its time with Josh, who had managed the second meager ejaculation
of his young life early on but had been experiencing agonizing
dry cums ever since. The entire scene had of course been filmed
and would be airing later that evening as a teaser before the
live broadcast of the main primetime event, the marathon.
	The Symington’s left the medical suite. There was just enough
time for the boys to get a bath before dinner.
	“Come on, Cameron,” Sean said, attaching a leash to the older
boy’s collar and dragging him along behind. “I want to try that
on you as soon as we get back to the room,” he gestured back to
David who was still sniffling on the table. “I’m not going to let
you shoot your stuff ever again.”
	Cameron looked particularly terrified at that prospect.


Chapter 34:

       It was a warm evening in the suburbs of Johannesburg. A
strong dry breeze was blowing through the large windows in the
Nguni family dining room. Young Samuel sat at the table with his
parents and younger sister, talking of school and work and local
neighborhood happenings. It was a perfectly normal family
gathering one might find in any home, with the exception of the
naked white slave boy standing quietly behind Sam’s chair.
       Pieter had his head bowed, as was required when he was
serving in the dining room. He was wearing a rather nasty leather
gag at the moment, special punishment for sneaking a piece of
fruit from the sideboard two weeks earlier. He had an erection,
which lately seemed to be happening a lot more often, but the
belt kept his little three-inch prick from making too lewd a
display. Traditionally, for the most part, the family simply
ignored Pieter’s erections, but now that he was entering puberty
and his penis was starting to grow, this was becoming harder and
harder to do.
       “We really should put that boy in a proper chastity belt,”
Samuel’s mother said as Pieter refilled her iced-tea.
       “Or have him fixed,” Mr. Nguni suggested. “It’s a free
service. I could take him to the processing center any time and
have it done.”
       Pieter, though totally uneducated, knew exactly what
‘fixing’ a white boy meant in South Africa and he quickly gave
Samuel a desperate pleading look. The two boys were master and
slave, but, having grown up together, they were also friends. For
the most part Samuel always looked out for him. Pieter’s life was
far better than most boys in his position.
       “Piet is my slave,” Samuel interjected strongly. “It’s my
decision.” His mother stared at him in shock. Samuel was normally
a quiet boy. “It is my decision, isn’t it, dad?” Sam asked his
father in a more respectful tone.
       “Absolutely. Piet is your responsibility. But you really
need to get his erections under control.” Mr. Nguni made a
disdainful gesture toward Pieter’s errant penis. “Erections at
the dinner table, and in front of your little sister.
Intolerable.”
       “We’ll find him a good chastity belt then,” Samuel said
thoughtfully. “How ‘bout the kind they make the boys wear on
Gladiators.”
       The whole family liked this idea and the clever mention of
Worldwide Boy Gladiators was Sam’s way of asking permission to
stay up late to watch the live broadcast of the marathon. His
mother, of course, was dead set against it, but his father, as
always, proved considerably more lenient.
       “It’s the weekend, dear,” he said to his wife. “Shaka
doesn’t have school tomorrow. If the boy wants to watch his show
that’s fine.” He turned his dark thoughtful eyes to his only son.
“As long as you are in bed the moment it is over, young man.”
       Samuel smiled widely and gave Pieter a surreptitious wink.
       “You know,” the boy continued, feeling emboldened by his
two victories at the dinner table tonight, “I bet I’m stronger
than most of those boys on the show. I bet I could beat them.
What do you think, dad?”
       “Well, they’re all great athletes, Shaka, but then so are
you. I’m sure you’d do well.”
       “I’d totally kick their white butts. Heck, I bet Piet
could too.”
       Mom and dad chuckled, little sister giggled and stared at
Pieter’s hard penis with curious eyes. She wanted to touch it and
see what it felt like, but Pieter was Sammy’s slave and she was
embarrassed to ask him if she could.
       “I think Piet and I would make awesome gladiators,” Sam
continued.
       Mr. Nguni gazed at his son for a moment. “You should check
their web-site, Shaka. They’re already recruiting new boys, for
when the oldest ones leave. You could enter Pieter.”
       Sam’s deep brown eyes blazed with excitement for a moment,
then softened. “Nah. They don’t take boys who are already slaves.
They’d take me though.”
       “Oh, don’t you dare, young man,” his mother said, wagging
her finger at him in disapproval. “I won’t have any son of mine
running around naked on some disease-infested island in the
Caribbean. You see why I don’t like that show,” she turned to her
husband. “Puts crazy ideas in that boy’s head.”
       “Your mother is right, Shaka,” Sam’s father said sternly.
“You need to focus on school.”
       “But they pay a lot of money, dad,” Sam argued. “Roger and
Desmond told me their going to pay the next round of boys like,
well, five times as much as the first group got.”
       “We do not need money,” his mother replied, somewhat
defensively. “Certainly not from XB-1.”
       That was were the conversation ended, but, back in his
room, while Pieter was tidying up, Shaka sat at his computer and
pulled up the official Gladiators web-site. The schedule of
events for the coming week was posted, as well as the latest
standings, video feeds of recent competitions, short interviews
with the boy gladiators themselves, bios and all kinds of other
cool information. At the very bottom of the page there was a
flashing banner with a rotating WBG logo.
       ‘DO YOU HAVE WHAT IT TAKES?’
       Sammy clicked it.
       ‘Calling all boys aged eight to twelve. Are you a good
athlete? Do you get good grades in school? Think you’re tougher
and stronger and smarter and faster than the boys on Gladiator
Island? Want to prove it? XB-1 needs you. We’re recruiting now
for a new crop of Boy Gladiators. If you think you’ve got what it
takes, get your parents permission and reply with your email to
the address below. Send us a short message telling us why we
should consider you for Worldwide Boy Gladiators. There are only
ten Boy Gladiators in the whole world. You could be one of them.
Why wait. Apply today.’
       Sam stared at the screen. It couldn’t really be that easy
could it?

       It was three o’clock on Gladiator Island. The boys were
quickly fed an early dinner back in their barracks. Fresh fruit a
cup of plain yogurt and a full glass of the corporation’s
costume-blended energy drink, which the boys now knew as
‘Gladiator Punch’. The menu was formulated by Doctor Trench to
give them an extra burst of energy and stamina for the marathon.
The Gladiator Punch had become a regular part of the boys’ diet
by this time, and while had a rather strong medicinal taste, it
certainly lived up to its promise. Knowing the ordeal that
awaited them, the ten young slaves gulped it down in a hurry.
Several of them wanted seconds.
       “Sorry, boys,” the matron told them with a smirk, “one
serving per customer.”
       Mild protests followed, but the boys knew better than to
get too vocal when the matron and her guards were close by. Their
quick meal finished and cleared up, the boys were taken outside
into the exercise yard and told to stretch their limbs for the
coming race. They were unusually quiet as they loosened up their
already aching arms and legs. Since their first day of training,
all of the boys had spent at least an hour each day running the
dirt and sand paths that crisscrossed the island in preparation
for this event. Sometimes they were chained to their partners,
sometimes they ran on their own. Sometimes their arms were bound
behind them, sometimes their ankles were chained. They always ran
barefoot, but fortunately the paths had been for the most part
leveled and cleared. An occasional pebble or small stone were the
only real obstacles the boys faced. Still the hard packed sand
and dirt was always hot and unforgiving beneath their feet.
       After a few minutes of warm-up time, the boys were marched
out of the barracks together, heads down, chained in a single
file as always. Their trainers escorted them on either side,
using their prods to keep the little chain-gang moving at a sharp
pace. They were headed to the main arena where the event would
start and finish. Already the boys could hear the noise of the
crowd and as they entered the building the sounds grew louder.
Secured in the holding room, the boys’ chains were removed and
their chastity devices were replaced with the leather pouches
that they had now become accustomed to competing in. The
thickness of the leather still prevented any of them from playing
with themselves, but the pouches allowed the boys (most of them
anyway) to sport nice full erections that would give the crowd a
cheap thrill. All of the boys remained plugged, but by now they
had all grown accustomed to competing with the thick latex
butt-plugs lodged securely in their rectums.
       Before being marched up to the arena floor, each boy stood
at attention while a large backpack was put around his shoulders
and strapped in place with a special chest harness. The backpacks
were colored individually for each boy, and they quickly realized
that the packs were very heavy. Lead weights had been placed
inside the packs before they’d been sealed. The boys would all be
running the marathon with one-third of their own body-weight
strapped to their backs.
       From the arena above, the young gladiators could hear the
show’s theme music blaring over the loudspeakers. The trainers
quickly double-checked the backpacks then gave their boys a sharp
jab with the prods.
       “Showtime, boys!” Jason shouted.
       “Sir, yes, sir!” the boys all yelled back in unison,
followed by loud boyish howls of enthusiastic aggression. Still
fresh and full of energy, and not yet bothered by the weights
strapped their backs, they charged up the ramp and out onto the
harshly lit floor of the arena.
An excited cheer went up from the crowd. The boys waved and
pumped their fists and did their best to look tough for the
cameras. They playfully jostled and pushed each other as they ran
an opening lap around the edge of the arena.
       On the overhead scoreboard, each boy’s statistics and his
current score were displayed. The various giant viewscreens which
hung from the roof were running replays of recent events on a
continual feed. Once the race started, each screen would be
showing a live feed from a different section of the island’s
cross-country track. As the boys’ stats were flashed up, the
crowd reacted with cheers or hisses of various intensity. Already
some of the boys were becoming beloved or sympathetic crowd
favorites, while others were seen as potential villains. Cuddly
little Miles was showered with adoration. Josh and Chris, both
well-liked and early favorites in the ratings, were given
appropriate applause. Danny and Gabriel, who appeared to be the
strongest overall team at the moment were also perceived as being
somewhat dirty players and were booed accordingly, much to their
great delight.
       “I think they hate us, Gabe,” Danny observed as he worked
up a dramatic snarl for the cameras.
       “Yeah. Looks like we’re the bad guys, Dan.”
       “Cool!”
       At the sound of Jason’s whistle, the ten boys positioned
themselves at the start-finish line. Their trainers stood in
front of them, giving them their final instructions. Alex Wright
gripped Miles’ firmly by the shoulders.
       “No one expects you to win, Zero-One. Except me.”
       The ten-year-old flashed a cocky smile. Running was his
specialty. He’d actually finished several full-length marathons.
This one was junior-length, exactly eighteen miles. He liked the
distance and he’d memorized every twist and turn, rise and fall
of the island-wide course. He was confident and excited.
       “I’ll do my best, sir,” the littlest gladiator said, his
dark eyes flashing.
       “Time to show these guys what you’re made of.”
       Miles pointed to the tunnel that led out of the arena and
onto the island. Currently it was closed with a set of heavy iron
bars. When the bars were raised the event would officially begin.
“I’m gonna be the first one out of here, and the first one back,
sir.”
       Alex liked the little ten-year-old’s courage. “Just
remember, you’re not the only one who’s a good runner. Pace
yourself, just like we practiced.”
       “Okay, okay. Let’s go. I’m ready.”
       Alex patted his boy on the rump and stepped away. All the
trainers had now left their boys alone on the starting line. The
crowd had fallen silent in anticipation. As the ten boys cast
their eyes from one to another, William Durand slowly stood up
from his luxury box. Young Trevor was beside him, chained to his
owner’s chair and dressed appropriately in dark red running
shorts. He held the starting flag aloft and waited for the
command. The live broadcast was currently in a commercial break.
       Sixty seconds later, Mike Brussard got the word from the
production booth and waved his hand in Durand’s direction. Trevor
dropped the flag with an enthusiastic flourish. At that same
moment a loud klaxon sounded in the arena and the iron grate rose
swiftly, opening the tunnel. As promised, Miles was off like a
shot, leaving the older boys behind and momentarily bewildered.
Soon they were all running full-speed toward the tunnel, as
flash-bulbs went off all around them. Chris was the last boy out,
running as best he could on his bruised feet. He was trying not
to think about the distance.
       ‘Just keep running,’ he thought to himself. The boy knew
that all sorts of strange and unexpected things tended to happen
on Gladiator Island. He knew he had no chance of winning this
race, but if he could manage to finish, he might just possibly
not finish last.
       With all the boys out of the arena and headed out onto the
marathon course, the majority of the spectators filed out as
well, heading toward the many viewing areas along the winding
course that had been specially set up for this event. A
significant number however still remained in the stands,
preferring to watch the race on the multiple high-definition
screens overhead.
       The trainers had a quick meeting on the arena floor,
getting their instructions from Jason and Roger. “Alex, Anthony,
Sergei and Natasha,” Roger said, “we’ll want you on the
four-by-fours patrolling to course. If you see a boy lagging
behind, give him a good shock with your prod, but if it looks
like any of them are really in trouble, call medical immediately.
We’re particularly worried about Zero-Seven. Keep a close eye on
him.”
       “Michella, Hannah, Calvin and Elaina,” Jason added, “we’ve
got you at the water stations along the course. Make sure all the
boys take water when they pass you. No boy is allowed to refuse.”
Elaina was Philippe’s sadistic boy-hating trainer, the youngest
of the females, close in age to Sergei. “Roger and I are going up
in the helicopter with Mike to get overhead shots and keep an eye
on things. We’ve activated the nanochips we installed in the
boys’ scrotums a few weeks back.”
       The trainers all looked shocked and the more evil of them
looked pleased. They all remembered the absolute terror on the
faces of ten young boys as the virtually invisible chips were
injected into their dangling hairless ball sacks, and they had
all privately wondered when they might come into play.
       “No, we’re not using the behavioral modification settings.
None of your boys are having their balls shocked. Although we
will leave that option open to you if your boy seems to be
dogging it. But the chips do have transmitters so we can track
their whereabouts on the island. We’ll be able to tell you where
each boy is minute by minute. Now let’s get out there before the
little slaves get too far along.”
       The trainers departed to their assigned tasks, with Jason
and Roger meeting Mike Brussard on the way out.
       “Great day for a race, guys,” the network’s award-winning
director said with a smile. “I’ve got camera teams stationed just
about everywhere. This is going to be one hell of a broadcast.”
       The race was off to a good start. After sprinting out of
the arena, Miles slowed his pace significantly. He was only ten
years old, the youngest and smallest of the boy gladiators, but
he was the most experienced runner. He wasn’t worried when David,
Illya and Philippe with their long slim legs all passed him in a
single group.
       “You guys are running too fast,” he yelled to them. “Slow
down or you’ll never finish!”
       But teenaged boys generally don’t listen to ten-year-olds.
Miles just smirked and kept running. His only worry was the heavy
pack strapped to his back. He didn’t know how that was going to
affect him as the race went on, but he figured all the other boys
would be having similar problems so everything should balance
out. He was also bothered by the plug in his butt. He hated
running with that thing inside him. His little pickle was rock
hard at the moment, jutting straight out against the leather
pouch. He reached down and adjusted it into a more comfortable
position, not once breaking his steady stride. At ten, Miles
hadn’t really developed any particular interest in his penis. He
really didn’t think too much about it all, when it came right
down to it. It was just there between his legs. Sometimes it got
hard, sometimes it didn’t. Until his arrival on Gladiator Island
he’d never even experienced a dry orgasm, and even though he
liked having that funny special feeling and wouldn’t have minded
having it more often, he wasn’t suffering from its denial the way
the other boys seemed to be. He was the only boy who was not
frantically and desperately frustrated by the strict chastity
regime imposed on the boy gladiators. There were times, Miles
realized, when it was good to be little.
       With his little erection now bobbing at a more comfortable
angle, Miles returned his full attention to the course. He’d
memorized the whole thing from start to finish and knew there was
a rough section coming up with lots of twists and turns and
hills. He slowed down a bit and took several deep breaths, even
as Josh, Ian and Danny passed him in quick succession.
       ‘That’s six of ‘em’ he thought to himself.
       Looking briefly over his shoulder he saw Alexei and
Gabriel running side-by-side about twenty paces back. Miles
figured right from the start that Gabe, his fellow Englishman,
was going to be his toughest competition. He was a football
player and used to covering long distances at speed, without a
break, for hours at a time. Gabe was also very smart and seemed
to have adopted Miles own strategy of hanging back and letting
the older, bolder and at least in this case stupider boys run
themselves to exhaustion before the half-way point.
       Gabriel looked ahead and saw Miles now jogging backwards,
staring straight at him. He gave the youngest gladiator a smug
little smirk. The two boys seemed to read each other’s minds in
that moment.
       Miles decided he didn’t want Gabriel getting ahead of him,
so he chose to expend a little energy and sprinted off at top
speed. Gabriel saw the little boy take off and picked up his own
pace, leaving Alexei behind.
       “See you at back at the arena, slowpoke,” the
twelve-and-a-half-year-old called with mock sweetness in his
young pubescent voice.
       Alexei wanted to snap off an appropriately insulting
comeback, but his command of English was not all that good and he
was already getting winded. Looking over his own shoulder he
wondered where Chris was.
       Far behind was the answer. Chris had managed to keep up
with the pack for the first mile or so, but then they started to
leave him behind as he limped along on his sore and bruised feet.
When Chris finally came to the first set of hills, all of the
other boys were already out of sight.
       “Dammit!” he said aloud as he struggled up the gentle
grassy slope. He was already feeling the strain from the weights
in his backpack. He was heading for disaster and he knew it.
Tears started to form in his eyes. “I can’t finish last! I
can’t!”

       Back in the arena, William Durand remained in his luxury
box, watching the action on the screens above. He was
entertaining a wealthy visitor and potential investor in the
show, pointing out all the care and planning that had gone into
ensuring Worldwide Boy Gladiators remained a viable long-term
success. The investor, and young man with money to burn, had
brought his own slave boy with him and now the lad stood
submissively alongside Trevor behind their masters’ chairs. Both
boys were nude and collared. Trevor, whose silky skimpy running
shorts had been dropped immediately after the starting flag,
looked over shyly at the newcomer. The other boy appeared to be
about his own age and had the same slim, small build. Trevor
noticed that the boy’s genitals were the same size as his own,
and that the boy’s penis was pierced with a thick steel ring
which kept the tiny useless organ in an obedient downward curve.
       “I’m Trevor,” the fourteen-year-old said softly. He knew
his master was too preoccupied to be paying any attention, but he
still kept his voice low and quiet.
       “Kyle,” the other boy said in a voice that sounded more
like it belonged to a ten-year-old than a young teenager. He had
dark hair and brown eyes and bronzed skin indicating that a great
deal of his life was spent outdoors. On the left side of the
boy’s chest, a ten digit slave number had been permanently
tattooed in dark ink.
       The two boys talked quietly for several minutes. Trevor
found out Kyle was in fact fifteen years old, although his body
resembled that of a much younger boy. They discovered they were
both receiving regular testroxil treatments. It was the first
time Trevor had met another boy like himself.
       “It really sucks not being able to get hard anymore,” Kyle
lamented softly to his newfound and sympathetic comrade.
       “Yeah,” Trevor replied, though in truth he could likely
count on one hand the number of erections he’d had since he
became William Durand’s slaveboy at the age of ten. He’d been
locked in a chastity belt that very first night and when that
finally came off for good at age eleven, the testroxil had
already taken its intended effect. He really didn’t miss
erections all that much because he could barely remember ever
having one. “How long has your master kept you like that?” the
young teen asked, pointing to the other boy’s tiny genitals.
       “Since I was twelve,” Kyle whispered softly, unable to
hide the shame in his eyes. “I had a real big dick when it
started, now it’s like what, an inch long?”
       The two boys moved a bit closer and compared their
pathetic little penises. To his surprise, Trevor’s was actually a
little bit bigger, not that it mattered a whole lot. His was
every bit as dormant and useless as Kyle’s.
       “I trust you two are having a nice conversation?” It was
Durand’s voice that interrupted them, sending both boys snapping
to attention with wide fearful eyes. “I say we gag them both for
the rest of the day, Tom, how about you?”
       Durand’s young but wealthy guest nodded his head in
agreement. “Sounds like an excellent plan.”
       “This evening they both can provide us with some
entertainment,” Durand said, staring at his fourteen-year-old
slave with malice.
       “I’ve always loved your hospitality,” Tom replied. “Ever
since I was kid. My dad always told me there’s always something
interesting happening around Bill Durand. Stay close to him and
maybe some of his good fortune will rub off on you.”
       “Has it?”
       “I’m here, aren’t I?”

       It was well past midnight in Johannesburg, but young Sammy
‘Shaka’ Nguni was wide awake. He was sitting naked on his bed,
his firm legs spread wide, idly stroking his thick five-inch long
erection as he watched the race unfold. His hairless light brown
skin glistened with a fine sheen of sweat. The boy let go of his
erection and jiggled his low-hanging balls, quite large for a boy
not yet twelve. “I think Zero-Six is going to win, Pieter. What
do you think?”
       Pieter, equally naked stood beside his young master’s bed,
his own much smaller erection held firmly against his groin by
the humiliating belt. At least he could still get hard. All that
talk at dinner of putting him into a real chastity belt had made
him a very unhappy twelve-year-old. He gazed at the liquid plasma
television, no thicker than a credit chip and checked the current
times and standings. “I say Zero-One, Shaka.”
	Privately, the two boys were on a first name basis. Out in
public things were different, but Samuel and Pieter had grown up
together, and they were friends in spite of the ever present
complexity of also being master and slave.
	“Zero-One! That little squirt!” Sam laughed, giving his erection
several more absent-minded tugs. “Why do you say that? He’s
almost last already.”
	“He’s the only one who’s a real runner.”
 	“Well, I guess you got a point about that.”
       Pieter nodded vehemently. “Sure do.”
       “Okay, smart-ass, I’ll bet you a blow job Zero-Six
finishes first.”
	Pieter’s eyes got wide. He’d been sucking Samuel’s cock for him
since they were both ten, but Sam had never, ever, even once
shown any interest in sucking his. ‘Masters don’t do that kind of
thing, Piet,’ he’d said. ‘That’s what slaves do.’
	“For real?” the twelve-year-old slave asked. His three inch
boner twitched madly despite being constrained by the belt.
	“For real. I’ll suck your little white dick if Zero-One wins the
race.”
	“You’re on.”
	The two boys shook on it and Pieter was given the rare privilege
of joining Samuel on his bed. Sam’s penis remained half hard, as
did Piet’s. The two pre-teens were incredibly horny and eager for
the end of the race, but that was still at least an hour away.

	It came as no surprise to anyone that three of the boys with the
longest legs were the first ones to reach the first water
station. Hannah and Michella shouted out the boys’ times as they
handed them small paper cups for drinking on the run. Michella
was less than proud to see David in the lead.
	“Slow down, you stupid idiot,” she yelled at him. “You’ll run
yourself right out of the race. If you don’t finish you’ll wish
you’d never been born.”
	Fourteen-year-old David had already spent enough time alone with
his boy-hating feminist trainer to know she wasn’t kidding. But
at the moment, all his adrenaline-addled brain could think about
was that he was in first place and feeling really strong. His
legs didn’t hurt at all, and that little burn he was starting to
feel in his lungs didn’t mean all that much to him.
	Michella was still shouting at him when he disappeared down the
slope, with Illya and Philippe close on his heels. “Boys are so
stupid,” she said to Hannah. “He’s a swimmer. He’s not used to
long distances like this and the little dumb-ass is running like
it’s a sprint. He’ll be dead on his feet in another five miles.”
	Hannah just smirked. She was proud to see that Josh wasn’t in
the lead group. She’d drilled it into the eleven-year-old’s head
that keeping a steady pace as the key to a good finish. She
didn’t expect Josh to win, less than two days removed from his
ordeal in the black room, but she certainly expected him to cross
the finish line. She’d given him orders to finish in the top
five.
	Josh had stared up at her with dread in his young brown eyes,
wondering what horrible punishment awaited him if he failed to
live up to his trainer’s expectations.
	Less than a minute later, Josh and Danny passed the first water
station and took their little paper cups with obvious relief.
	“You’re right on target, Josh,” Hannah said to him, one of the
rare times she’d actually called him by his name. “Keep those
little legs moving!”
	“Yes, ma’am!” Josh called as he tossed his crumpled cup onto the
grass and hurried on down the gentle hill. Danny was running
right beside him. The two boys, who had become good friends
despite their fierce rivalry in competition, had decided to run
the race together for as long as they could. Danny’s legs were
probably a little bit stronger, but Josh was definitely faster,
and both boys knew that their alliance was just a temporary
strategy.
	“Hate t’ tell ya, Danny . . . but I’m gonna win this thing, ay,”
Josh said between gaping breaths, playfully mocking the young
Canadian’s trademark dialectic.
	“You haven’t beaten me at anything yet, Josh!”
       With that, Daniel raced forward just a bit, to show off
the strength of his muscular young legs. An equally determined
Josh lowered his head and sprinted after him, only slowing down
when he was several paces ahead of the older boy.

       Back in the United States, Matt and Lindsay Andrews were
hosting the first of many neighborhood ‘Gladiator’ parties.
Taking advantage of their young sons’ newfound celebrity status
that had suddenly made them the talk of the town. Since the
premier broadcast last week, the couple were being recognized
everywhere they went as the ‘Gladiator parents’. A small minority
of citizens may have privately thought it abhorrent for parents
to allow their handsome and for the most part well-behaved sons
to be indentured and taken away as slaves. Most people though
found it a perfectly sensible and certainly lucrative thing to do
and more than a few families were already trying to find ways to
get one or more of their boys into a similarly wealth-making
arrangement. There were sure to be copy-cat shows on other
networks, and word had already gone out that XB-1 itself had
started recruiting a new batch of boy gladiators to replace the
older ones as they wore out.
       The Andrews and several of their closest friends were
gathered around the newly purchased wide-screen liquid plasma
television to watch the marathon. Matthew eagerly boasted about
Josh’s athletic prowess every time the little eleven-year-old was
on the screen.
       “Look at that strong little body,” he said proudly as his
nearly naked son filled the screen. “He’s a star.”
“Didn’t he finish tenth last week?” one of Lindsay’s co-workers
reminded everyone.
Matthew didn’t have an answer for that, and of course he didn’t
say much at all about
poor Chris, who was currently shown to be dead last and had been
in that position since the starting whistle.


Chapter 35:

	Chris was the last boy to reach the first water station.
	“How . . . how far behind am I . . . ma’am?” he asked as he
slowed down to take his water from Hannah.
	“Zero-Four went by here about two minutes ago,” she told him
without sympathy.
	“Two minutes!” Chris ran his hands through his sweaty hair in
panic. “Oh, shit, I’ve got to get moving.”
	But the boy’s aching feet could only carry him so far and so
fast and he was already starting to fear that just finishing
wasn’t going to be enough to avoid being last. Panicking, Chris
made his biggest mistake, running off as hard and as fast as he
could, putting even more strain on his tired body and causing
even more pain for his already bruised and tender feet.
	“He’s finished,” Hannah observed after Chris had disappeared
from view.
	“Definitely. If he makes two more miles I’d be surprised.”
	With all the boys having passed their post, the two women left
the clean up to the mules and mounted a four-wheeler to drive
along the course. They each wanted to monitor their young
charges’ progress. They passed Chris a few seconds later. The
thirteen-year-old had quickly given up his earlier pace and was
limping along awkwardly on his battered soles. He wore a
distraught look on his innocent young face and wiped tears from
his eyes as he struggled to take another agonizing step.
	Neither Hannah nor Michella could ever be called sympathetic
when it came to their attitude toward the boy gladiators, but
they also understood their sworn duty to keep the boys generally
safe and free from lasting harm. Hannah made a quick call to
Jason in the helicopter high overhead.
	“I’m afraid your boy is about done, Jason,” she informed him
with a certain amount of wicked pleasure. “Better keep a close
track on him.”
	Jason was, of course, disappointed, but not exactly surprised.
It was a miracle the boy had gotten as far as he had. “Give him
some space. Let him run himself out,” he ordered, figuring Chris
at least deserved the dignity of quitting on his own terms.
	Hannah and Michella drove on ahead, leaving Chris in a cloud of
dust to trudge along on his own. He’d actually covered seven hard
miles on his bruised and aching feet, but now each new step was
sending sharp waves of pain through his young legs. To make
matters worse, the weight in the backpack seemed like it was
getting heavier and heavier all the time. Looking up at the
winding dirt course ahead of him, the boy spied a small grove of
palm trees off to the right.
	“Maybe if I rest for a bit I can still finish,” he said to
himself. He wanted to rest. More than anything. He reached the
trees and stumbled to his knees, crawling the last few feet under
their meager shade. The boy collapsed onto his side, his back
against the tree. He didn’t even have the strength to sit up, and
with the heavily weighted backpack secured around his chest there
probably no chance he’d be able to stand up again under his own
power. He gazed up at the leafy palms swaying in the warm breeze.
Right now, back home, he figured the air was probably starting to
get cooler. He’d be back in school at this point, or messing
around with his friends or finding some new way to torment his
little brother. He really had no concept of time anymore, but his
memories of his former life as a free boy were still very strong.
Holding on to them was getting harder though. The
thirteen-year-old boy was starting to think like a slave. He was
used to being collared and chained. He was used to having his
penis locked up in a chastity cage all the time and walking
around with a plug in his butt. He was used to being given orders
and following them without question, he was even getting used to
the harsh punishments he and his fellow boy gladiators received
for even the slightest lapse in discipline or failure. More and
more his mind focused on these things, on his training, on the
increasingly painful, humiliating and outrageous events he was
forced to participate in, on just getting through each day
without earning too many demerits.
	He knew he’d be getting a ton of them for finishing this race
dead last, or worse not finishing at all. He’d be the one
spinning the punishment wheel Sunday morning. He was already sure
of that, so what was the point in totally killing himself. He lay
there, his eyes half closed, his left hand wandering aimlessly
over the soft leather pouch that held his boyhood in a tight but
not uncomfortable embrace. Better than the cock cage, that was
for sure. The young teenager rubbed his penis through the supple
leather, feeling it slowly harden. He knew he was breaking one of
the biggest rules on the island, but it felt so good and he
hadn’t touched himself there in so long. He masturbated himself
in this way for a few minutes, stopping only when he heard the
sound of a four-wheeler approaching. He was filled with a
momentary panic.
	‘Oh, god! If they find me lying here with a boner in my pouch
I’m screwed!’
	He tried to scramble over to the other side of the tree, hoping
he might hide from the trainers as they passed by. Chris of
course was unaware that the nanochip they’d implanted in his ball
sack a few weeks earlier allowed them to track his whereabouts on
the island within a matter of inches.
	Chris curled up behind the tree, his cock still rock hard and
tenting against the leather pouch. He heard the four-wheeler
stop, then the sound of a trainer’s boots on the hard-packed dirt
trail.
	“Come on out, Zero-Seven. It’s no use hiding.”
	Chris recognized the soft voice of Alex Wright, Miles’ trainer,
and breathed a huge sigh of relief. Alex was by far the gentlest
and kindliest of the trainers. All of the boys had started to
confide in him their fears and anxieties, their likes and
dislikes, and Alex, for his part was good enough to keep most
things to himself. He was still stern and strict like all the
rest, but he did not seem to take quite as much pure pleasure in
tormenting the boys as his fellow trainers did. Chris decided it
was best to just give himself up, erection and all, and so he
crawled out miserably from behind the tree.
	“We were worried about you when you stopped,” Alex explained.
“Stand up and come over here.”
	Chris tried to follow orders, but his lean young teenaged body
was simply too exhausted from the endless parade of ordeals he’d
been forced to endure over the last four days.
	“Sir, I . . . I can’t get up, sir . . .” he said, looking up at
the trainer in shame.
	Wright walked toward him, his electric prod held loosely in one
hand.
	“Please, sir,” Chris begged, crawling backward like a trapped
and wounded animal. “Don’t shock me!” He tried again to get to
his feet, and managed to at least right himself and get onto his
knees. He stared at the trainer in terror. Fear of course made
the boy’s turgid erection that much stronger. It was outlined
perfectly by the leather pouch. There was no hiding it. His only
hope was that Wright hadn’t actually seen him playing with it.
He’d be punished for having an erection either way, but having
one by accident or by nature was not met with nearly the
repercussions of having one because you were fiddling with
yourself.
	Alex of course noticed the boy’s erection, but he also noticed
the complete hopeless exhaustion and mortal fear in the
youngster’s blue eyes.
	“I’m not going to use this,” he said, returning the prod to a
loop on his belt. “And we’ll just pretend your penis isn’t hard
at the moment. Deal.”
	Chris wiped his nose with the back of his hand and managed a shy
grateful smile. Alex stepped closer, produced a key to the
weighted backpack and carefully removed it. “Now can you get up?”
	“I think so, sir,” Chris replied. Wincing in pain and very
wobbly and unsure on his blistered feet he finally managed to
stand. “It’s my feet, sir,” the boy explained sadly, turning
around and lifting them one at a time so the trainer could see
them.
	Alex Wright’s response was to immediately grab the radio at his
belt and call up to Jason Sanbourne in the helicopter.
	“Jason. We’ve got a problem down here.”

	As predicted, the tallest, oldest boys began to run out of steam
after about ten miles. They were still first to pass the second
watering station, but their pace had slowed dramatically. David
had dropped from first to third, having been passed by both Illya
and Philippe. Josh and Danny were now only thirty seconds behind
him, still running side by side and still taunting one another in
their good-natured way. Seeing David so close ahead of them
though, both boys felt a sudden rush of adrenaline and rushed
ahead.
	“Let’s pass him, Dan,” Josh said as his bare feet pounded the
hard dirt path. His cock was half-hard at the moment, thanks to
the constant stimulation of the plug in his butt. The
eleven-year-old’s attention though was obsessively focused on
David who was struggling along just in front of them.
	“Right with you, Joshie!” Daniel replied. And the two smaller
boys let out a loud aggressive yell and streaked by the
fourteen-year-old.
	David was pissed and embarrassed, but there was not much he
could do about it. He managed to catch up to them and match their
pace for about a quarter mile, but finally he had to slow down to
save his strength. He watched with a look of bitter defeat in his
eyes as the two youngsters finally got away from him and
disappeared over the next hill.
	“I’m screwed,” he said to himself as he trudged on. Things
didn’t get much better, as less than one mile later he was passed
by Gabriel and little Miles. By now all the boys knew that Miles
was a gifted runner, but it didn’t make the humiliation any less
biting. Being passed so effortlessly by the youngest gladiator
was embarrassing, regardless of the circumstances.

	Alex Wright drove the four-wheeler to the second watering
station, where the island’s medical team had set up a first-aid
tent for the boy gladiators. Chris was riding on the back of the
vehicle, his shackled wrists chained to hand-grips on either
side, his legs crossed in front of him. As the vehicle bumped
along the course, it naturally jarred the butt-plug deeper into
the boy’s rectum. This unintended assault on the
thirteen-year-old’s prostate produced yet another turgid erection
within the tight confines of the leather pouch, but Christopher’s
attention was focused entirely on his battered feet, which were
starting to go all numb and tingly. Chris didn’t know what could
possibly be wrong, but at least they weren’t hurting so much
anymore.
	Alex unchained the boy, and helped him into the medical tent.
There were three cots set up inside. Chris saw eleven-year-old
Ian lying on one of them, his right ankle packed in ice. The boy
had been moving a little too fast over a rough part of the course
and ended up taking a rather nasty fall. He'd been running eighth
at the time and was desperate to make up ground. Like Chris, his
race was now over and he would face the consequences of failing
to finish an event.
	"Hey, Chris," the younger of the two Australian boys on the
island said, waving his hand. Ian was a naturally friendly sort
and saw no problems in being nice to a fellow competitor. He was
also relieved and little less embarrassed to see that he was not
the only boy who wouldn't be finishing, and the fact that it was
Christopher Andrews who had joined him in the medical tent made
it all the sweeter. He liked Chris a lot, all the boys did, but
the thirteen-year-old American was almost always considered a
favorite in every single athletic event, thus any time he made a
mistake or finished poorly it gave the other boys a smug sense of
satisfaction.
	"Hi," Chris replied as Alex helped him onto the neighboring cot.
The island’s eldest trainer then departed, eager to get back on
the course and keep an eye on Miles.
	"Sorry about this, kid," he said to Chris as he left the tent.
"There'll be other marathons. You'll get your chance."
	Chris nodded and gave Alex a shy smile. Alexander Wright was so
different from all the other trainers. He was almost kind. And he
was as good as his word, not telling anyone that he'd caught the
boy playing with himself. Chris breathed a huge sigh of relief
for that. He remembered how his brother Josh had been punished
just for accidentally touching his penis in the shower, and he
most certainly did not want to find out what the punishment for
masturbating might be. Thankfully his cock was now, just a
pleasant boyish bulge in the front of his leather pouch.
	Doctor Trench started her examination of the boy's feet
immediately. Chris winced and let out a little high-pitched wail
as she poked and prodded his tender soles.
	"Oh, don't be such a baby. Now lie still or I'll have you
restrained."
	"Yes, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am," Chris replied respectfully.
	"Nothing's broken, which is good for you," she said. "You don't
want to know what we do with lame gladiators."
	"Shoot them, ma'am?" Chris asked with a wry and charming smile.
	"No. They only do that to horses. You are considerably more
valuable than a horse, as long as you stay healthy. You wouldn’t
want to end up being one of the mules, would you?"
	The thirteen-year-old boy’s eyes flashed with horror. He could
not imagine anything worse. “No, ma’am,” he said, shaking his
head. They really couldn’t do that to him. Could they? “But, I’m
indentured, ma’am. I’m not really a slave.”
	“Not yet,” Trench continued as she wrapped the boys’ feet in
soft gauze. “Apparently you didn’t read the fine print in your
contract before you and your parents signed it. Any failure to
complete your indenture is considered a breach of contract, in
which case, the company can choose to have you enslaved
permanently. They might keep you on the island, or they might
sell you to someone else.”
	Christopher’s blue eyes widened and his breath quickened. “Do my
mom and dad know about that?”
	“They should, but I’m sure they don’t. You’d better make sure
they never have to find out.”

	While Chris and Ian lay quietly on their cots, sinking into
deeper fear and misery about what was sure to be a last place
performance for the week, the remaining boy gladiators continued
the longest, hardest, most exhausting trial of their young lives.
By this time, Miles and Gabriel were the only boys who were not
struggling or stumbling. David, Philippe and Alexei had all but
surrendered at this point and were barely keeping up a slow jog
as they staggered over the remaining miles. Josh and Danny were
presently in the lead, but even their young strong wrestler’s
legs were slowly starting to give out. The heavy backpacks
strapped over their shoulders and around their chests were
starting to have a noticeable effect, causing them to stumble and
fight for their balance. Thirteen-year-old Illya, the tallest of
the boys with the longest stride was close behind them, but since
he was currently at the top of the overall standings he was
making no real attempt to catch them. He and Sergei had planned
for him to finish somewhere in the middle of the pack so he could
save his strength for the rest of the weekend’s events. Since he
weighed more than all the other boys, his backpack weighed more
as well, but so far it had been more of a nuisance than anything
else. As a gymnast, Illya’s upper body was extraordinarily toned
and muscular, his shoulders broad and strong. Carrying the extra
weight, so far at least, had been no problem for him.
	‘So far, so good,’ Illya thought to himself as he ran behind the
two younger boys. At this point in his life, Illya seemed to find
boys and girls equally attractive, and the constant sight of two
young pairs of perfectly shaped boy-butts in front of him was
causing the young teen’s already man-sized penis to swell rather
embarrassingly, and uncomfortably, inside its leather pouch.
Sergei had intentionally put his younger brother into a pouch
several sizes too small for him, one probably meant for Ian or
Danny. Naturally this called even further attention to the
impressive package between the thirteen-year-old Russian boy’s
legs.
	As the tall well-built boy-gymnast ran down a gentle slope
toward the final watering station, he was suddenly surprised to
hear soft rapid footfalls behind him. He craned his neck back to
see Miles and Gabriel coming up quickly on his heels. Just
moments before, he would have sworn there was no one back there.
	‘Shit! Where did they come from?’
	The two English boys were currently at a full out run, clearly
their intention was to pass him and leave him behind as quickly
as possible. Illya did the math, knowing that Danny and Josh were
already ahead of him. If he ran harder, he could probably keep
Miles and Gabe behind him and finish third, but he’d have to
spend all of his energy to do it. Fifth place was right in the
middle, exactly where Sergei had wanted him to finish. Illya
generally lacked the cut-throat competitiveness of the other
boys, but he was clever and understood that finishing first
wasn’t always worth the trouble. He slowed his pace, just enough
so that he couldn’t be accused of tanking it.
	“He’s slowing down, Gabe,” Miles huffed excitedly as he ran
beside his countryman. He’d been holding back now for the last
several miles. He could feel the energy building in his sturdy
legs, the need to take off and run at full speed. He was starting
to feel that strange high he often got at these longer distances.
He was just barely aware of the weights strapped to his back and
they were not going to slow him down. He knew that he could leave
Gabriel behind in an instant if he wanted to. He knew, right then
and there that if he passed Illya, the race was as good as his.
	“I’m gonna take him!” the ten-year-old shouted to Gabe, already
inching ahead of the older English boy. “Keep up with me. If you
can!”
	Needless to say, twelve-year-old Gabe was shocked when little
Miles sprinted away from him without any apparent effort at all.
The realization that Miles had been playing all of them for
suckers struck him suddenly, and far too late. He quickened his
own pace, passed Illya and managed to stay on Miles’ heels for
another quarter mile or so, but it was really useless to keep
running so hard. Gabriel was, probably, the most stubborn and
reckless of the boys. He certainly had the heart and desire to
run the littlest gladiator down, but he simply could not fight
against the fatigue now creeping into his own legs. He slowed his
stride and watched rather unhappily, and helplessly, as Miles
moved away from him.
	Miles went on, running at his full sprint now. Danny and Josh
offered little resistance as he passed between them. “See you
guys at the finish line!” he yelled, flashing a wave of his hand.
This was, by far, the longest distance he’d ever run, but he was
feeling great. He grabbed a bottle of water from the second
check-point, barely slowing his pace. Overhead, he could hear and
see the helicopter, the onboard camera focusing on him as he
covered the last remaining distance all alone. Quite a few of the
island’s paying quests now lined the course, cheering him on and
flashing pictures of him as he powered his lean four-foot frame
toward the arena.
	Moments later, his trainer, Alex Wright, rode up beside him on a
four-wheeler, with one of Mike Brussard’s cameramen with him.
	“Just keep running, Zero-One,” Alex told him as he slowly backed
off on the accelerator. “Pretend we’re not here.”
	Miles obeyed his trainer on both counts, entered the packed and
noisy arena, circled once around the course markers laid out on
the competition floor, crossed the finish line (marked by Trevor
in his sexy speedo waving a checkered flag emblazoned with the
XB-1 logo) and staggered to an awkward stop, doubled over with
his hands on his knees as the crowd went wild around him. Alex
approached him and immediately released the locking clasps that
kept the weighted backpack in place. Miles hoisted it over his
head and flung it as far as his young arms could muster.
	“Victory! Boy Zero-One,” the public address announcer informed
the assembled masses. They demanded a victory lap from the boy,
and with minor prodding from his trainer, he gave them one. His
legs ached, and he was mostly out of breath, but he was the first
winner of the first boy-marathon on Gladiator Island. He pumped
his little fists triumphantly at the audience and smiled into the
cameras as they moved in for a close-up.
	It was five full minutes before Josh and Danny stumbled into the
arena side-by-side, made their single lap and finished neck and
neck. A slow motion replay revealed that Danny had edged out Josh
literally by a foot.
	Gabriel finished fourth. Illya a respectable fifth. Alexei had
somehow managed a sixth place finish in spite of himself. David
and Philippe came in seventh and eighth, having foolishly
expended all their adolescent energy over the first five miles.
Ian and Chris, of course, did not finish at all, for which they
would ultimately end up paying a very heavy price.
	The crowd still wanted more of Miles, and so Alex hoisted the
exhausted ten-year-old onto his shoulders and walked him slowly
around the outer track of the arena, allowing all the spectators
to praise his amazing effort.
	The remaining boys were quickly shackled, chained together in a
single file by their collars, and marched below with no fanfare
whatsoever. The final image seen by the worldwide television
audience was of tired sweaty young Miles riding proudly on his
trainer’s shoulders, waving at the crowd and flashing his
adorable gap-toothed smile as flash bulbs went off all around
him.

	Half a world away, in Samuel Nguni’s bedroom, the young South
African was staring dumbfounded and disappointed at the screen.
He looked over at Pieter rather sheepishly. The family’s slave
boy was wearing a wide grin on his freckled face.
	“Well, I guess you were right,” Sam said, getting up from the
bed and turning off the HD set. “Good call, Piet.”
	“Thanks,” the white boy replied. His small cock was still rock
hard, held up against his groin by the belt around his waist. He
looked down at his needy erection and then back to his young
master who was sporting a raging hard-on of his own. Piet didn’t
say anything. He really couldn’t.
	Sam however got the message. “Oh, that. Yeah. Well, you know, I
was just kidding, right.”
	“Wrong,” Piet replied, rather too strongly for his own good. “We
had a bet and you lost. Now you’ve gotta suck my dick. You said .
. . or . . . or you’re a liar.”
	“I can lie to you if I want,” Sam said. “Whenever I want to.
You’re just a slave. It doesn’t matter.”
	“But you said . . . “
	“I think you’ll suck my dick instead. That sounds a lot more
fair.”
	“That’s not fair at all!” Piet protested, crawling off the bed
now with tears starting to form in his blue eyes.
	“If you don’t suck my dick, I’ll have to cane your butt. Would
you like that better?”
	“No, master.” Piet hated when Samuel did things like this. He
was always going back on his word.
	“Then get down on your knees and suck my dick, Piet. I’m so
fucking horny right now. I feel like I’m going to explode.”
Samuel was not twelve years old yet, but he had a big thick cock
between his legs and a seemingly endless need to use it.
	Trying to ignore the frustration from his own hard and aching
penis, Pieter knelt down obediently and took his master’s cock
into his mouth.
	“Oh, yeah! That’s it . . . suck me harder, Pieter . . . oooooooh
. . . “
	So keyed up from watching Worldwide Boy Gladiators, it took the
eleven-and-one-half year old less than thirty seconds to have his
orgasm, shooting a precocious amount of hot pre-teen spunk into
Pieter’s waiting and well-trained mouth. He pushed the naked
white boy away, laughing at the dribbles of cum running down the
boy’s chin onto the floor.
	“Clean that mess up,” Sam ordered.
	Pieter immediately got down on his hands and knees and licked up
his master’s boyish seed. His own penis was still achingly,
desperately erect and would remain so for quite a while longer.
Pieter hadn’t gotten to cum in quite a few weeks, and apparently
he wouldn’t be cumming tonight either.
	Tired, and with his freshly spent penis flopping soft between
his legs, Samuel crawled under his covers.
	Piet dutifully turned out the lights and curled up on the floor
at the foot of his master’s bed. He had no blanket, no mattress,
no pillow. The hard wooden floor was good enough for a lowly
white slave boy.



	The Boy Gladiators spent that Friday evening recovering from the
marathon. They were all fed extra portions at dinner. Tonight
even the brownish-grey food loaf that had become their standard
evening meal seemed to taste good and satisfy their grumbling
empty bellies. As a special treat they each got two sugar cookies
for dessert. Moments later ten sugar-deprived boys were whooping
and hollering and enjoying their first sugar rush since they’d
arrived on the island. Even Chris and Ian, who were feeling
rather glum about their performance, and their position on the
newly updated scoreboard, managed to join in the boyish hi-jinks,
momentarily forgetting the doom that certainly awaited them come
Sunday.
	Miles had attained instant celebrity status amongst the boys for
his amazing performance in the race. Whispered rumors were
already flying around the barracks that he would be getting a
very special reward for winning. The marathon, the boys had
learned, was considered a top-level event, a category given to
the most athletically and mentally challenging contests devised
for the boys to endure. Winning such an event would always
entitle a boy to a valuable and memorable award, not to mention a
ton of bonus points. The little ten year old strutted proudly
around the barracks for the rest of the night, even being so bold
as to strike up a conversation with the older boys, whom he
normally avoided. The four young teenagers tolerated him for the
evening. 	
	As the last-place finishers, Chris and Ian were elected by the
rest of the boys to do the sweeping and mopping chores. The two
boys, Ian with his gimpy taped-up ankle and Chris with his sore
bandaged feet, made a rather awkward and clumsy effort of it.
Occasionally one of the other boys would point out that they’d
missed a spot and the guards would make them do go back and do it
again.
	The young gladiators were all locked into their cells at exactly
11:30. As was always the case on the nights before and between
competition days, they were ordered to go straight to sleep. Any
boys found talking would be given demerits. Within their small
cells, the boys whispered good-nights to their partners and
quickly drifted off, too tired to even think about breaking the
rules.
	While Philippe snored softly, Miles lay awake, staring up at the
concrete ceiling in the dim light that filtered in through the
window. He clasped his hands behind his head and breathed in
deeply. He wasn’t exactly shocked that he’d won. Cross-country
running was his sport after all. But the other boys, even the
eleven-year-olds, were so much bigger than he was. Even for a
ten-year-old he was unusually small. He figured he’d probably
finish second or third behind one of the longer-legged boys.
Coming in first felt real good. He closed his eyes, yawned, felt
his little dick twitch momentarily to life within the tight warm
confines of his chastity belt and soften again just as quickly.
He ran his right hand across his stomach, already covered with
sweat in the hot sweltering little cell and tapped playfully at
the metal plate that encased his boy-parts. He spread his
muscular little ten-year-old legs a bit wider, making the plug in
his butt a bit more comfortable, and finally dropped off to sleep
on his back, breathing softly and dreaming of running free in the
family garden back home.

	 The next morning, Saturday, Chris awoke to find that his feet
actually felt pretty good. He swung his legs off his bunk and
cautiously stood up. Alexei was still sleeping, flat on his back
and breathing through his mouth. Chris smiled. He always had to
wake Alexei up. This time though he spent a few minutes staring
at the twelve-year-old Russian boy’s lean wiry frame. Chris
rested his blue eyes on Alexei’s cock-cage, a smaller version of
the one that imprisoned his own penis. Alexei’s boy-cock was
swollen, trying to get hard, pressing against the sharp
unforgiving spikes. The twelve-year-old moaned, moved his legs in
his sleep and rolled over onto his side. This, as Chris had found
out the hard way, only caused more blood to rush into his
imprisoned penis, making it swell even worse against the tiny
metal spikes. Alexei cried out in his sleep and started to roll
in the opposite direction, a move that would have caused him to
fall off the narrow bunk entirely.
	Chris quickly shook the boy awake, pretending that he hadn’t
spent the last few minutes admiring the younger boy’s beautiful
body and fantasizing about the things the two of them might do
together if their dicks weren’t always locked up. Chris quickly
turned toward the window, not wanting the younger boy to notice
the painful denied-erection currently throbbing away inside his
chastity cage.
	“You are hard too, right?” Alexei asked, sitting on his bunk
with his hairless legs spread wide apart. The boy adjusted his
stainless steel cock cage in a vain attempt to get it more
comfortable.
	“Uh . . . yeah, I am,” Chris replied, giving up and turning
around. The two boys stood toe to toe staring in frustration at
their locked up genitals. They didn’t have long to commiserate,
as the door to their cell was swung open and the loud morning
buzzer sounded, indicating the official start of another day for
the indentured boys on Gladiator Island.

Chapter 36:

	After the boys’ morning routine was completed, in record time,
the young gladiators were marched back to the arena for the start
of the Saturday competitions. The stands were packed, as always,
in anticipation of the day’s events. Once their chains and
chastity devices were removed, the boys made their usual lap
around the edge of the arena, waving up playfully at the crowd as
their young boy cocks waved back and forth and between their
legs. Roger Bramley and Calvin Mayfair then led the boys through
their morning exercises. Push ups, sit ups, stretches, deep-knee
bends, jumping jacks, all conducted to loud rock music, all
sending the nude boys’ penises and testicles flopping and rolling
and bouncing all around. By the end of their exertions every boy
but Daniel was sporting some stage of erection, from the older
boys with their big heavy half-hard dicks, to little Miles whose
little wiener was sticking straight out as stiff as a nail.
Daniel’s genitals had continued to shrink. His testicles had
retreated inside him and all that seemed to remain of his
pathetic useless penis was his tightly circumcised cock-head,
pink and small and sticking out of his hairless groin like a
little button. He was the only one of the boys who wished he was
still wearing his chastity belt so that no one could see what
they’d done to him.
	While the boys ran a few cool-down laps, the island’s six mules
entered and put up the set for the morning’s event. Unlike the
Gladiators, who were quickly becoming global celebrities in spite
of their lowly indentured status, the six unfortunate boy slaves
who served as mules received no applause, no accolades upon
entering. Wearing only their gray smocks, their heads shaved and
perpetually bowed, the quickly and quietly went to work and just
a quickly departed. 	
	There was a long steel bondage frame set up in the middle of the
arena floor. Two thick strong posts on either side supporting a
heavy overhead crossbar. There was enough space between the posts
for five boys to stand side-by-side.
	The four youngest boys were given their leather jock-straps and
wriggled into them, quickly adjusting themselves as instructed,
making sure they had nice round bulges beneath the supple
leather. They were then made to stand on wooden crates beneath
the crossbar. They all looked up fearfully as their arms were
raised by their trainers and the shackles around their wrists
were chained to iron rings hung from the overhead beam. Miles,
Josh, Ian and Alexei all stood there wearing only their leather
pouches, their currently half-hard penises outlined
provocatively, their young arms now stretched above their heads.
	Some debate was now being held as to which boy, Daniel or
Gabriel, should occupy the final spot under the crossbar. Daniel
was technically the fifth youngest and should have been up there
with the other four junior gladiators, but since his testroxil
treatments had rendered the twelve-year-old incapable of having
an erection or an orgasm, he was disqualified from consideration.
As the next youngest boy, Gabriel was ordered to step onto the
last box and soon bound to the crossbar by his wrists like the
four others.
	One by one the boxes were then removed and the boys were left
suspended by their wrists, their feet swinging freely, their cute
little boy-toes just barely grazing the concrete floor. The
sudden strain and fear of this new ordeal caused all five of them
to spring instant and strong erections, all tightly constrained
by their leather pouches.
	They were allowed to hang there like pieces of meat while the
five remaining boys were bent over a long wooden spanking bench
and strapped in place.
	“We need to warm these boys up first,” Jason announced to the
crowd as five of the trainers selected five wooden paddles to
redden the boys’ cute defenseless butts.
	For the next twenty minutes, the four youngest boys, plus
Gabriel, hung in misery, while the four oldest boys, plus Daniel
were all given a harsh and severe paddling. The hanging boys
gasped and moaned and struggled to catch their breath, their
abdomens stretched taut, their ribs outlined clearly as they
hung. The paddled boys shrieked and screamed and begged for mercy
as the paddles rained down upon their round perfect globes of
boyflesh. All of them, except of course for Daniel, sporting
dripping rock hard erections by the time their ‘warm-up’ had
concluded.
	Attention was now turned to the boys on the crossbar. “Let’s
make them more comfortable,” Jason suggested, and the leather
pouches were pulled off the boys’ slim waists and down their
dangling legs, leaving the five hairless lads hanging completely
naked, their throbbing boyish boners on proud display. As always,
the site of eleven-year-old Josh’s precociously large penis, now
fully hard, caused a series of ‘ooohs’ and ‘aaahs’ and other far
more rude comments from the crowd. Miles’ little ten-year-old
dink also received a lot of vocal attention, mostly along the
lines of ‘Oh, look at that tiny little thing . . . he’s so
adorable.’
	Miles wasn’t particularly embarrassed. He was ten. He was
supposed to have a small cute little penis and he did, so it
didn’t bother him much. He did blush a bit when he heard a woman
in the front row shout out “He’s so sweet, just like a cuddly
little teddy bear.”
	Meanwhile the four teenaged boys, and twelve-year-old Daniel
were released from the spanking bench and stood with tear-stained
cheeks as their iron collars were removed and replaced with
identical leather ones, all adorned with multiple rings. Their
wrists were secured behind their backs. Chris, Illya, Philippe,
and David were all put back into their chastity cages. This
procedure drew excited whistles and cat-calls from the
spectators. Daniel was not put into his chastity belt, since
there was no possibility that the chemically castrated
twelve-year-old would have an erection.
	“Alright, boys,” Jason addressed them as the crowd grew louder
with anticipation. “Pick a partner and get down on your knees in
front of him.”
	The five boys stared dumbfounded for a moment. They were allowed
to make choices on their own so rarely these days that none of
them were sure. Maybe this was some kind of mean trick . . .
	“Get moving, boys,” Jason yelled at them.
	Chris was immediately torn between his brother Joshua and his
partner Alexei. He was about to move in Alexei’s direction when
Illya knelt down in front of his fellow Russian Boy Gladiator.
Chris moved his bandaged but no longer quite so aching feet as
fast as he could and got down on his knees in front of his little
brother.
	“Hey, Chris,” Josh gasped, still struggling to catch his breath
as he hung there. His little chest was rising and falling rapidly
and his whole body was glistening with sweat.
	“Hi, Joshie,”
	“How’s your feet?”
	“Ok, I guess. Doesn’t do me much good now.”
	“I’m . . . glad you . . . picked me.”
	“You don’t even know what they’re gonna make us do to each
other.” Chris looked up into his younger brother’s earnest and
frightened eyes.
	“I’m still glad,” the eleven-year-old said. His penis was still
painfully hard and now it was right under his big brother’s nose.
Chris stared at his little brother’s not so little penis with its
swollen pink cock-head . . . was that a little drop of pre-cum
glistening on the little boy’s piss-slit?
	“Is that . . . ?” Chris asked.
	Josh nodded his head proudly. He was a cummer now, just like the
big boys. He couldn’t produce much, but he could shoot all the
same.
	“Don’t let it go to your head,” Chris smirked. “You’re still a
little sprout around here, got it?”
	Hanging from the crossbar, Josh wiggled his hips and swung
himself forward, smacking his older brother’s face with his
ridiculously oversized erection, leaving a little trail of his
clear eleven-year-old boy-juice on Christopher’s cheek.
	“You’re gonna pay for that, dick-boy,” Chris said with a grin,
using Hannah’s unimaginative but perfectly apt nickname for Josh.
	The Andrews brothers latest sibling quarrel was interrupted when
the trainers, working in pairs, fitted each of the hanging boys
with a tight cock and ball harness, identical to the one Josh had
been forced to wear back in the black room. Five hard pre-teen
dicks instantly got even harder, all of them, even little Miles’,
turning a dark angry shade of purple. The boy-sized harnesses
were meant to make a young lad’s erection extraordinarily
painful, extraordinarily large, and extraordinarily long-lasting.
Josh had been kept hard and unable to cum for hours the last time
he’d worn it. Now all five of the harnessed boys were moaning and
groaning and staring down at their angry erections. Little Miles
gaped wide-eyed, having never seen his harmless little penis so
big and so thick, and it appeared to be swelling even larger and
harder with each beat of his pulse. The harness had pulled his
little balls forward too, and they were turning a similar shade
of purple.
	With the harnesses in place, the trainers now attached a pair of
thick elastic cords to the older boys’ collars and hooked these
to small rings on their respective partners’ harness. The cords
were only four inches long and extremely taut. The boys on their
knees were effectively bound to their partners’ cocks, unable to
pull back more than an inch or so. For Chris, this meant that
Josh’s five-and-one-half-inch boner was already half-way in his
mouth. David, who was kneeling in front of Gabriel’s thick five
incher had a similar problem. Danny had ended up in front of
Miles. He was able to pull his head back and his mouth completely
off of the ten-year-old’s not-quite three-inch erection, but just
barely. The pressure from the cords forced him to move his head
forward again and take the youngest boy’s cocklet into his mouth.
The realization that Miles now had more between his legs than he
did was a sobering and depressing thought, but Danny knew there
wasn’t anything he could do about it.
	“This is an endurance contest. The rules are simple,” Jason
explained to the audience. “The boys on their knees have no
choice but to suck their partners’ cocks, which, as you can see,
are fully and painfully erect. The harnesses will ensure they
stay that way, and also keep the boys from cumming for quite a
while. The boy who goes the longest without causing his partner
to orgasm is the winner. The first boy to have an orgasm, and his
partner, will receive a special punishment right after the
contest.”
	Hannah Dubose blew her whistle.
	Jason turned to the boy gladiators. “Let the battle begin!”
	The crowd fell silent, their collective eyes focused on the
giant HD screens overhead as the film crews moved in and
surrounded the ten boy gladiators. The trainers stood by as well
with their shock-sticks at the ready, a natural precaution should
one of the five cocksucking boys decide to cheat and not give it
his all. Anthony, Ian's trainer, was handling the play-by-play
for this one, walking up and down the line of five boys hanging
by their wrists and the five boys on their knees in front of
them.
 	"Boy Zero-One is a dry cummer," he explained as he stopped in
front of Miles. Young Danny was dutifully sucking the youngest
gladiator's presently rock-hard little penis. "It probably won't
take him too long to have an orgasm. Let’s see how much
self-control this little man has." Miles moaned softly and was
already swinging in his bonds. A ten-year-old boy's penis is
exceptionally sensitive, and as Danny laved his tongue over
Miles' pink swollen cock-head and up and down his cute three-inch
shaft the little boy was sent into throes of unimaginable
pleasure, so strong it quickly became agonizing.
 	Next along the line were the two Andrews brothers. Anthony
swatted Josh hard on the ass. He kept his hand there for a
moment, using his fingers to press on the end of the plug in the
eleven-year-old's butt. Josh squealed in complaint as his
immature but perpetually overstimulated prostate was assaulted
yet again. "Zero-Two has the biggest cock we've ever seen on a
boy this young. According to the most recent information from our
medical department, he's just become capable of ejaculation.
Let’s see how long it takes his big brother to make him shoot. My
bet is it won't be long."
 	It certainly seemed like a good assessment. Josh was groaning
and gasping and wiggling his ten adorable little toes, pulling
hard against the chains that held his wrists to the bar above his
head.
 	"Ohmigosh, Chris . . . that feels totally awesome!"
 	Chris could only manage a muffled "mmmph, mmph" as his mouth
was currently stuffed with his eleven-year-old brother's
exceptionally large five-and-one-half-inch erection. He could
feel and taste Josh's meager pre-teen production of pre-cum.
Clean, fresh and just a little salty to the taste. Very different
from what he'd tasted when he had a man's dick shoved into his
mouth. Josh tasted, well, like a boy, as best as Chris could
guess. Chris discovered that with a little extra suction he could
draw Josh's foreskin back up over the tip of his penis, then with
his lips push it all the way back again. That action caused Josh
to shriek in pleasure and shake all over.
 	"Oh, shit! Chris. Do . . . do that . . . again . . . do it!
Right now!"
       Chris complied, strangely turned on by the idea of his
little brother giving him orders. His teenaged cock was swelling
madly inside its chastity cage and his frustrated balls were
aching to shoot their thick load of thirteen-year-old cum. It was
that ache, that desperate need to cum, and the knowledge that he
would not be allowed to, that was so strangely erotic for him.
Chris worked Josh's foreskin up and down several more times until
a breathless and gasping Josh pleaded with him to stop.
 	"Ok . . . ok . . . ooohhh, you gotta stop now, Chris. I'm gonna
cum if you keep doin that . . . don't wanna cum yet. Can't cum
first . . . can't cum . . . "
 	Thankfully for Josh, Chris had become quite the skilled little
cocksucker during this first month on the island. None of the
other boys were nearly as skilled or practiced as he was. He
quickly stopped what he was doing and allowed Josh's hard penis
to throb on its own within his mouth for a few minutes, just
occassionally sucking or rolling his tongue along the shaft to
keep his little brother hard.
       The tight harnesses on the younger boys' cocks and balls
did manage to prevent all of them from cumming as fast as they
otherwise might have. Their young penises got harder and harder,
painfully so as they continued to engorge with blood. Chris could
actually feel little veins protruding along the length of Josh's
rigid boy-pole. The other cocksuckers had similar experiences and
all five of the suckees soon had tears in their eyes from the
agony of enduring enforced erections. The contest went on for
almost thirty minutes as the younger boys edged closer and closer
to having their orgasms. The sounds of their squeaks, squeals,
moans, groans and cries, all heard over the public address
system, and broadcast worldwide in digital quality, was
exceptionally adorable and arousing.
 	Josh was so close it was pure anguish now. He wanted to cum so
badly he no longer cared about possible consequences.
 	"Just let me cum, Chris. I'll deal with whatever punishment
they give me."
 	'Give us,' Chris thought to himself as Josh's penis jerked and
danced inside his mouth. 'No way I'm letting us both get
punished.'
 	Christopher's skills kept Josh from cumming for another ten
minutes and ultimately saved them both from punishment as next to
them young Ian, being sucked by Philippe, shouted out a
high-pitched squeal, curled his little toes, went completely
rigid and had a powerful eleven-year-old orgasm, shooting a small
amount of immature seed into the French boy's mouth.
 	"We have a loser!" Anthony announced, particularly pissed that
it was his boy who'd gone out first. "Now we need to find a
winner."
 	Philippe's collar was detached from Ian's cock and ball
harness, but the two boys were forced to stay in their current
position. Ian suspended by his wrists, his slim torso stretched
out provocatively, his still erect penis on display for all to
see, and Philippe, locked in his chastity cage, on his knees with
his arms bound tightly behind him. Large penis gags were shoved
into both boys' mouths and strapped in place behind their heads
to keep them quiet while the remaining eight boys fought it out
for first place.
 	Just a few moments later, Miles started to buck wildly in his
chains, slamming his groin into Danny's face in rapid thrusts.
All the trainers agreed this was certainly a dry orgasm and thus
Miles and Danny were the second pair to be eliminated. Observing
from his luxury box, William Durand called down to Jason. "Make
the little bastard cum until all the other boys have their
orgasms."
 	Jason relayed these instructions to Anthony who gleefully broke
the news to Miles that they were going to force even more dry
cums from his tired sweaty little body. "You don't stop cumming
until they all stop cumming," he announced so the crowd could
hear as well. Loud cheers went up. The crowd loved Miles, found
him cuddly and adorable, but that did not mean they didn't enjoy
watching him suffer. And there is not much suffering worse for a
pre-pubescent boy than being forced to have one shattering dry
orgasm after another in rapid succession. So, Danny kept on
sucking and poor little Miles kept on cumming. He had three more
dry cums in the ten minutes it took for Alexei to shoot his
pent-up load of twelve-year-old sperm. Alexei was already well
known for the prodigious amount of cum his young balls could
produce and this latest ejaculation was no exception. Illya's
lips and chin were dripping with the younger Russian's spunk when
it was all over. Like Philippe and Ian, the two boys were
disconnected, gagged and left right were they were.
 	It took another fifteen minutes for David to finally coax an
orgasm from a desperate and horny Gabriel. The cock and ball
harness seemed to have had a particularly noticeable effect on
young Gabe, keeping him on the edge of a climax without being
able to finish it off for almost a full hour now. When the
twelve-year-old finally came it was explosive and unbearably
painful, his rock hard cock swelling even harder in the harness,
his young testicles feeling as though they'd been kicked. He was
left hanging there crying and sobbing, his penis still
grotesquely swollen as he and David were disconnected. This left
Chris and Josh as the winners.
 	"We have a winner," Anthony announced. "Boy Zero-Two has held
out the longest. Twenty bonus points for him and five for his big
brother."
 	The crowd cheered. The elastic cords holding Christopher's
collar to Joshua's cock and ball harness were removed and the two
boys were allowed to separate. Josh still hadn't cum and his
rigid penis was now sticking up toward his taut-stretched
stomach. Secured by the harness, his eleven-year-old balls,
already big for his age, were swollen and purple. His reward, for
winning, was to have Hannah apply several ice cubes to his raging
boner and balls and then immediately lock him back into his
chastity belt. He stared at her with shocked and wounded eyes.
 	"No one said the winner was going to have an orgasm, Zero-Two,"
she laughed at him as she adjusted the metal plate that encased
the youngster's genitals. "Enjoy your bonus points."
 	With Josh locked away in his belt, Miles was finally allowed to
stop having orgasms. Altogether the ten-year-old had suffered
through seven dry cums in the full hour he'd now spent hanging
from the crossbar. He was a drooling, sobbing incoherent mess
when they let him down, his dick, still being kept hard by the
harness was red and sore. Josh and Alexei had to help him stand
while his cock and ball harness was removed. His little dink
deflated immediately, back to his soft one and one-half inch
length. He was rather a happy boy when Alexander strapped the
chastity belt around his waist once again. He really didn't like
wearing the belt, but he liked having his little pickle played
with even less, so having it locked away out of sight was
perfectly okay with him. He was really sore down there now and
actually hoped the belt would stay on for a while.
 	While the other eight boys were marched below to the holding
cage, Ian and Philippe remained in position, alone now in center
of the arena with the crowd staring at them, eager to see what
suffering lay in store for the two losers. Both boys shook in
terror, and another hushed silence fell over the audience when
Doctor Trench strode confidently up the ramp and across the arena
floor. One of the older mules was obediently pushing a medical
cart behind her, his ankles chained, his head bowed. Ian and
Philippe both knew that if the doctor was involved their
punishment was going to be particularly unpleasant.
	“Our two losers will now be punished,” Anthony announced to the
crowd. “Their punishment will last for the rest of the day.”
Applause and murmurs of approval followed from the most sadistic
members of the audience. “We will start with Boy Zero-Eight.
Since his tongue got him into this mess, his tongue will pay the
price.”
	Anthony and Roger held Philippe still while Doctor Trench
prepared his punishment. From her medical cart she took two
stainless steel metal rods, each about six-inches long. After
dropping these into a sterilizing solution, she picked up a
dental clamp and approached her first victim.
	“Open his mouth.”
	Philippe wasn’t given the chance to do it voluntarily. Roger
gripped the boy’s jaw and forced his mouth open. Doctor Trench
closed the clamp around the end of Philippe’s tongue and pulled
it out of his mouth as far as it would go. The fourteen-year-old
jerked and struggled, but the two trainers held him down on his
knees. The weight and shape of the clamp made it impossible for
the boy to pull his tongue back into his mouth.
	As Philippe’s eyes filled with tears, Trench took the two steel
rods and positioned them above and below the boy’s outstretched
tongue. She then applied two smaller clamps to either end of the
pair, turning them, essentially, into a vice, which she tightened
slowly onto the boy’s tongue. Philippe whimpered and made another
futile effort to pull out of the grip of the two trainers.
	Trench quickly scolded him. “If you keep struggling, I’ll end up
pulling your tongue right out of your head. Now be still! You’re
headed for more demerits, young man.”
	Philippe obeyed and stared up at the doctor as she tightened the
vice gag further. The boy’s tongue was now sandwiched firmly and
painfully between the two steel rods. He quickly discovered that
retracting it was going to be impossible. As long as those rods
were in place, he could neither eat nor speak nor drink.
	“mmmphh, ffpphhthhh, nnmph,” were the only sounds the young teen
could make as he stared at the grown-ups with sad weeping eyes.
	“And now for the final touch,” Trench said, selecting a small
vial of liquid from the cart. “This contains a highly
concentrated oil derived from the habenero pepper. Not the
hottest in the world, but hot enough.” She used a medical dropper
to apply the smallest amount to Philippe’s helpless out-stretched
tongue.
	“Let him go!” the doctor shouted as Philippe shrieked and broke
free of the trainers’ grasp. With his hands still bound behind
him and unable to retract his tongue, the habenero oil remained
on the tip of his tongue, burning worse and worse with each
passing second. The crowd applauded and laughed as the poor
slender French boy bolted around the arena desperately trying to
think of some way to cool off his flaming tongue. Normally a boy
gladiator would not be allowed to run around this way, but
Philippe presented such a comical sight, his slim hairless
fourteen-year-old frame twitching and shaking, his desperate and
futile attempts to get his arms free, and the look of shock,
shame and dismay on his face, that they decided to just let him
run wild around the arena. His trainer, an enigmatic young woman
named Elaina, kept a close eye on him and a close hand on her
shock stick should she need to bring the boy down.
	While Philippe pranced around the arena floor, Doctor Trench
prepared for Ian’s somewhat more elaborate punishment.
	“Should we take him down first, doc?” Roger Bramley asked,
standing beside the hanging boy.
	“That won’t be necessary. Just keep him still.”
	Anthony explained Ian’s punishment to the already delighted and
excited crowd. “Boy Zero-Three couldn’t control his little dick,
so he’s going to be taught a lesson for the rest of the day.”
	Doctor Trench began by removing the eleven-year-old’s cock and
ball harness. Ian winced and whimpered as he hung there. His
penis was sore and swollen from being constantly erect for nearly
a full hour, and his nuts weren’t faring much better. “Oh,
please, miss,” he whined, “my willy hurts so much already. . . “
	But the doctor simply ignored the boy’s sad protest and took
firm hold of his penis with her right hand, skinning back his
foreskin in the process. From the nearby cart, she selected a
four-inch long metal sound with small bulbous ends. By now all of
the boys had endured the terror and humiliation of having sounds
inserted into their penises during their regular visits to the
medical suite, but having it done in front of a worldwide
audience was a new low for Ian. He didn’t need any coaching from
the trainers to writhe and scream his little lungs out as the
doctor expertly forced the shiny slender rod into his dick. She’d
been performing these types of procedures on boys for years, ever
since the passage of the International Child Slavery Act. Like
many small-town pediatricians, her career took off in lucrative
new directions when that law was passed. Over the years since,
she’d developed her cold, methodical and highly efficient
approach to slave-boy medicine. She logically thought of them as
animals, and in many ways she now had more in common with
veterinarians than physicians.
	Ian was trying his best to be brave. Calvin Mayfair had his
hands firmly around the boy’s hips, holding him still as Doctor
Trench continued the procedure. A small mesh cage was placed over
the head of the eleven-year-old’s penis. It was a common device,
normally used to keep catheters in place, precisely modified by
Trench to both anchor the sound and keep it from sliding out, and
to keep the boy’s foreskin fully retracted.
	Looking down at his penis, Ian saw its sore little head encased
in thin wire mesh with the bulbous end of the sound just visible
at the tip. He gasped and sniffled. Calvin released his grip on
his waist and gave him a quick smack on the butt.
	“Good boy,” he said. “Now for the fun part.”
	“I don’t think it’s gonna be all that fun,” Ian replied, gazing
down again at his impaled penis.
	Doctor Trench smiled at Calvin’s enthusiasm and Ian’s reticence.
She next attached a thin wire to the end of the sound using a
small clamp. At her instruction, Anthony put Ian back into his
chastity belt, taking care to feed the loose wire through the
tiny urine hole at the bottom of the belt’s metal genital plate.
Ian winced as the belt was tightened around his waist and secured
with padlocks. He again felt the uncomfortable tightness as the
metal plate pressed against his boy-parts ensuring that his penis
would not become erect.
	The free end of the wire was now attached to a small handheld
battery operated controller. The controller had a single sliding
activator, currently in the off position. After making sure that
everything was properly hooked up, Trench slid the activator to
full power.
	In that instant a small but sharp electrical current traveled
through the wire and into the highly conductive metal sound. Ian
was the first boy on the island to experience the agony of having
his urethra shocked. The boy shrieked and jerked as he hung from
his wrists, swinging his beautiful hairless legs in a wild
display of pain-induced madness. The shock only lasted for a few
seconds but it seemed like eternity as the current traveled into
his penis. The mesh cage that encased his glans was also
conductive and so the boy’s ultra-sensitive cock-head, normally
covered by his floppy foreskin, also received a good jolt.
	“Oh, calm down, boy,” Trench scolded him. “Honestly, you’d think
we were cutting your dick off the way you’re screaming. That was
just a test to make sure everything is working. I’ll turn it
down, if you like.”
	“Pppp . . . ppplleease . . . miss . . . ttt  . . .turn it . . .
ddd . . . down . . .”
	Trench smiled, thinking once again how much she enjoyed her job
and how lucky she was to have gotten this high-profile position
on Gladiator Island. She moved the slider to the half-way mark.
Ian received another jolt, much less painful than the first, but
still more than just a tickle.
	“Is that better?” she asked the boy.
	“I . . . I ggg . . .guess so, miss,” Ian stammered. The second
electrical shock, though mildly painful had also caused his penis
to attempt to erect itself within the snug confines of his
chastity belt. Trench could tell what was happening just by the
look on the boy’s face.
	“It must be, if your little sausage is trying to get hard. Shame
on you.”
	“Ssss . . . sorry, miss,” Ian replied as another mild jolt shot
into his piss-slit.
	Satisfied that the setting was right for long-term use, Trench
taped the controller box to Ian’s right thigh, wrapping medical
tape around the boy’s leg to ensure it would not slip out. She
took smaller pieces of tape and secured the wire in several
places along the length of Ian’s thigh. He would be competing
with the device in place and she didn’t want a loose wire
snagging or pulling out of the electrified sound.
	Anthony again addressed the audience. “Zero-Three is now wearing
a special device inside his chastity belt. He will be receiving a
mild electrical shock to his penis every three minutes for the
rest of the day. If he earns any further demerits, the setting
will be increased each time.”
	The spectators applauded this sensible and devious punishment.
	“If any of you are interested in having a similar device
custom-made for your slave boys, please see Doctor Trench before
you conclude your stay with us.”
	With that, young Ian was finally taken down from the crossbar
and marched along with Philippe down into the holding area
beneath the arena floor. Just as he was about to disappear into
the tunnel, the controller delivered another shock to the
eleven-year-old’s penis, causing him to jump and shout and do a
cute little capering dance from foot to foot. Naturally the
cameras caught the humorous scene and played it on the large
overhead screen. The crowd laughed and applauded. For the wealthy
visitors on Gladiator Island it had been a thoroughly
entertaining morning, and they now slowly dispersed to get lunch
at the island’s top-notch eatery or enjoy an early afternoon on
the private beach. Most of the island’s guests had brought their
slave boy or boys with them, and so a parade of well-dressed men
and women filed out of the arena with their collared, chained,
naked or scantily clad boys on leashes walking or crawling along
behind them.
Many of the adults were busily checking the schedule for the
day’s remaining events. The evening competitions would feature a
‘Tug of War’ that set many imaginations wandering, and the week’s
finale was listed as the ‘Best Whipped Ass’ competition, in which
ten lucky spectators would be selected to participate directly,
provided, of course, they could pay a small additional fee.

To be continued . . .
	

	
	

	
	
	
		
	
	
	

	












	



       	

	
