Worldwide Boy Gladiators - Part 3
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 19:
“To our Special Guests,
Welcome to Gladiator Island and Resort. We hope your stay will
be a rewarding one. This guide to the island will assist you in
maximizing your pleasure and getting the most out of your
admission pass. As a special VIP guest, you and all members of
your party have been granted total access to the island. This
naturally includes all official competitions between our young
gladiators as well as exclusive “behind the scenes” bonuses,
including but not limited to observation of weekly training,
discipline, and milking sessions, special evening gatherings
served by the boys, and optional private sessions with the boy or
boys of your choice (for an additional fee).
General Information:
1. All the boy gladiators on the island have been specially
selected for their athletic prowess, physical beauty and
intelligence. At the moment the boys range in age from 10 to 14.
All of the boys were specifically indentured for service on
Gladiator Island, and have not previously been indentured or
enslaved. Each boy’s indenture expires upon his sixteenth
birthday.
2. Live contests and competitions are held every Friday evening
and throughout the day on Saturday. Your general pass allows you
complete access to any and all of these events.
3. Pre-recorded events are held at varying times throughout the
week. You are welcome and encouraged to attend. Tune to Channel 1
on your in-room television for a list of this weeks’ events,
locations and times.
4. Sunday is reserved as a Punishment Day for the boy gladiators,
where the boy or boys with the lowest weekly (or monthly) score
are assigned and administered their punishments. Your VIP guest
pass allows you access to both the punishment lottery on Sunday
morning, (where the boy selects, by chance, his assigned
punishment) and the punishment session held Sunday afternoon.
5. You will notice that all of the boy gladiators are kept naked,
collared and shackled. While the boys are all respectful and well
disciplined, for your own protection we ask that you do not
interfere with the transport or movement of the boys from venue
to venue during the course of your stay. Opportunities for close
physical examination and photography of the boys will be provided
throughout the week. Check your weekly guide for details.
6. All of the boys have had their pubic hair and body hair
permanently removed in accordance with article VI.iii of the
International Child Enslavement Act of 2027, which requires that
all enslaved or indentured male children be kept hairless.
7. All of the boy gladiators are kept in strict chastity at all
times, in accordance with article VI.vii of the International
Child Enslavement Act of 2027. You will notice chastity belts on
the younger boys and chastity cages on the older ones. Should you
choose to purchase a boy for a private session, a key to the
boy’s chastity device will be provided at no charge.
Additionally, as with all boy slaves, each boy gladiator is
required to wear a butt-plug at all times. We ask that you return
the boy to us with his chastity device and butt-plug in place.
Boys are milked on an individual schedule as determined by the
island’s medical department. Milking sessions are open to
observation and inspection. A schedule will be posted along with
the week’s special events on Channel 1. Depending upon the
individual boy, milking sessions can last up to three hours. You
are free to come and go as you please. We ask that you refrain
from talking while observing a boy’s milking.
8. During your stay, you will no doubt notice other boys on the
island. These boys are slaves and the property of XB1. They are
not involved in the competition and they are not available for
purchase. We call these boys ‘mules.’ You will easily be able to
identify them by their gray slave smocks and the spherical
chastity pods installed permanently over their genitals. We ask
that you neither speak to, touch, nor engage the mules in any way
as they have important tasks to perform throughout the day to
keep the resort running smoothly for you.
Boy Gladiator Statistics:
Below you will find information and statistics on each of the boy
gladiators currently enslaved on the island. Should you wish to
purchase a private session with any of the boys, please dial *7
on your suite telephone and an operator will assist you. Sessions
can be booked for 8, 24, or 48 hours. We ask that you refer to
the boys only by their assigned number. Please refrain from
addressing them by their given names.
Boy 1-0: Name: David Brown
Origin: Australia
Age: 14 years, 8 months
Height: 5’6”
Weight: 108 pounds
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Brown
Penis: 3.75” flaccid, 5.5” erect, uncircumcised
Sport: Swimming
Boy 1-0 is generally shy and well behaved. He is heterosexual
with clear submissive tendencies, easily aroused by bondage and
discipline. He will make an ideal slave for our valued female
patrons. Boy 1-0 possesses a penis of slightly below average size
for his age, his testicles however are quite large.
Boy 0-9: Name: Philippe Dulac
Origin: France
Age: 14 years, 5 months
Height: 5’3”
Weight: 105 pounds
Hair: Black
Eyes: Green
Penis: 3.25” flaccid, 5” erect, circumcised
Sport: Diving
Boy 0-9 is soft spoken and rather introverted. He is homosexual
with moderate submissive tendencies. He demonstrates limited
arousal under bondage and discipline. Boy 0-9 possesses a penis
that is considered small for his age, however his testicles are
exceptionally large and hang quite low, perfect for those men or
women who enjoy torturing a young boy’s genitals. He produces an
extremely large amount of prostatic fluid.
Boy 0-8: Name: Illya Casparev
Origin: Russia
Age: 13 years, 6 months
Height: 5’6”
Weight: 109 pounds
Hair: Blonde
Eyes: Hazel
Penis: 6” flaccid, 8” erect, uncircumcised
Sport: Gymnastics
Boy 0-8 is remarkably obedient and eager to please. He is
bi-sexual with very strong submissive tendencies. He is the most
sexually experienced of the boys, an excellent choice for the
more adventurous client. Boy 0-8 possesses remarkably large
genitals for a boy his age. An additional flat fee of $25,000.00
is required to purchase his services.
Boy 0-7: Name: Christopher Andrews
Origin: USA
Age: 13 years, 3 months
Height: 5’1”
Weight: 102 pounds
Hair: Blonde
Eyes: Blue
Penis: 4” flaccid, 6” erect, uncircumcised
Sport: Swimming
Boy 0-7 is perhaps a little too outspoken but generally obedient.
He is homosexual with exceptionally deep submissive tendencies.
He is highly aroused under bondage and discipline and appears to
have quickly developed a very strong chastity fetish. Boy 0-7
possesses slightly above average genitals for his age and
produces a large amount of prostatic and ejaculatory fluid.
Boy 0-6: Name: Gabriel Shelton
Origin: Great Britain
Age: 12 years, 8 months
Height: 4’11”
Weight: 89 pounds
Hair: Black
Eyes: Brown
Penis: 3.85” flaccid, 5.5” erect, circumcised
Sport: Football (soccer)
Boy 0-6 is talkative and often contrary. He is heterosexual with
mild bi-sexual tendencies that will likely disappear as he ages.
He is easily aroused under a variety of conditions, but will
often struggle when put into bondage. The perfect boy for those
clients who like to have a bit of a fighter on their hands. Boy
0-6 possesses genitals well above average for his age.
Boy 0-5: Name: Daniel O’Hanlon
Origin: Canada
Age: 12 years, 6 months
Height: 4’8”
Weight: 81 pounds
Hair: Red
Eyes: Brown
Penis: 2” flaccid, 3” erect, circumcised
Sport: Wrestling
Boy 0-5 is outgoing and friendly. He is, by all accounts, a true
asexual, a very rare find. He shows little to no interest in his
own sexuality, but does appear to be highly submissive to
authority. Boy 0-5 possesses an unusually small penis for a boy
his age (a classic biological asexual trait), however his
testicles are of average size. Due to his unusual nature, an
additional flat fee of $50,000.00 is required to purchase his
services. Boy 0-5 is as yet unable to ejaculate, although he does
produce a moderate amount of prostatic fluid. Boy 0-5 is
receiving daily doses of testroxil, which will render him
virtually incapable of erection and dramatically decrease the
size of his genitalia.
Boy 0-4: Name: Alexei Graznikov
Origin: Russia
Age: 12 years, 4 months
Height: 4’9”
Weight: 83 pounds
Hair: Dark Blonde
Eyes: Brown
Penis: 3.5” flaccid, 5” erect, uncircumcised
Sport: Wrestling
Boy 0-4 is enthusiastic and lively. He is homosexual with limited
submissive tendencies. He has an observed fear of bondage and
discipline. He possesses genitals of average size for a boy his
age, although his penis is unusually thick. Boy 0-4 produces an
exceptionally large amount of ejaculatory fluid.
Boy 0-3: Name: Ian Cloverdale
Origin: Australia
Age: 11 years, 8 months
Height: 4’6”
Weight: 75 pounds
Hair: Light Brown
Eyes: Grey
Penis: 2.75” flaccid, 3.5” erect, uncircumcised
Sport: Swimming
Boy 0-3 is quiet and exceptionally intelligent. He is homosexual.
He has a fear of bondage and discipline and has been observed to
struggle and resist when placed in such situations. He will
likely fight any attempts to use him for sexual purposes, making
him ideal for the client who is looking for a challenge. He
possesses genitals of average size for a boy his age. Boy 0-3 has
just recently become capable of ejaculation, and produces very
small quantities of clear seminal fluid. Like the youngest boys,
he is still capable of experiencing multiple orgasms in rapid
succession.
Boy 0-2: Name: Joshua Andrews
Origin: USA
Age: 11 years, 2 months
Height: 4’6”
Weight: 72 pounds
Hair: Blonde
Eyes: Brown
Penis: 4” flaccid, 5.75” erect, uncircumcised
Sport: Wrestling
Boy 0-2 is active and energetic. He is heterosexual with
demonstrated bi-sexual tendencies. He has shown little
submissiveness, but he is obedient and respectful of authority.
He possesses genitals highly above average for his age,
particularly his penis, which is already as large as that of boys
several years older. Boy 0-2 is as yet unable to ejaculate and is
capable of having a large number of dry orgasms in rapid
succession. Due to his exceptionally large penis, an additional
flat fee of $50,000.00 is required to purchase his services.
Boy 0-1: Name: Miles Harris
Origin: Great Britain
Age: 10 years, 3 months
Height: 4’3”
Weight: 60 pounds
Hair: Black
Eyes: Brown
Penis: 1.75” flaccid, 2.5” erect, circumcised
Sport: Running
Boy 0-1 is our youngest boy. He is confident but active and can
be boisterous under the right circumstances. He is heterosexual
although he is completely pre-pubescent. He is very small for his
age, perfect for the client who desires the company of a little
boy. Boy 0-1 possesses genitals average in size for a boy his age
and is capable of having a large number of dry orgasms in rapid
succession.
The boy gladiators are generally permitted to speak unless
otherwise ordered. They are however required to address all
adults on the island and all guests regardless of age in a
respectful manner. If you notice any inappropriate language or
behavior on the part of one of our boy gladiators please report
it to the administration at your convenience.
We hope you enjoy your stay on Gladiator Island and we look
forward to your return.”
William Durand looked up thoughtfully from the full color
brochure in front of him. The boy gladiators had been on the
island for almost a full week now, undergoing an exhaustive
ordeal of physical training each day to get their already firm
athletic bodies into peak condition. By the time the show
premiered, these ten boys would be living representatives of the
immature human male at the ideal height of physical toning,
musculature and prowess. William Durand returned the full color
brochure to the table and gave Lara Tomlinsin a smile. “I like
this. Make sure every suite has a copy. Have advanced copies been
sent to those who have already booked VIP passes?”
“Yes, sir,” the young woman said. She had just arrived on the
island was amazed at the show’s progress. With her concept for
Gladiators on track and in production, her star at the network
was on the rise.
“I understand we already have private requests for several of
the boys,” the XB1 chief announced.
“Excellent, sir.”
“Have you seen them yet, dear?” he asked the up-and-coming young
producer.
“No, sir. I came here directly from the plane. One of the mules
took my bags to my room.”
Durand nodded. “Well, I believe they should all be in weight
training at the moment. Swing by the training center and have a
look at them.”
“That’s my next stop, sir,” the young woman said with a smile.
Lara had no particular attraction to young boys, she found them,
and males in general, to be rather obnoxious actually, but the
idea of seeing ten of them naked and chained with their little or
not-so-little cocks locked up was rather titillating to be sure.
Served the nasty little buggers right.
Chapter 20:
With Worldwide Boy Gladiators scheduled to premiere on the
following Saturday, the next six days were an exhausting ordeal
of training - physical, mental and sexual - for the ten young
boys. Their trainers were all particularly harsh and impatient
and all of the boys had earned far more demerits than any bonus
points they might have received could counter. The scoreboard in
the barracks showed all the boys in the red with negative points.
Josh, much to his dismay still managed to be dead last. While the
eleven-year-old did extremely well in all the practice events and
competitions, his smart mouth continued to get him into trouble
with his trainer Hannah. In just one single forty-eight hour
period he’d racked up thirty points in demerits for talking back
or running his mouth when he was supposed to be quiet or
listening to instructions. His biggest and most costly mistake
however was made during the morning shower on the Thursday before
the show’s first live episode. Temporarily freed of his chastity
belt, Josh quite innocently touched his penis while washing
himself down under the frigid spray. He was simply trying to pull
back his foreskin and clean himself the way he’d always done
since he was six.
He was of course caught by the matron and dragged out of
the showers immediately.
“I didn’t mean to, ma’am,” he’d protested as he stood
naked and dripping wet in front of the strict woman who ran the
barracks. “I just forgot. Honest!”
Hannah was not pleased with the matron’s report.
Consulting with the other trainers, it was agreed that Josh
should receive fifty demerits for touching his genitals without
permission. The eleven-year-old almost broke down in tears when
he was told. As an additional punishment, he was sentenced to ten
lashes followed by twenty-four hours of restraint discipline.
The boy was immediately taken out to the whipping post in
the barrack’s yard. The other boys were made to watch as Hannah
flogged him, leaving ten livid red stripes across the
eleven-year-old’s back.
Jason yelled at all the boys collectively. “You never
touch your genitals. Ever! Your bodies belong to the corporation.
The next boy who is caught playing with himself with get twenty
lashes with this . . . “ he held up a long thick leather whip,
braided at the end with sharp metal spikes attached. “It is
called a flayer. It is designed to tear away the flesh of
disobedient slave boys. I do not want to use it on any of you,
but I will if I have to. Do we understand one another?”
“Yes, sir!” the boys all shouted, drawing themselves to
attention.
Josh, still sobbing on the whipping post, eagerly nodded
his head. Hannah released the boy’s wrists from the post and he
wrapped his arms around it for support. The second part of his
punishment now followed. This took the form of a heavy ten pound
chain being attached to his collar and run through the rings on
his wrist and ankle shackles. There was also a small ring at the
base of the metal plate on the boy’s chastity belt. The end of
the chain was attached here, connecting the heavy iron links to
the belt. In addition, a pair of leather mitts were put on his
hands and locked in place, rendering them useless. Inside the
mitts were tiny spikes that would dig into his palms anytime he
attempted to use his hands like a normal human boy. Finally, a
head-harness and bit was strapped around his head. He had to wear
this punishment gear for an entire day and compete in it.
Naturally this resulted in last place finishes, and even more
demerits for him. There were several events he simply couldn’t
compete in at all, so he was kept in a cage on a small cart while
the other boys competed. Between events he was chained to the
cart and made to pull the cage from place to place. Every event
he missed was an automatic last place. Josh was miserable and
close to tears the entire day.
Things actually got worse at night.
They made him sleep outside the barracks, chained by his
right ankle to an iron post in the ground. Three portable outdoor
halogens were set up around him, just out of range of his chain.
The harsh bright lights beamed down on the eleven-year-old’s
naked body. There was no way he could escape their glare. One of
the perimeter cameras was trained on him at all times.
“If you have to piss,” Hannah told him, “you squat on the
ground and go.”
The other boys were locked inside the barracks. Josh
watched the trainers all pass through the electrified fence. It
clanged shut loudly behind them. He was left alone outside. The
first thing he noticed was the bugs. Fortunately the bright
lights were more attractive to them than the small naked boy, but
they still filled the air around him like a thick cloud, buzzing
past his face and ears, landing on his sweaty arms and legs and
chest. The only way to keep them off was to constantly move
around, and so he walked, or trotted, or ran in the small circle
allowed him by the length of the chain.
He’d been locked in a head harness and bit all day, and by
now he’d given up on trying to keep from drooling. His spittle
ran down his chin uncontrollably.
It was warm when they’d first left him, but a cool wind
started to blow in after a while, causing his sweat-drenched body
to shiver. He saw the guards changing shifts, but none of them
paid any attention to him at all. He was an animal being kept
outdoors, ignored and forgotten.
And then the rain started. Just a light drizzle at first.
In a way it was a blessing since it drove the insects away. Josh
had no protection and no way to cover himself. He squatted to
take a piss as ordered and then curled up into a tight little
ball, shielding his face from the rain with his hands, and tried
to get some sleep. The boy had just drifted off when the light
showers turned into a huge downpour. Totally defenseless, Josh
simply lay there in the mud all night as the rain continued. He
thought they’d come for him once the rain got too heavy, but they
didn’t. The lights continued to glare and the wind continued to
blow and they left him there, cold and naked and shivering. Josh
cried that night, for the first time since he’d gotten to the
island. He was glad the rain at least hid his tears from the
camera.
It was still pouring on Friday morning when they finally
brought the shivering, soaking, mud-covered eleven-year-old
inside. Once all the restraints were removed, the matron marched
Joshua into the bathroom and allowed him fifteen minutes under a
luke-warm shower, under her constant and critical scrutiny.
“Get yourself clean, you filthy little animal,” she told
him as he stood under the water. She tossed him a small bottle of
the foul-smelling disinfectant soap. “Make sure you wash your
hair.”
Josh scrubbed his young body down with his hands, and ran
the green liquid soap through his already drenched hair. He was
extra careful this time to avoid touching his genitals.
“Wash your little butt,” the matron said sternly. “Don’t
you dare pull out that butt-plug.”
“Yyyyes, mmmma’am,” the pre-teen answered through
chattering teeth.
“And your feet . . . get between your toes . . .”
Josh thought it was totally humiliating having the matron
supervise his shower. After all, he was eleven-years-old now, old
enough to do this sort of thing himself. “I know how to do this,
ma’am,” he said as softly and respectfully as he could.
The matron smiled. She could plainly see the extreme
embarrassment on the boy’s face. “Don’t you sass me, young man,
or you can go right back outside.”
“No, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am,” Josh mumbled. He finished a few
minutes later and the matron turned off the water.
“Are you ready for me to scrub your genitals?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the boy sighed, stepping forward and
obediently spreading his legs, clasping his hands behind his
head.
The matron washed Josh’s cock and balls roughly with a
hard sponge, making sure her ministrations did not give the
eleven-year-old boy any pleasure. “I’ve never seen a penis so big
on a boy your age,” she said as she pulled back the foreskin on
his impressive four-inch long schlong, “and I’ve seen tons of
naked boys.” Before taking the job with XB1on Gladiator Island,
she’d worked at a slave-processing center in Oklahoma. The center
handled boys exclusively, and so her experience in controlling,
disciplining and humiliating them was extensive.
Josh experienced the beginnings of an erection, but a few
sharp flicks of the matron’s fingers on the tip of his
misbehaving penis got him soft again right away. With his
genitals now as clean as the rest of him, Josh was put back into
his chastity belt and led to his cell. The matron unlocked the
door and pushed him inside. “On your bunk. Everyone gets to sleep
late this morning. Your trainers want you all rested for
tomorrow.”
The boy sat down on his thin mattress and unrolled his
blanket. The tropical summer was ending, and the mornings on the
island were invariably wet and starting to become just a little
cool. Josh draped the blanket around his shoulders and crossed
his legs on the bunk. The door to his cell was closed. He could
hear it being locked. A little bit of early daylight came in
through the barred screen window. Across from him, David Brown
stirred and turned over.
“Hey, mate,” the fourteen-year-old said in a sleepy voice.
“Geez, you look like hell.”
“Thanks,” Josh replied. “I’m totally doomed.”
With all his demerits, Josh was almost one hundred points
behind Gabriel, the nearest boy ahead of him.
“Yeah,” David nodded, sitting up now and draping his long
hairless legs over the edge of his bunk. His penis was throbbing
inside the chastity cage, trying in vain to get hard. He was
learning to ignore it. There wasn’t anything he could do about it
anyway. “Even if we win every event tomorrow, you’ll probably
still end up last.”
“I don’t wanna find out what kind of punishments they
have.”
“Well, I bet you’re going to.”
“Thanks,” Josh said with a frown.
David stood up and put his arms over his head, stretching
his lean athletic frame. Josh couldn’t help but admire the older
boy’s body. David had a swimmer’s build, just like Chris, tight,
slender and muscular. Josh wondered who’d win in a head-to-head
race since they were both about the same age and size. The
eleven-year-old next fixed his gaze on David’s genitals, locked
away in the metal cage.
“Think your dick’s gonna start growing soon?” Josh asked
with smug sweetness.
David glared at him. The fourteen-year-old was keenly
aware that his younger partner was noticeably bigger in the cock
department, although he himself really had nothing to be ashamed
of. His cock was maybe a bit on the small side compared to the
other boys, but the truth was that all of the gladiators, except
for Miles and Danny, really sported cocks of average or far
better size for their respective ages. That was one of the
factors in their being selected to begin with. Eleven-year-old
Josh’s four-inch sausage was just a freak of nature, in David’s
humble opinion.
“Shut up, Josh. Mine’s just the right size for me. Yours
looks like a third leg or something.”
“Third leg!” Josh laughed. “That’s funny, David.”
“It’s true. Damn thing almost drags on the ground!”
Little Josh giggled again. “When its not locked inside
this belt,” he complained, pointing down at the leather straps
around his waist and the tightly fitted metal plate that
completely encased and covered his genitals.
“Yeah, you should thank them, mate, otherwise you’d be
tripping over it all the time.”
Josh smiled at his partner. The older boy could make him
laugh just like his brother did. David walked over to the window
and looked outside. The sun was starting to come up and a little
more light was filtering in to the always dim cell. The teen
pressed his nose to the screen so he could see better.
“Looks like it might rain some more,” he said. “It’s cool
out.”
“I didn’t think it was supposed to get cold here. We’re
like way south, right? Sorta like Florida.”
“It still gets cold sometimes, mate, especially in the
morning. Back home in Sydney we have cold weather just like you
guys do in the states.”
“Ever seen snow?” Josh asked.
“No. It never gets that cold.”
“Snow’s totally awesome. I’m gonna miss snow. My brother
totally pounds me with snowballs.”
David went back to his bunk and lay down. Josh followed
his example and did the same. “We should get more sleep, Josh,”
the older boy said. “We’re going to need it today.”
“I’ll bet.”
The two boys were asleep just a few moments later, David
snoring like a young man, Josh making the little noises and sighs
young boys do when deep in slumber.
It was mid-morning when the boy gladiators were awakened
to start their day. Having already had his shower, Josh was told
to sit quietly at the mess table while the rest of the boys were
in the bathroom. He could hear them shrieking and gasping for
breath as the icy cold water hit them. Then the water stopped and
he heard nothing but silence punctuated by the occasional sound
of a guard’s hand smacking a boy’s behind. Josh knew the boys
were all having their cocks and balls scrubbed down, no doubt as
roughly as his had been a few hours earlier. In fact his penis
still hurt from having the matron pull his foreskin back so fast
and so hard. At least it was keeping him from trying to have an
erection in the belt. The boy wiggled around on the stool, trying
to keep the plug in his butt from driving him crazy.
After a few minutes the boys all came out, still wet from
the shower, their chastity belts or cages hanging around their
necks in numbered cloth bags. Nine sets of hairless boy genitals
flopped around as the young slaves were marched over to the
table. In spite of the frigid showers, Chris, David, Gabriel and
Ian all had erections for which they would be receiving demerits
when their trainers arrived.
“Nobody eats ‘til those dicks are soft,” the matron told
them. She gave each of the offending boys’ penises a quick switch
with her riding crop. Ian and Gabe went soft almost immediately,
but Chris and David, older and with raging teenaged hormones
required several strokes before their boy-parts finally softened
to the woman’s satisfaction.
The food cart was wheeled in by two of the newly arrived
mule boys. Unlike the young gladiators, who went everywhere under
the strict supervision of their trainers, the mules were expected
and required to carry out their assigned tasks without escort of
guards or XB1 staff. All of them had been slaves since they were
very young and had, by now, been fully indoctrinated to their
lives of drudgery and servitude. That, along with the behavioral
control chips imbedded in the backs of their necks ensured
complete and total compliance at all times.
The gladiators all noticed the two new boys and wondered
who they were. One of the boys appeared to be about thirteen, the
other was older, fifteen or sixteen. They wore the short gray
slave tunic and were naked from the waist down.
“Who are those guys?” Gabriel asked aloud as his fellow
gladiators stared.
“Those two are mules,” the matron explained. “They’re
slaves.”
“Like us?” Ian Cloverdale asked.
“Not exactly. You’re all indentured. You’ll be freed, or
at least returned to your parents, when your indentures expire.
Those boys are slaves for the rest of their lives. You boys are
not to talk to them, or touch them, or anything else. They don’t
exist as far as you are concerned, got it?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the ten boy gladiators shouted in unison.
They lined up in numerical order and received their breakfast.
Always the biggest and best meal of the day. This morning it was
eggs, plain grits, juice, and a thick slice of specially
formulated nutrient loaf to give the boys the energy they needed
for a busy day on the island. The boys also were each given their
daily doses of the adrenal enhancement drugs along with the
still-experimental pills designed to accelerate the growth rate
and increase the size of their genitals. After just over one week
on the island, none of the boys had yet to show any visible signs
that the penile growth treatment was having an effect, but it
would take some time for the chemicals to saturate their bodies.
None of the boys were particularly hesitant about taking the
pills. The blue ones made them feel stronger and kept them from
tiring out, and the red ones, well what boy wouldn’t want a
bigger penis?
“I’ll take like ten of these right now,” Danny told the
others, swallowing the pill and getting a good laugh. “I need all
the help I can get.” The twelve-year-old had failed to notice
that his second pill was not red like the other boys got, but
purple. This was his third day on testroxil. Its effects would
start becoming apparent, to him and everyone else, by the end of
the week.
Once the boys finished breakfast, the trainers arrived and
called the young gladiators to attention in front of the
scoreboard. Their chastity belts and cages were put back on and
securely locked.
“Listen up, boys,” Jason addressed them. “The competition
starts tomorrow morning. Today we’re going to get you ready.
You’ll have your heads shaved and your numbers will be tattooed
on your butts. We’re also going to be implanting a little remote
electrode chip into your scrotums. Just like this one,” with a
pair of tweezers he held up a tiny silver metal square that
resembled an old-style computer chip only much smaller. “Its
called a behavior modification chip. If you misbehave during the
competition, your trainer can have the control booth give you a
nice little reminder. Trust me, you don’t want this little thing
being activated.”
The boys were all trembling when they heard this.
“Haircuts first.”
A large plastic tarp was laid on the barracks floor by the
guards and two stools were set up in the middle of it. Two sets
of electric clippers were brought out. Hannah and Michella were
happy to do the honors.
“Two lines, boys, five each, single file,” Michella said.
The boys scrambled around quietly and broke up in two
lines of five. Illya and Philippe ended up first in line and they
were the first to have to sit on the stools. The two ardent
feminists wasted no time shaving the teenaged boys’ heads,
leaving only a short stubble. Philippe liked to wear his hair
particularly long, so this was a deep and powerful humiliation
for him. Chris, Josh, Ian and Gabe were all going to lose their
shoulder-length locks as well. It took less than two minutes for
each boy to have his turn. In the end ten young boy slaves stood
around each other, rubbing their newly shorn heads.
The guards meanwhile had set up an area for tattooing the
boys’ numbers onto their behinds. Anthony, young Ian’s trainer,
would be performing the procedures. The boys were taken in
numerical order starting with little Miles. After much wincing
and quiet tears, the ten-year-old had his number ‘Boy 0-1’
permanently tattooed on the left side of his sweet little butt,
so that when he stood in profile it was plainly visible. One hour
later all of the boys were marked in the same way.
“They’ll be sore for a few days,” Anthony told the other
trainers as the rather shocked and bewildered boys stood
wide-eyed staring at the numbers displayed on each others’ hind
quarters.
The boys were put into their collars and shackles and
chained together in their pairs. Medical was their next stop, to
have the behavior modification chips implanted in their ball
sacks.
Doctor Trench and her young nurses took the boys two at a time
while the others waited in line and watched. David and Philippe
were the first to be strapped to the exam tables with their legs
spread wide in the stirrups. For the older boys there was no need
to remove the chastity cages, since their balls remained
accessible. Anna and Karen each had an injector gun in their
hands. David and Philippe stared at them in fear and writhed in
their bonds when the young woman pressed the injectors against
their hairless scrotums.
“Don’t move, boys,” Doctor Trench said. “You’ll feel a sharp
sting, but that’s all.”
With quick efficiency they implanted the micro-chips and
released the two eldest boys from the tables. It only took
fifteen minutes to get all the boys done. Miles, Josh, Ian and
Daniel all had to have their chastity belts removed in order for
the nurses to get access to their sacks. Once the chips were in
place, the belts went back on immediately.
“Stand at attention, boys,” Jason ordered. “We’re going to
test them now.” He then spoke into his portable radio. “Control,
initiate a level 1 shock to all units. Five second duration.”
Ten boys instantly shrieked and doubled over in agony.
Several of them ended up on the floor as the worse pain a boy can
feel coursed through their writhing bodies. It stared in their
balls and worked its way up through their abdomens and into their
stomachs. It seemed to be hardest on the older, more sexually
developed boys, all of whom were reduced to tears. Chris rolled
on the floor, clutching madly at his balls, trying to make it
stop. He wasn’t the only one.
“That was just an example, boys,” Jason explained as the
boys slowly regained their senses. “The lowest setting and the
shortest duration. We could go as high as level 10, but that
would probably destroy your testicles. Now get up. We need to get
you boys stretched and limber for tomorrow. Everyone back to the
barracks.”
The next three hours were spent in rigorous calisthenics
in the exercise area inside the barracks perimeter. The boys were
made to power their way through push-ups, sit-ups, jumping jacks,
stretches and sprints, all under the hot tropical sun. William
Durand stopped by, with young Trevor leashed behind him, to
observe their progress.
“They’re ready, sir,” Jason told him. “I assume the
welcoming party for our VIP’s is still scheduled for this
evening.”
“Absolutely,” the XB1 chief replied.
“Do you want the boys in uniform, or naked?”
“Start them in their uniforms,” Durand said thoughtfully.
“I’m sure they’ll all end up naked before the night is through.”
Overhead they could hear the sound of an airplane passing.
“That would be our first incoming flight. I should be
there to greet our guests. Come along, Trevor.” Durand gave Jason
a quick nod of approval and departed. The sweaty young boy
gladiators continued their arduous training, emitting an
appealing chorus of boyish grunts and groans, lean youthful limbs
straining, developing young muscles flexing. Soon they would be
performing for much larger audiences.
Chapter 21:
At the airport the first five VIP’s were disembarking from the
privately chartered flight. Durand (with a currently naked Trevor
in tow), Mitchell Harwell, Lara Tomlinsin and the show’s director
Mike Brussard were all in attendance to give them a proper
welcome.
First off the plane was a middle-aged woman in an expensive
business suit. Crawling behind her on his hands and knees was her
eight-year-old human pet. The boy was naked except for a large
silver collar with long sharp spikes running around the outside.
He wore a large muzzle gag, strapped tightly around his head and
locked in place with a heavy padlock. There was a leather leash
attached to his collar, the other end of which was presently in
his mistress’s hand. His own hands were encased in metal pods,
preventing him from using his fingers. His little penis was
pierced with a thick steel ring, which was connected to a thin
short two-inch chain that ran between his legs and attached to a
second mounting ring that pierced his perineum, just behind his
little ball sac. This arrangement ensured that the boy’s tiny
cocklet was held firmly down between his legs. The little boy was
plugged as well. The end of the large metal plug in his butt was
just visible if one stood behind him. It had a ring which was
also linked by a chain to the boy’s perineal piercing.
“Ophelia Winstrom,” Durand announced to the others. “President
of British Overseas Imports, and a member of parliament.”
The others all nodded, suitably impressed.
“Welcome, Mrs. Winstrom,” Durand said with a bow. “Your suite
has been prepared.”
“Excellent,” the woman replied in a cultured voice. “A beautiful
island you have.”
“Will you be needing a cage for the boy?” the XB1 chief
asked politely.
“That won’t be necessary. Spike here simply sleeps on the
floor.” She tugged gently at the chain attached to the little
boy’s collar.
Durand clapped his hands and one of the mules came forward
to take her bags and lead her off to her luxury suite, her naked
boy-pet crawling along obediently behind her.
Three more highly influential guests stepped off the
plane, two men and one woman, all of them still rather youthful
and fashionably dressed. Gladiator Island was going to be the
place to be seen by others, and it was clear these wealthy
twenty-somethings wanted to impress. It was also clear by their
easy demeanor that they all knew each other. They talked and
laughed and stopped to bask in the warm tropical sun. Each had a
boy with them. The lads were naked and all aged between nine and
eleven years. They were collared in matching leather with silver
studs, and large penis gags were stuffed into their mouths. The
boys were not wearing chastity belts, but each of them had their
hairless genitals adorned with a thick steel ring, which forced
their cocks and balls to jut out prominently from their slender
naked bodies. The ends of their neatly circumcised cocks were
each pierced with a large golden ring. One of the
eleven-year-olds sported quite a large penis, almost rivaling
young Joshua’s. The other two were perfectly average little boys
with perfectly average little dinks. All three of them had
erections at the moment. They walked rather gingerly behind their
masters and mistress, each with a rather large vibrating
butt-plug stuffed in his rectum.
“The Creightons,” Durand announced to the others.
“Brothers and sister. They own several private slave-processing
centers in Great Britain and Germany. They helped us find young
Harris and Shelton. Welcome, my friends,” he said extending his
hand to them.
They exchanged pleasantries for a few moments. “Keeping
them hard, I see?” Durand observed, letting his eyes roam
hungrily over the three pre-teen boys and their hard bobbing
cocks.
“Yes,” Bruce Creighton, the oldest sibling replied. “First
boy to lose his boner gets punished. Of course they’re not
allowed to touch themselves, and they’re never allowed to cum.”
“Quite a deliciously wicked contest,” Durand observed.
“We’re planning on having our young gladiators do something very
similar.”
“Excellent.”
Two more mules were summoned and between them, the two
fifteen-year-old boys carried away the Creightons’ luggage.
The last passenger off the plane was a distinguished
gentleman close in age to William Durand himself. He too had a
boy, a youth of thirteen very small for his age. He was wearing
shining black leather chastity shorts and had his arms bound
behind him in a matching lace-up bondage sheath. He was gagged
and collared and looked quite frightened and unhappy. The man
made no small talk, and barely acknowledged his hosts. The
youngest of the mules took his single bag and escorted him to his
suite.
“Who was that?” Mike Brussard asked.
“The gentleman has asked that his name not be given out
freely, Mike. Sorry,” Durand replied. “Suffice it to say he could
buy this entire island and our ten gladiators and still have
several billion to spare.”
Back in the barracks, the boys had been returned after
spending the entire afternoon exercising, stretching their lean
limbs and running laps around the hippodrome. The five oldest
boys had also spent more time harnessed and chained to the
chariots, pulling them around without drivers but with heavy lead
weights to provide proper strain and training for their
developing young muscles. The gladiators were tired, but the day
had been mild compared to what they had quickly become accustomed
to.
They were allowed to use the bathroom and showered again.
Then, for the first time in nearly two weeks they were given
clothes to wear. The metal boxes which contained their shoes and
their slave uniforms were brought in and unlocked by the
trainers. Once again Chris found himself in the short sleeveless
gray tunic which left his taut mid-section bare, the tight white
shorts, which clearly showed the outlines of his metal chastity
cage, and the white athletic shoes on his feet. It felt weird to
be wearing clothes again. He’d gotten used to being naked all
time. These particular clothes however hardly made him happy.
They were intended to be humiliating and they certainly were. All
the other boys were similarly dressed.
“We have special guests on the island tonight, boys,”
Jason told them after they’d lined up, hands on heads. “They will
be watching the first day of competition tomorrow, but they’ll be
meeting you up close and personal this evening. XB1 is hosting a
reception for them and you boys are going to be serving the food
and drinks. You will not speak unless you are spoken to directly.
You will be polite. Our guests are free to examine your bodies
and touch you in any way they wish. Your chastity devices will be
removed once the reception starts. You are absolutely forbidden
to cum, no matter how often your dicks are played with.”
Nervous glances passed between the boys. All of them had
been milked at the start of the week, but boys are boys and they
were all desperate to have a good cum, even the pre-pubescent
ones were eager for their dry orgasms.
“I’m gonna shoot all over the place if someone touches my
dick, even for just like two seconds, even with this plug thing
stuck inside it,” Chris whispered to Philippe who stood next to
him. The fourteen-year-old French teen nodded somberly. His cock
was already aching for release.
Two more flights landed in the late afternoon, bringing
more visitors to the island. By the time the sun went down there
were twenty-five individuals gathered for the reception in the
main arena. The remaining spectators would arrive early in the
morning, but the special VIPs would be given considerably more
access to the island and the boys.
The floor of the arena was set up with several tables,
luxurious couches, arm-chairs and numerous serving stations for
the use and enjoyment of the guests who had filtered in at their
leisure and were now mingling freely. Down below, the boys all
stood with their shorts around their ankles as their chastity
devices were removed. Chris’ penis plug was removed too, just for
this special occasion, ending the young boy’s worries about what
might happen if he accidentally had an orgasm with the thing
still in his dick. Their butt-plugs remained in place.
“Pull your pants up,” they were then told and did so
immediately.
The tight white shorts revealed strong boyish erections.
Even ten-year-old Miles and the normally flaccid Daniel were
sporting eager little boners in their pants.
“Remember, boys,” Jason warned them sternly. “You are not
allowed to cum. If you think you’re going to, you have to
announce it to everyone. ‘I’m cumming’ is what we want you to
say. You’ll get punished either way, but if you don’t say it,
your punishment will be even worse. When you get up to the arena,
grab a tray of food and take it around to our guests. When it is
empty, come back to the main table. They can touch you any place
on your body. If they want you to take your shorts off, you will.
The only part of you that’s off limits is your butts. You’re all
plugged and you’ll all stay that way. They have to pay extra if
they want to fuck you.”
All the boys were quiet and a little scarred. The thought
of all these strangers touching them made the young slaves very
nervous.
“Get upstairs and grab a tray. You will be polite and
obedient at all times!”
The ten boys ran up the set of stairs marked ‘BOYS’ and
came out onto the floor of the arena. The assembled guests all
stopped and applauded their arrival, almost all of them staring
hungrily at the scantily-clad slave boys.
With his six-inch boner still straining in his shorts,
Chris picked up a tray of appetizers and began to work through
the crowd. Josh, with his oversized penis currently very hard,
stuck close to his older brother and followed him around. It
wasn’t long before the hands of the guests began to casually find
their way to the boys’ butts, and legs and abdomens.
“What’s this?” one woman asked playfully as she squeezed
eleven-year-old Joshua’s penis through his shorts.
“That’s my penis, ma’am,” the boy answered innocently.
The woman smiled indulgently. “Of course it is, you silly
boy. But why is it so hard? Boy’s penises aren’t supposed to be
hard, are they?”
“No, ma’am.”
“You’re being naughty then.”
“Y . . . yes, ma’am, I guess, ma’am.”
She gave him several hard swats to his backside. “Next
time you come round, I expect that thing to be soft.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Josh said blushing and scurrying away as
fast as he could, once again finding his brother.
“She touched my dick,” Josh whispered to Chris. It still
hadn’t quite sunk in that his private parts were now and for the
next five years going to be quite public.
“Yeah, she touched mine too,” Chris replied. “Let’s fill
up our trays.”
As the reception continued, the boys found themselves more
and more the center of attention. Those of the guests who kept
slave boys of their own had brought them along, but they were
largely ignored in favor of the ten fresh young newly indentured
athletic boys who tomorrow would be competing against one another
in a variety of difficult and painful contests. Ophelia Winstrom
had brought her eight-year-old boy-pet Spike with her, but had
left him chained to one of the many iron rings in the low walls
that surrounded the arena floor. The three nameless boys
belonging to the Creighton siblings were similarly tethered, all
of them once again sporting throbbing erections.
The gladiators themselves continued to offer food and
drink, wearing considerably less than they had when the evening
had started. All of them had by now lost their shoes and were
walking around nude from the waist down. Illya, Josh, David and
Daniel had also lost their short gray tunics leaving them
completely naked with only their iron slave collars around their
necks.
Chris was currently having his hard cock fondled by two
men as he held a tray of champagne flutes in his trembling hands.
The thirteen-year-old was biting his lip. He was so horny after
being kept in chastity for so long that even the humiliation of
being used like this did nothing to stifle his raging young teen
hormones. It felt so good having his penis stroked. His cock was
drooling pre-cum now. It had been leaking for most of the
evening, but the two gay partners were presently and expertly
milking a constant stream of clear fluid from the young boy’s
eager six-inch boner. One of the men then took Chris’ balls
firmly in his hand and gave them a good squeeze.
“Oohhh,” the boy moaned, nearly dropping his serving tray.
“Little fuck likes that,” the man said to his counterpart
who was still slowly, teasingly jerking the boy off.
Chris knew he was about to lose it. There was nothing he
could do to stop it. He felt his balls drawing up in the man's
hands. His cock got even harder. The thirteen-year-old knew he
was going to cum. He let out a soft wail and gasped as his orgasm
hit him.
“I’m cumming!” he said weakly, remembering just in time
the orders Jason had given them. No sooner had the words escaped
his lips than his cock erupted in powerful jets of pent-up
boy-cum. “Oh, mmmmm,” he sighed, licking his lips and staring
dreamily at the two men who had made him feel so good.
“Rather enjoying yourself, aren’t you boy?”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“You will be. Now get down there and lick up your mess,
you filthy little slave.”
By now Chris had already preformed this embarrassing task
on numerous occasions. Not that repetition really made things any
easier. He set the tray aside and dropped to his hands and knees,
lapping up his spent seed as the two men stood over him. Chris
suddenly felt a booted foot pressing against the end of the plug
in his butt, pushing it a little further inside him. He let out a
high-pitched groan, which seemed to please his tormentors. He was
not allowed to get up and resume his serving duties until the two
men had inspected the floor. The boy’s own cum was on his lips
and running down his chin, but he was not allowed to wipe it off.
“Let everyone see what a shameless little slut you are,”
they told him as they sent him on his way. Chris would end up
cumming two more times before the reception ended. And he
certainly wasn’t alone. Seven of the boy gladiators were capable
of some sort of ejaculation and all of them had done so at least
once. Even Daniel had managed to squirt out a few drops of clear
fluid. For their part, the three youngest boys, Josh, Ian, and
Miles had all experienced numerous shattering dry orgasms
throughout the evening, and had been walking around with stiff
boy-cocks ever since their chastity belts were removed.
Eleven-year-old Ian was actually capable of ejaculating a meager
amount of clear seminal fluid from his four-inch long boner, but
he was quickly recharged and ready for another one. The older
lads would experience brief periods when their dicks went soft,
but the skilled hands of the grown-ups at this gathering had kept
them in a state of near constant arousal.
The sounds of ten young voices shouting out an alluring
chorus of “I’m cumming!” had become quite common.
“Before you all return to your suites,” William Durand
announced to his special guests as the party winded down, “I
believe you would all enjoy helping us punish these ten naughty
boys for having orgasms.”
Eager murmurs of agreement filled the arena. The ten boy
gladiators, all of them now with soft flaccid cocks and worried
expressions stood silently in the center of the arena floor,
wondering just what punishments were awaiting them.
An odd-looking machine was rolled in by three of the
trainers. It had a sturdy metal frame with a thick padded bar in
the very center. Leather restraints were attached to the corners
of the frame. Mounted to one side was an adjustable robotic arm
with a rather frightening and very large metal paddle at the end.
There was a separate console with various controls and a large
number of wires for attachment to the frame and to the body of
the boy who would be occupying it.
“Gentlemen, and Ladies,” Durand said with a smile, “let me
introduce you to the BoySpank 350-C, the latest in automated
discipline for misbehaving slave boys. This particular model is
sized for young men aged ten to sixteen. This evening marks its
debut performance.”
It was a contraption meant to inflict pain, a lot of it,
with no hope of escape or mercy until the pre-programmed routine
had run its course. None of the boy slaves had experienced or
even seen a real spanking machine before, and they all stared at
it in dumbstruck horror.
“Now, let’s give these boys some nice crimson behinds,
shall we?” Durand asked to the delighted applause of his guests.
Ten-year-old Miles was the first boy to be strapped to the
frame of the spanking machine. Once his wrists and ankles were
secured and his abdomen pressed against the support bar, the
upper frame of the machine slowly bent downwards, bending Miles
with it. When it finally reached its locked position, the boy was
bent double, his little butt displayed in its most vulnerable
position. Between his widely spread legs, his tiny ball sack
could be seen, two little immature marbles dangling inside it.
His barely two-inch cocklet was hard again, pointing towards his
stomach.
“The machine can be programmed based on the boy’s age,
weight, and the desired level of punishment. There are a variety
of disciplinary implements that can be attached to the arm. The
paddle is the default and comes as standard equipment from the
factory.”
The factory which happened to be a fully owned subsidiary
of Extreme Action Broadcasting. Several years ago, Durand had
decided to diversify the business and get into the ever-growing
market for the production and sale of disciplinary and behavior
modification devices for boy slaves, public and private. The new
spanking machine was sure to be a big seller worldwide. He
continued his overview of the machine’s abilities.
“The robotic arm is fully articulated and can aim and
deliver correction to several areas of the boy’s body. His
behind, the backs of his thighs, his shoulders. There is a
special flagellating attachment for striking the boy’s perineum
and his ball sack, although as you can see Zero-One’s little
balls present a rather small target. We’ll be demonstrating that
feature on one of the older boys. That not withstanding, Zero-One
here had six orgasms tonight, so I believe a rather severe
reminder is in order.”
The assembled guests all murmured their enthusiastic
agreement.
Durand worked the controls himself. There was a mechanical
buzzing sound, and then the robotic arm with the ominous paddle
swung into motion with surprising speed. There was a loud ‘crack’
as the paddle landed squarely on the ten-year-old’s behind.
Miles screamed and his entire body shook. The violence of
the blow would have knocked him off his feet if he hadn’t been
bound to the frame. The BoySpank 350 went through a cycle of
fifteen rapid strokes, pausing just enough to allow the full
force of the blow to sink in before the next one fell. Miles
continued to shout and writhe against the frame, each stroke
eliciting a new round of pathetic shrieks from the little boy.
When the arm pulled back to its resting position, the boy’s butt
was a dark red and copious tears were streaming from his eyes.
All the other boys looked on in quiet trembling dread, knowing
they would each be getting a turn as a victim of the merciless
machine.
Chris, David and Illya had ejaculated three times each,
and so they were made to wait until last to receive their
punishments. As the youngest of this unfortunate trio, Chris was
the first to be strapped to the frame. Once his wrists and ankles
were secured, and the support bar adjusted to the level of his
waist, the machine quickly bent him over. In this humiliating
position his plugged rear-end was embarrassingly exposed. The
doubled over as he was, the boy could see his cock and balls
dangling between his legs. His dick was half-hard, much to his
dismay.
‘Not again!’ he thought. ‘Why does it keep doing that?’
“As you can see,” William Durand was speaking to his
guests, “Zero-Seven has rather large testicles for a boy his
age.” By now everyone was well aware of young Christopher’s more
than adequate endowment, and all of the guests had personally
held those particular jewels in their hands at some point during
the evening. “No doubt this explains his shameful behavior this
evening. He’ll be receiving addition correction with the
flagellating attachment . . . after the standard punishment is
administered.”
Chris didn’t know what flagellating meant, but he knew
from Durand’s previous explanations that he was going to have his
balls hit. Having watched seven other boys reduced to shrieking
tears by the machine, he was suddenly gripped with fear. He
tensed and squirmed in his bonds, but the metal frame held him
motionless and helpless. “Please, sir, don’t hit my balls!” he
begged. “I’ll be good from now on, I swear!”
“Boy, you’ve just added to your punishment by speaking
without permission. The only sounds we should hear from you for
next few minutes are the sounds of you crying.”
Durand programmed the machine, changing the parameters to
account for the thirteen-year-old’s height, weight and general
stage of physical development. “Zero-Seven has been assigned a
level five correction cycle. He will be receiving fifty strokes
on his behind, followed by ten strokes with the flagellator, five
of which will be administered to his testicles.”
‘Oohs’ and ‘aaahs’, and nods of eager approval went around
the room, all that is except from the nine boy gladiators who
were standing with their hands clasped obediently behind their
heads, looking on in muted terror. Seven of them already had
flaming crimson backsides to show for their unauthorized orgasms.
David and Illya watched with particular dread on their young
faces. They knew they would be receiving identical punishments to
the one Chris was about to endure.
The machine emitted a short buzzing sound, indicating it
was ready to deliver the programmed punishment to the misbehaving
slave boy. Durand pressed the flashing start button, and as the
gathered VIPs had witnessed previously, the robotic arm swung
gracefully into motion. Bound to the frame and bent over with his
head down towards the floor, Chris could not see the arm moving
and positioning itself, nor could he hear it, since its smooth
motions were virtually silent. What he did hear was a sudden
whoosh as the paddle mounted on the end of the arm cut rapidly
through the air. Two sounds then occurred almost simultaneously.
First was the sound of the expertly crafted aluminum paddle
making contact with the thirteen-year-old boy’s rear end. The
second, which followed about a half-second later, was the
thirteen-year-old boy’s voice screeching in agony.
It took five minutes for the machine to complete the first
stage of the program. By the end, Chris was sobbing and mucous
was running from his nose. His adolescent voice was nearly hoarse
from screaming, but he still managed to let out a few weak cries
and whimpers as the final strokes were delivered to his now
flaming behind, which was already bruised and turning a deep
shade of purple.
Watching with enthusiastic eyes, Ophelia Winstrom pulled
her naked eight-year-old boy-pet Spike closer on his leash. “You
be a good little pup, or I’ll be purchasing one of these machines
for you.”
The little boy’s brown eyes watered and he nodded his head
rapidly to indicate he would be on his best behavior. Spike had
remained on his hands and knees all evening. In fact no one,
since Lady Winstrom’s arrival, had seen the boy standing on his
feet. He went on all fours, his hands locked in a pair of metal
mitts, wherever his mistress led him, his little cock held
permanently down between his legs by the golden chastity ring
which was attached with a thin chain to the end of his butt-plug.
No one could recall hearing him speak either. But as the boy was
strictly forbidden to walk and talk, and had not done either in
almost two years, it should have been no surprise.
“And now for the final ten strokes,” Durand announced.
Jason himself changed the attachments at the end of the robotic
arm and signaled that all was ready. He stopped and whispered
briefly into Chris’ right ear.
“This is really going to hurt, Chris,” he said, perhaps
hinting at tiny bit of sympathy. “Don’t try to be brave. Just
scream. That’s what everyone wants to hear.”
Chris didn’t think he had much screaming left in him, but
the buzzing of the machine followed instantly by the sound of the
leather straps of the flagellator flying through the air and
landing directly on his dangling hairless scrotum proved him
wrong. His voice broke and cracked and he let out a high-pitched
wail.
The straps made an ominous, and to Chris terrifying sound,
as they swished through the air. The second stroke landed on the
boy’s smooth and perfectly hairless perineum, causing the young
teen’s cock to swell a bit, in spite of the pain in his balls.
The machine continued delivering alternating strokes with the
small leather whip, one to set the boy’s testicles swinging and
make him cry out in agony, the other a few seconds latter, with
less force, applied to that sensitive area of skin between the
boy’s anus and scrotum.
Chris’ brain was on fire at this point. His balls ached so
bad, and yet every time that damn whip hit him in that other spot
(he had already forgotten what Durand had called it. At thirteen,
his knowledge of his anatomy pretty much ended at his dick and
balls.) his penis got a little bit harder. By the end he had a
full erection throbbing between his legs for everyone to see.
“Apparently he hasn’t quite learned his lesson yet,” one
of the Creighton siblings laughed, referring to the
thirteen-year-old’s erection. His own eleven-year-old slave boy
was presently on his knees sucking on his master’s cock, his soft
little dick hanging ignored and rather useless between his thin
legs. This particular lad had won the contest among the siblings
three slave boys to see who could keep his dick hard the longest.
His reward, of course, was a harsh whipping for having an
erection in the first place.
The machine buzzed again and the metal frame righted
itself, moving a teary eyed and humiliated Chris into a standing
position. Jason released him from the restraints and gave him the
same instruction the other boys had received.
“No rubbing your butt. Hands behind your head.” Jason then
worked the boy back into his chastity device, forcing the metal
cage over the thirteen-year-old’s semi-erect penis. The biting of
the metal spikes quickly softened the misbehaving teenaged dick.
Chris noticed he was the only boy currently being forced to wear
the device. As further humiliation, Jason put the silver penis
plug back into the thirteen-year-old’s dick, right there in front
of everybody. Chris ears went red with embarrassment. Josh moved
next to him, his soft almost four-inch long penis swinging freely
between his legs. He giggled quietly and nudged his older brother
in the ribs.
“Looks like you messed up bad, bro,” the eleven-year-old
said.
“Yeah,” Chris whispered, remembering that they weren’t
supposed to talk without permission. “My balls felt like they
were gonna explode.”
“That would suck!”
“Totally.”
The two brothers stayed close together and watched as
Illya and finally David received their punishments. David, as the
oldest boy, was given the harshest sentence. Seventy-five strokes
of the paddle and fifteen with the flagellator, all delivered to
his balls. He collapsed on the floor the instant he was released,
clutching his hands between his legs and crying like a little
boy.
With that the reception came to a close and the VIPs all
returned to their luxurious suites. The young gladiators were
marched back to their barracks, Chris and Illya helping poor
David who was still in too much pain to walk on his own. The
mules in their gray tunics and naked from the waist down were
brought in to clean up the arena, the young slave boy laborers
silently and obediently going about their arduous tasks, always
with distant blank looks on their sad young faces. The first day
of competition was now less than twelve hours away.
Chapter 22:
None of the boys slept much that night. All of them were nervous
about the start of the competitions. They had no idea what they’d
be forced to do, only that a large audience would be watching
them do it and that they’d be doing it mostly naked. Locked in
their cells, the boys sat up on their bunks or stood at the
barred windows looking outside. A late night thunderstorm rolled
through as they talked to their partners or tried to relax.
It wouldn’t be inaccurate to say the boys were excited. Scared,
certainly, but excited. This was, after all, why they had been
brought here. After tomorrow, they would officially be Boy
Gladiators, and TV stars on top of it.
Josh leaned back against the wall and ran his hands
absent-mindedly over the metal plate that covered his genitals.
There was no possible way he could even begin to pleasure
himself. He could barely feel the pressure of his hand through
the perfectly shaped and tightly fitted metal, and he really
wasn’t even aware he was doing it.
“Stop playing with yourself,” David laughed from his bunk.
“Not funny, David,” Josh snipped back. He crossed his legs and
rested his hands on his thighs.
“Hey, I’m in the same mess, mate.”
“Yeah, but at least you can still see yours. This thing makes me
feel like I don’t have nothin’ down there, you know.”
David stared at him with a certain look of jealously in his
eyes. “You’ve got plenty down there, kid, don’t worry.”
Josh giggled and the two boys gradually steered their
conversation away from their imprisoned genitals and back to the
upcoming contests. They were trying to work out strategies for
the team events.
“What if we end up against each other?” Josh asked.
“Then I’ve got to beat you, Josh,” David answered without
hesitation. “I’ll look out for you as long as it ain’t gonna cost
me points. If it does, you’re on your own, got it.”
“Yeah,” Josh replied, a little dejected, but not exactly upset.
“I guess that’s fair. I’ll try to beat you too, if I get a
chance.”
“Good. We’re here to win. That’s what I’m planning on doing.”
Josh smiled. He was happy David was his partner. Having the
oldest boy as his teammate gave him definite advantages. He
thought about Chris. He’d be competing against him, every time,
all the time. That made him feel a little sad, but he already
knew Chris wasn’t going to show him any mercy, so he vowed he
wouldn’t either. The problem was Chris always beat him at
everything. Josh spent the next few hours thinking hard about
ways he might defeat his brother. He didn’t end up with much to
show for his efforts.
In the other four cells, similar strategic discussions were
going on, each pair of boys talking quietly and trying to guess
which events they’d be forced to participate in tomorrow. During
their first two weeks on the island, they’d all practiced a
variety of competitions under the watchful eyes of their
trainers, but none of them had any clue what the morning would
bring.
Finally, with about two hours to go before dawn, the last of the
boys managed to fall asleep. The night guards checked on them,
quietly opening the cell doors and inspecting the slaves with a
flashlight. Ten naked boys lay on their bunks, curled up on their
sides or flat on their backs or on their stomachs with their cute
bare rear ends on display. None of them awakened and their cell
doors were slowly closed again.
Bathroom, showers and breakfast were all hurried affairs the
next morning. The boys were still eating when their trainers
arrived.
“Five minutes!” the adults shouted at the boys. “Toes on the
line!”
The boys scarfed down their powdered eggs and stuffed the last
pieces of toast into their mouths. All of them were standing with
their toes on the red line painted on the floor, just in front of
the scoreboard. They no longer needed to be told to assume the
proper position. Ten young boys stood in just their chastity
devices, legs spread and hands clasped behind their heads. They
were collared, shackled and chained together at their necks, this
time all ten of them in a single-file line. It marked the first
time the boy gladiators had been bound this way. It would become
the standard for their entry into the arena on days when a live
audience would be watching.
The boys were marched out of the barracks and made to run
toward the arena. Miles, Josh and Ian, the three youngest and
shortest boys were at the back of the line and stumbled often as
the older boys up front dragged them forward.
Outside the morning was bright and already warm. The air was
still today and the boys were already sweaty when they reached
the holding area beneath the arena floor. They could hear the
noise of the crowd above. The live televised debut of Worldwide
Boy Gladiators would be airing that night, but the official
competition would be starting in a few minutes, recorded on
tape-delay for later viewing and immediately available as a live
download on the internet.
In the holding area, the trainers made the final preparations on
their young charges. Their chastity devices were removed and
immediately replaced with thick leather pouches held in place by
wide belts around their slim waists. The pouches served to
accentuate their boyish packages, particularly the more
well-endowed boys, but the leather would do little to protect
their precious genitals once the competition began, quite the
opposite as they were designed to push the boys’ balls forward.
The plugs in the boys’ butts remained in place.
“When you are wearing your pouches,” Jason explained, “you will
not be punished if you have an accidental erection. You will be
punished severely if you touch your genitals. Removal of your
chastity devices does not give you boys permission play with
yourselves. Are we clear on that point?”
“Yes, sir,” the ten boys answered together.
“Alright. Things get a lot more interesting starting now. Get up
there!”
Still chained together, the boys ran up the ramp and out onto
the arena floor. Flash bulbs went off all around them. Loud
cheers rose from the crowd, followed almost immediately by a
shower of lewd and suggestive comments, some of which the boys
could hear, most of which were lost in the cacophony of five
hundred eager spectators.
The arena, which had looked big enough when it was empty, now
seemed enormous to the ten scantily-clad boys. They marched to
the very center of the floor, as they’d been trained to do and
saluted the audience. Standing perfectly straight, knees pressed
together, heads up, eyes forward.
“We who are about to compete salute you!” they shouted in
unison, their varied boyish voices reciting the first of the
lines they’d been forced to memorize over the past week. “We
suffer for you! We fight for your enjoyment! Our pain is your
pleasure! We are Boy Gladiators!”
All of them had thought these lines ridiculously corny when they
were first made to say them. Not one of them had gotten through
it the first time without breaking up laughing. However, now,
standing in the arena, with the wild ravenous eyes and merciless
shouts of the audience all around them, the words suddenly had a
very real meaning.
The trainers next appeared from their separate entrance and
removed the chains that bound the ten young gladiators together.
The boys were then each introduced, not just to the live
audience, but to billions of viewers all over the world. They
were called by number only and stepped forward one by one.
Under Mike Brussard’s direction, the camera teams moved in
to get close-up shots of each boy as his number, age and vital
statistics were announced over the public address system.
“There’s Josh,” Lindsay Andrews said as she and Matt sat
in the family room watching the premiere of the show. “Oh my god,
they shaved his head . . . “
The boys’ father nodded. “But he looks good, Lin. Strong
little guy, isn’t he? He’ll be a winner.” Matthew chose not to
mention that he’d noticed how full the boy’s leather pouch was,
and how large the contents hidden beneath it appeared to be.
‘Chip off the old block,’ he thought smugly, proud of his
youngest son’s exceptionally large genitals.
Lindsay stared at him. She had never been entirely happy
at her husband’s relaxed attitude about the fact that they had
essentially sold both of their sons into slavery. “I don’t want
to think about what will happen to him if he loses.” Her reaction
when Chris was introduced was a little more subdued. She didn’t
worry quite so much about her teenaged son. And he had signed up
willingly.
Matthew was impressed at his oldest son’s appearance. He
looked brave and determined. Matthew also chose not to mention
that he’d placed some rather large bets on Chris’ performance
over the next few weeks. His wife simply would not understand.
Some things were best left unspoken.
The boys had all been introduced, their pictures and
stats, all in flashy graphics up on the big view screen and on
televisions all across the world. William Durand, from his luxury
box in the first row, stood up and officially welcomed the crowd.
Young Trevor was chained to his master’s chair and would be
forced to stand for the entire event. He was wearing a bright
blue speedo today, and his hair had been freshly trimmed and
styled, long locks flowing down his smooth slender neck and
resting upon his shoulders. He was, more than anything, a status
symbol, and Durand wanted everyone to get a good look at him.
After a few brief words of welcome, Durand opened the
competition. “We will start Worldwide Boy Gladiators with a
traditional sport practiced by the gladiators of ancient times.
Favored among the Greeks and Romans for keeping young boys fit
and disciplined.”
The trainers all approached their boys and proceeded to
rub oil over their skin until the ten lads were glistening in the
bright lights. The gentle rubbing and massaging had another side
effect as most of the boys now sported nice hard erections
constrained within their leather pouches. The cameras were quick
to notice this and roars of approval went up from the crowd as
the images were flashed onto the big screen.
“Looks like both our boys our enjoying themselves, Lin,”
Matthew Andrews said, noting the large and obvious swellings
between his sons’ legs.
“They most certainly are not!” the boys’ mother snapped
back. “Honestly, Matt, sometimes I wonder why I married you.
Those are your sons, and you’re talking about them like they’re
animals or . . . “
“Or slaves, Lin. That’s what they are. For now. Sit back
and enjoy the show. Let’s watch our boys kick ass.”
Wrestling, was, of course, the sport to which William
Durand inferred. The boys were randomly paired by the computer in
the control booth and immediately all ten of them were grappling
their opponents, or trying to. It was difficult to get any kind
of grip with their bare bodies slick from the oils. Three pins
were required for a match victory, and each boy was allowed to
lose two matches before being eliminated.
Not surprisingly, the three most experienced wrestlers,
Daniel, Alexei and Josh, quickly made their skills and agility
apparent. Josh got three pins against eleven-year-old Ian in less
than fifteen minutes. He and Ian had to wait until the others
were finished before they found out who they’d be wrestling next.
Both of them were led to the five-foot high wall that surrounded
the arena and chained by their collars to iron rings embedded
there for just this purpose.
Daniel struggled at first against Illya, who though not
the oldest was the tallest and heaviest of the boys, a foot
taller than twelve-year-old Danny and almost twenty pounds
heavier. If Illya had chosen to, he probably could have simply
sat on the younger boy’s chest and held him down, but the young
Russian had an inconvenient sense of fairness that wouldn’t allow
him to do it, not to mention a trainer who was also his older
brother who would have surely beaten him senseless. Danny won his
first match and pumped his fist excitedly, drawing great fanfare
from the audience.
Alexei dispatched Gabriel Shelton with relative ease in a
battle of two twelve-year-olds.
Round by round the matches continued. Miles, Ian, Philippe
and David were the first four to be eliminated. They would spend
the rest of the competition chained to the arena wall, looking on
and enduring the jeers and lewd comments of the spectators
immediately above them. Poor David had beer spilled over his
head, or more likely poured. It burned his eyes, but it tasted
rather good as it dribbled past his lips.
The matches continued until four boys were left. Josh,
Alexei, Chris and Danny. Christopher was rather pleased with
himself, being the only non-wrestler to make it this far. The
three younger boys, all with more wrestling medals than they
could count nudged him playfully in congratulations, each of them
also secretly hoping he’d be their next opponent. He had the
advantage of size and strength, but compared to the three young
sinewy grapplers he was clumsy and slow.
“Single elimination begins now,” the voice of the
announcer rang out over the crowd. “Boy Zero-Two is undefeated.
He gets the honor of choosing his next opponent.”
Josh didn’t have to think about it for even a second. He
pointed at his older brother. Chris sneered at him.
“You had help last time, little brother,” the young
teenager said, full of energy and testosterone. “You are so going
down!”
“Bite me, Chris!”
The brothers didn’t even wait for the whistle to blow or
their trainers to get in position to referee the match. They had
to be pulled apart and made to wait until the show came back from
a commercial break before they could settle things. Like most
serious athletes, the two boys achieved a certain high from
competition, and standing around waiting to kick your brother’s
butt was strictly no fun.
“Come on, come ooonn,” Josh whined, wondering when Hannah
would release her strong grip on his shoulders. Finally the
director signaled they were back on the air. Hannah set her
little gladiator loose with a swift smack on his rump.
Josh and Chris rushed toward each other, and locked arms.
Chris was big enough to man-handle (or boy-handle) his brother
rather easily under normal circumstances, but the eleven-year-old
was so charged up, and still so slippery from the oil, that Chris
wasn’t able to get a solid grasp on the four-and-one-half foot
tall boy. Josh dropped low and wrapped his arms around Chris’
legs. With a swift move, he knocked the young teen off balance.
Chris landed hard on his butt and let out a loud curse. No way he
was letting his little brother beat him. Narrowly escaping a pin,
Chris kicked out from under Josh’s body and got his hands around
the smaller boy’s narrow waist. He had the leverage he needed now
and quickly flipped Josh onto his back.
Jason and Hannah both agreed it was a pin and blew their
whistles. The Andrews brothers were quickly on their feet again.
It took three pins to win. Josh was pissed. The boys grappled
again, grunting and groaning and struggling with each other. They
didn’t say a word.
Alexei and Daniel meanwhile were putting on an equally
hard-fought match. The cheering of the crowds grew louder as the
pins began to mount.
“Pin,” the announcer called out as Daniel put Alexei on
the ground for the third time. “Match to Zero-Five.”
Daniel jumped up and pumped his fist at the crowd,
enjoying the thrill of victory and the applause of the audience.
For a moment he completely forgot that he was standing there in
an iron slave collar, wearing only a rather less-than-modest
leather pouch over his genitals.
“Pin,” the announcer called again a scant second later.
The crowd fell hushed and waited the results. “Match to
Zero-Two.”
More loud calls of approval from the spectators as Josh
rose victorious and stood straddling over his brother’s middle.
“Gotcha again, big brother,” he said with a smug look on
his young face.
Chris was mad about losing, but he knew there was nothing
he could do about it. He crawled out from under his gloating
brother and presented himself to Jason to be chained to the wall
with the other boys who’d already been eliminated.
Josh and Daniel now stood toe to toe, ready to fight it
out. Another commercial break gave their trainers a few minutes
to water them and spray some antiseptic on their skinned knees
and elbows. Once the show resumed, the two boys were marched to
the center of the arena. There the leather pouches were removed.
They would be fighting the final match stark naked.
As a consequence of their exertions and excitement, both
Josh and Daniel sported firm erections. Josh, with nearly six
inches of hard cock jutting out from his small eleven-year-old
body, and twelve-year-old Daniel, with his small barely
three-inch boner calling attention to itself by throbbing
insistently as he stood there. Daniel had as yet not been told
that the drugs they were making him take would very shortly put a
permanent end to his erections. Already he was suspicious that
his pathetic little dick was getting even smaller, but he’d
convinced himself he was just being paranoid.
Leather straps were wrapped tight and buckled around their
respective genitals, ensuring both boys maintained their
erections for the duration of the match. The crowd roared its
approval and flash bulbs went off everywhere. Josh’s almost
comically large penis was a particular hit with the audience.
The two boys went at it immediately as the camera’s moved
in to get the closest shots possible without interfering with the
match. Neither Josh nor Daniel were even aware of the cameramen
hovering around them, covering their battle from all angles.
Evenly matched, their contest went back and forth for nearly
fifteen minutes. Rolling around on the ground together, their
hard penises were being subjected to constant stimulation.
‘Oh no! Not now!’ Josh felt an orgasm building and
promptly had one, gasping and thrashing around madly as his cock
surged with a powerful dry cum. His moment of ecstasy cost him
dearly, as Daniel quickly pinned the younger boy’s shoulders.
The cameras, of course, captured every second of Josh’s
climax and replayed it in slow motion. The crowd shouted and
cheered, all thrilled to witness a young boy experiencing a
shattering dry orgasm, watching him thrust his hips desperately
for a release that was still impossible for the pre-pubescent boy
to achieve. Best of all, or worst of all for Josh, the he
maintained a stiffy even after his wild gyrations had ceased.
“You gotta learn to control that thing,” Daniel smirked as
Josh struggled back to his feet.
“Shut up and wrestle, limp dick!” Josh snapped back,
charging forward and wrapping his arms around Danny’s middle.
In the end it was Josh who was victorious. He managed to
avoid any further dry cums, even though his penis remained rock
hard the entire time. Danny was, probably, the better wrestler,
but Josh, starting the day in last place, was far more motivated.
He pinned the young red-head for the third time, but was too
exhausted to do much celebrating. All totaled he had wrestled
eight of the boys and beaten them all. He rolled off of Danny and
lay there on his back, panting and sore, his erection pointing up
toward his belly button.
“Victory!” the announcer called. “Boy Zero-Two.”
The crowd applauded.
Hannah quickly approached and stood over the prone boy.
“Get your little ass up. Acknowledge the crowd and give the
camera a big smile. Come on.”
Josh got to his feet and bowed to the crowd as he’d been
trained. He flashed the required smile to the cameraman.
“Jerk yourself off until you have another cum,” his
trainer told him.
Josh just stared at her. It was bad enough having one by
accident in front of everyone, and all those cameras. No way he
was going to stand by himself in the center of the arena and yank
on his sausage.
“I don’t want to,” he mumbled under his breath.
“Don’t ruin a good thing, boy,” Hannah warned him sternly.
“I’ll give you one more chance to do as you’re told.”
The threat in her voice told him she meant business.
Reluctantly, Josh wrapped his hand around his dick and started
pumping for all he was worth. To the continued cheers and chants
of the crowd, Josh brought himself to a second dry cum, this one
even stronger than the first.
The rest of the boys were unchained from the wall and
marched back to the center of the arena floor. They were told to
remove the leather pouches that covered their boyhood. The boys
stepped out them quickly and now all ten of them were naked,
their cocks and balls on display to a worldwide audience for the
first, but certainly not the last time. On the overhead
scoreboard, the points for the first event were rewarded. Josh
looked up hopefully, only to be greatly disappointed to find
himself still in last place. He’d closed the gap with Gabriel who
was now only thirty points ahead of him, but his name was still
on the bottom.
‘I’m never going to catch up,’ the eleven-year-old thought
glumly.
As Josh was trying to figure out how he could win and
still be dead last, the next event was announced.
“And now our boy gladiators will participate in their
first test of endurance,” the announcer said. A hush of
anticipation fell over the crowd. “Weight training.”
A single cart was wheeled in by one of the mules. On it
were ten leather straps and a large number of round lead weights
of various sizes. The weights were, of course, meant for the
boys’ balls, and the training would involve seeing which boy
could take the most weight and still remain on his feet, all
while they were forced to run laps around the edge of the arena
floor.
The boys looked at each other nervously, and more than a
few of them absent-mindedly clasped their hands over their
scrotums and the tender nuggets inside them. Demerits for
touching themselves were quickly rewarded. Poor Josh lost five of
the ten points he’d just gained on Gabriel.
Viewers around the world saw the leather ball stretchers being
strapped in place around each boy’s scrotum, tugging their balls
downward. They watched as each boy’s wrists were chained behind
his back, then pulled sharply and painfully upward and connected
by another chain to a ring at the back of the boy’s collar. It
was, essentially, the classic reverse prayer position. The pain
in the boy’s arms and shoulders would be every bit as terrible as
the pain he would soon be feeling in his balls. Just as the first
of the weights were about to be attached, the show’s fancy logo
filled the screen.
‘Worldwide Boy Gladiators will be right back. You’re watching
XB1, the leader in extreme action broadcasting!’
Is your son out of control? Do you have a boy slave who is
always misbehaving? Boys, free or otherwise, are in constant need
of correction and discipline. Now you can use the same
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your boy slaves into the docile domesticated animals they are
meant to be. XB Industries is proud to announce the release of
the BoySpank 350-C, the latest in automated discipline
specifically designed for boys between the ages of five and
fifteen.
The machine comes ready to assemble, with all correction
implements and restraints included. Special punishment thongs and
mesh pouches to ensure your boy’s genitals are snuggly tucked
away during discipline sessions are available for an additional
fee. The BoySpank 350 is economical, with fully up-gradable
starter models beginning at only three thousand dollars. Generous
financing terns are available for qualified customers. Our
simple, easy to follow instruction guide will get you up and
running in a matter of hours.
Don’t let your boy’s misbehavior continue another minute.
Helpful discipline consultants are standing by to assist you in
placing your order.
Images of the BoySpank 350 in use were run during the
entirety of this particular commercial, quite a few of them taken
from the reception party on the island the night before, others
where filmed in a studio using ‘volunteer’ boys, some slaves,
some free. Boys were shown walking in public with their parents,
wearing only the punishment thongs, their crimson and in some
cases dark purple behinds on display for all to see.
When the show returned, the boys were all standing with
their legs spread wide apart as their trainers hung the first of
the lead weights from their balls. They would each start with
half a pound, and additional weight would be added after each lap
around the arena. Ten-year-old Miles, whose balls hadn’t really
even dropped yet thought it terribly unfair that he had to have
the same weights as the older boys. His trainer was Alex Wright,
the oldest of the trainers and generally the most gentle, an
appropriate choice for looking after the smallest gladiator. He
gave the little boy a smack on the butt as he worked to tighten
the leather strap a bit more, forcing the ten-year-old’s tiny
nuts down into his soft pink sack.
“Don’t want these little things going back up there, do
we?” he asked in a warm English accent.
“I guess not, sir,” Miles replied doubtfully, not entirely
sure he liked having his balls tugged on.
Once all the boys had the first of the weights dangling
from their ball bags, the contest began. It wasn’t really a race.
The boys were expected to keep a jogging pace, but no one was
going to get points for finishing the lap first. The trainers did
stand ready with their electric prods to give any lagging boys a
quick jolt.
Half a pound wasn’t all that bad, even for the boys with
the smallest balls. On the first lap it was the pain from having
their arms bound back behind them, and the humiliation of running
around with a weight swinging from your nuts that gave them the
most trouble. The boys pretty much stayed together and finished
the first lap as a group. The crowd applauded, not for the boys,
but because they knew more weights were now going to be added.
Again the boys lined up and spread their legs to receive
another half-pound weight. They now had a full pound pulling on
their balls. The difference was surprising. All of the boys
gasped and groaned when their trainers released the weights and
let them fall between their legs. With their arms bound behind
them, they were utterly helpless to do anything about it. They
wiggled their hips and moaned, quickly discovering that any
movement only caused the weights to swing and pull even harder.
Off they went again, this time with grimaced expressions
on their innocent young faces. Keeping the required pace was
difficult and all of them received a not-too-gentle reminder from
the prods. The crowd was growing more raucous as the boys
completed their second lap.
The third weight to be added was a full pound. Two pounds
now hung from each boy’s balls, and the stretching of their
scrotums, even on the younger boys, was becoming noticeable.
Their testicles had turned a dark shade of red, and close
inspection would reveal tiny little purple veins beginning to
show through the soft hairless skin of their swinging ball bags.
As he ran around the arena, Chris felt like his balls were
all the way down to his knees. In fact they had been stretched a
good inch lower than they normally hung, and the weights
continued to pull them downward. The thirteen-year-old wondered
just how much he could take, and just how low his balls could be
made to hang.
Two pounds proved to be the limit for six of the boys, all
of whom staggered and dropped to their knees before completing
the lap. With their hands bound tightly behind them, there was no
relief from the pain. They were left there kneeling on the floor
of the arena as the four remaining boys stood bravely waiting for
the next addition of weight to their sore and swollen testicles.
Chris, Illya, David and Philippe, the four oldest boys,
watched silently as the smaller weights were removed and a pair
of two pound weights were connected to the ball-stretchers around
their scrotums. They would be carrying four pounds of weight for
this lap. Just standing with the large lead spheres dangling
between their legs was an exercise in agony. It quickly became
obvious to the young teens that running was going to be nearly
impossible.
“Move those gorgeous legs, boys!” Jason yelled. The
brandishing of the electric prods was enough to motivate them.
They moved off together, starting the next lap. The boys hobbled
and winced and moaned out loud as every step set the weights, and
their balls, swinging. The pain, which had started as a dull ache
was getting progressively worse. Not exactly like getting kicked
down there, but close enough. All of them were sweating and
panting as they worked their way around the arena. Unable to
clutch their aching nuts, the boys struggled forward. The best
any of them could manage was an awkward double-time trot. David
was the first to stop, lean his body against the wall and slide
down to the ground, breathing a huge sigh of relief as the
weights stopped tugging on his sack.
Chris managed a few more steps before he decided to give
up. He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t get his legs to work. At
least the two remaining boys were older than he was. Losing to a
younger boy had already become an unspoken stigma among the
gladiators. The thirteen-year-old stopped and stared up at the
crowd. “Keep moving you little animal,” one of the nearest
spectators yelled down at him. Several others picked up on it and
showered the young teenager with jeers.
Chris wanted to yell back at them, but he didn’t dare. He
would have flashed them all the finger, but of course his hands
were bound behind his back. The only defiance he could manage was
sticking his tongue out at them, which of course seemed rather
childish in retrospect, but what else could a boy do?
‘What a bunch of sickos,’ he thought. Then, following
David’s lead, he rested his shoulders against the wall and slowly
went down to his knees. He watched as Illya and Philippe
struggled on.
The French and Russian boys were side by side. Both of
them were suffering, but neither of them were going to give in
first. As they shuffled toward the finish line, they started
nudging each other, trying to knock their opponent off balance.
They both understood that if they both finished this lap, even
more weight would be added to their balls. They pushed at each
other and tried to trip each other’s feet. Illya, though younger,
was taller and heavier and eventually is size and superior
strength won out. He slammed into the French boy as hard as he
could. Both boys shouted in agony as the four-pound weights
yanked hard on their balls. Philippe stumbled and fell forward,
hands bound behind him, hitting his shoulder hard on the arena
floor. He cried out, but mostly in anger. His shoulder was
bruised, but nothing was broken. He managed to get back to his
knees, but he didn’t have the strength to stand up and endure the
weights again.
Illya felt bad about knocking the other boy out of the
contest, but no one was getting points for being nice. He crossed
the finish line. The only boy still on his feet. The crowd
erupted as the announcer broke in.
“Victory to Boy Zero-Eight!”
Thirteen-year-old Illya stood there, his already man-sized
six-inch cock hanging limp between his legs, his balls stretched
painfully downward. The cheers were for him, but he could only
think about the pain and how much he wanted those weights taken
off. His brother and trainer, Sergei approached him and gave him
a good-natured smack on the cheek.
“Good job, little brother.”
“Please take them off, Sergei. Please. My balls hurt.”
Sergei did remove the four-pound lead ball, but replaced
it with the two of the smaller one-pound weights. “I think we’ll
keep some weight on these for a while,” he said. Illya gave him a
wounded look, but he’d already learned that Sergei was not about
to show him any mercy just because they were brothers. In fact,
the opposite seemed to be true, much to his confusion and dismay.
He used to love his big brother. Now he was really starting to
hate him.
With Illya’s victory in the very first endurance contest,
the opening events came to a close and the first live worldwide
broadcast came to an end. The schedule for the rest of the day
was shown on the scoreboard and the crowd broke up. The boys were
all marched below, the weights removed (except for Illya) and
their arms released from their painful bondage. For the rest of
the day, the boys would rotate through various events at venues
across the island. The finale would be the very first chariot
race, held under the lights that evening and televised to a
prime-time audience.
Chapter 23:
It was early in the evening and the boys had all been returned
to the barracks to be fed. After the morning session, which was
broadcast live, the gladiators had continued competing against
each other in a variety of traditional track and field events.
There was nothing particularly out of the ordinary about the
games themselves, simply the fact that the young competitors were
all nude and occasionally bound in unusual or painful ways. Among
the most popular events was the three-legged race. The boys were
paired up based on height and their left legs tied to their
partners’ right legs at their ankles, their knees and finally
with a thick leather strap across their thighs. The stands around
the hippodrome track were packed for this one, which promised to
be both humorous and arduous for the young athletes.
They tripped and stumbled and fell as they tried to complete a
two-mile run. Often several of them went down together, resulting
in a tangled pile of sweaty boys. Gabriel and Danny, who were
normally partners anyway, were the first to finally work things
out and keep their balance. Josh was paired with Chris’ partner
Alexei, with rather disastrous results. Both boys were rather
headstrong and they both kept trying to lead rather than work
together. In the end they found themselves off balance and
trailing far behind all the other teams.
Keenly aware of his last place position, and the frightful
consequences that awaited him if he remained there, Josh yelled
at Alexei in frustration. “Dammit! We gotta catch up! I can’t
finish last, man!” As he said it they both tripped each other and
hit the dirt. Josh was beginning to get a very bad feeling in the
pit of his stomach.
‘I’m gonna be last,’ he kept thinking miserably to himself. ‘I’m
totally screwed.’
The dinner break that evening was a noisy one. The boys were
tired but highly charged up from the days’ events. They
ravenously devoured their meals and talked and argued about the
contests so far. Their new lives as boy gladiators were harsh,
but they were all intensely competitive, and now that the games
had officially begun, they were becoming less and less concerned
about their nakedness and the many humiliations they were forced
to endure each day. It was, after all, all a part of the show,
and they had (for the most part) all willingly volunteered to do
it.
Finished eating, but still feeling rather hungry, the boys were
taken outside, lined up against the wall of the barracks and
quickly hosed down by the guards. Large pressure hoses were used,
firing strong jets of cold water at the defenseless boys. With
water still dripping from their flanks, they were again chained
in a single file, ready to march to the day’s final event.
The lights were already on above the hippodrome, and every seat
was filled with eager spectators. More guests had flown in during
the day, exclusively to see this particular event. Once the boys
reached the staging area, just outside the entry tunnel the
chains connecting them were removed. But only temporarily. The
five older lads, who would be boy ponies for the remainder of the
evening, were separated from the group. A leather lead, about
three feet long, was clasped to the ring on the front of each
boy’s collar.
The five younger boys were freed of the shackles at their wrists
and ankles. The ponies continued wearing theirs. They would not
be unfettered until they were inside the hippodrome. Bits were
put into the pony boys’ mouths and strapped tightly in place. The
rest of their gear would be put on in the pavilion, under the
watchful gaze of the crowd.
Jason gave the youngest boys their first instructions. “Take
your pony’s lead and have him stand behind you.”
With a few nervous giggles from the little guys this was done.
The older boys were all somewhat red-faced at this latest
humiliation, being placed under the charge of a younger boy. For
their part the little fellows loved it, and immediately began
teasing their partners.
“You will march onto the track in single file,” Jason continued
after the boys had quieted down a bit. “Keep your pony close to
you. There should always be some slack in the lead. You will walk
your pony around the track two times, then you will put him into
a trot, just as we trained you. Don’t let him get away from you.
When the horn sounds, bring your pony boy into the pavilion and
we’ll help you get him into his gear and get you boys mounted on
your carts.”
At that moment a loud cheer went up from the crowd.
“That’s the signal, boys. Move out!”
The five teams quickly scurried along the tunnel, the younger
boys practically dragging their older and much less enthusiastic
partners behind them. The hippodrome looked a lot different than
it had earlier in the day. The enormous digital vid-screens were
on at both ends of the venue, and under the lights everything
seemed somehow much larger. The crowd filled the stands on both
sides of the two long straightaways. The VIP sections were
located along the turns, since the boys would have to slow down
at those points, affording the influential visitors a good close
up look at their smooth athletic young bodies and ample
opportunity for photographs.
The speaker system was blaring Gustav Holst’s ‘Mars’, an
appropriate choice as the five boy charioteers and their five boy
ponies entered.
As instructed, the youngsters led their older partners around
the track. None of them were afraid to give a good hard tug on
the lead if their pony hesitated or didn’t keep pace. For the
most part, the older boys kept their heads down and followed
along obediently behind.
Looking up at the viewscreens as they approached the first turn,
several of the pairs slowed down. It was the first time they had
actually seen themselves the way the entire world (or at least a
fairly large percentage of it) was now seeing them.
‘Wow!’ Josh thought to himself. ‘I’m getting bigger muscles
already.’ It was certainly true. After only two weeks of harsh
non-stop training, all of the boys’ bodies were even firmer,
tighter and stronger than they had been when they’d first arrived
on Gladiator Island.
Flash bulbs went off all around the track as the five teams
completed their final circuit. At the sounding of the horn, the
younger boys lead their partners to the pavilion. There, with the
cameras hovering close by, the pony boys were freed of their
shackles and strapped into their body harnesses. Their chastity
devices were removed, resulting in five throbbing erections,
which were, for the most part, ignored. They were put into their
head harnesses next, and the leather reins attached to the bits
already in their mouths.
The carts were already lined up in position. Now strapped into
their gear, the five pony boys were chained to the two-wheeled
chariots and left standing while the drivers got ready.
Josh, Ian, Miles, and Daniel were all freed of their chastity
belts, and Alexei’s cock cage was removed. The same leather
pouches they’d worn during the morning wrestling matches were put
on, accentuating their youthful boyish packages. The pouch
somehow made Josh’s impressive endowment look even bigger than it
was, a fact everyone except Josh himself seemed to have noticed.
Knee and elbow pads went on next, followed by the protective
gloves. Last came the whimsical and rather garish helmets, each
one different from the other. All of them were designed to
protect the boy’s head should he fall off or his cart overturn,
but they were also meant to recall the headgear worn by the
gladiators of ancient times. Josh’s was plated in silver and had
a large crest of blue feathers running down the center. Alexei’s
was cast in an eagle motif, and even had bronze talons that
curved down over his ears. Little Miles’ helmet was covered on
the outside with brown leather and looked rather primitive and
medieval, especially with the two horns protruding out from
either side.
“Get up there, little Viking,” his trainer Alex said,
affectionately smacking the ten-year-old’s cute bare butt. All of
the boys were too short to step onto their chariots without a
boost from their trainers. Miles was the first to find himself
standing on the platform looking down at his partner’s back. He
took the reins and wrapped the ends around his gloved hands. In
just a matter minutes, all of the drivers had mounted their carts
and were ready to guide their boy ponies onto the track.
The start-finish line was a single row of paving bricks set into
the hard-packed dirt. With the trainers walking on either side,
the young drivers snapped the reins and the older boys began
pulling, straining forward at first and digging their feet in.
Getting the chariots moving was the hardest part and took every
ounce of each boy’s strength. After a few moments of painful
groaning and grunting, the carts left the pavilion and made their
way onto the track. The crowd rose to its feet and fell silent as
the five teams got into position, the pony boys standing with
their toes on the edge of brick line. With a few final private
words to their teams, the trainers hurried back to the pavilion.
The start of the fifteen-lap race was now seconds away.
From his VIP box along the first turn, William Durand rose to
his feet and raised his hand. Beside him, young Trevor, still
dressed in his sharp blue speedo, held the green start flag. He
unfurled it gracefully and raised it in his arms high above his
head. His master gave him a quick nod and the fourteen-year-old
dropped the flag to a roar of approval from the spectators.
The dropping of the flag coincided with the sounding of a loud
horn. That was the boys’ signal to begin. The five young drivers
snapped the reins and the five young cart-pullers stepped off the
line, moving their legs faster and faster with each stride. All
five of the handsome boy ponies still maintained their turgid
erections, much to the delight of the crowd.
It would be natural to assume that the biggest, oldest boys,
paired with the smallest youngest ones, would have a distinct
advantage in the race. However, the chariots themselves all had
different weights, so that together the cart and the boy on it
weighed essentially the same for all five teams. Thus Philippe,
with the barely sixty-pound Miles as his driver, was actually
pulling as much total weight as Chris, who had eighty-three-pound
Alexei behind him piloting the cart.
If the young drivers thought they had the easier job, they
quickly learned they were mistaken. During practice it had been
relatively easy for them, guiding and goading their chained and
harnessed partners around the hippodrome. Now, suddenly, there
were four more teams on the track and the pace was a lot faster
as they raced each other. The turns were most difficult. The
strength of the older boys’ legs as they powered around the tight
curves was enough to knock the younger boys off balance. Josh and
the other drivers struggled to hang on and keep their hold on the
older boys’ reins.
“Slow down in the corners, David!” Josh yelled, as the chariot
nearly went up on one wheel. Their speed, powered only by the
strength of a fourteen-year-old boy was not really all that
great, but the chariots were highly sensitive and rather top
heavy. He pressed the button directly in front of him, giving
David a quick but nasty electrical shock. The teenaged boy
groaned in protest, but did as he was ordered. Two teams passed
them coming out of the turn, but Josh knew with David’s long legs
they could easily catch up.
“Ok, now run as hard as you can!”
David didn’t need to be shocked to figure that part out. His
initial anger had faded when realized that Josh actually had a
good plan. He could close the distance with the other carts
fairly easily on the straight-aways. He was the one of the
tallest boys, with the longest strides. Slowing down in the
corners would cost them some position, but it would keep the
chariot stable and give them their best chance to win.
“That’s one lap down, Gabe,” Danny O’Hanlon shouted to his
partner. They were currently first, with Josh and David close
behind them. “Just keep running and go where I tell you.” The
twelve-year-old red-head looked back and saw that their lead was
disappearing fast. There was no way they were going to stay in
front and he was smart enough to know it. “I’m gonna let them
pass us, Gabe. It’s a long race. Get over to the wall and let ‘em
by.”
Gabriel grunted into his bit and moved the cart towards the
outer edge of the track. David and Josh went by them on the
inside.
“Eat our dust, suckers!” Josh said, flashing a triumphant fist
at the two twelve-year-olds. Danny gave Josh the finger, but he
wasn’t worried. He and Gabriel had worked out their plan the
night before. As an accomplished soccer and rugby player, young
Gabe was used to running hard for long periods of time. They’d
decided to go at a steady pace at first, with Danny not letting
Gabe run full out right away. The two boys were going to make
their move over the last three laps, when Danny would basically
let go of the reins and hold on for dear life and let Gabriel run
as hard and fast as his legs could carry him.
The lead changed hands several times for the next ten laps. Each
team found themselves in front at least once, and all of them
remained close together. Things got interesting in the turns when
two or three teams would try to pass each other on the narrowest
part of the track. The crowd cheered wildly every time the
chariots brushed against each other. The boy drivers held on
tightly, needing every ounce of their strength and boyish
athleticism to keep from tumbling off onto the dusty track.
The first real collision occurred on the eleventh lap,
when Alexei and Chris tried to pass Ian and Illya on the outside
of the second turn, directly in front of the VIPs. Ian yanked
hard on the reins and moved Illya out toward the wall. Alexei’s
only chance was to drive Chris forward as hard as he could and
hope to complete the pass before they ran into each other. He
snapped the reins and pushed the button, delivering a strong
shock to young Chris in his harness and chains.
It didn’t do any good. Chris couldn’t speed up fast
enough. The two chariots collided and their wheels scraped
together. Alexei lost his hold on the reins and fell backward off
the cart, landing square on his cute little butt, his legs
splayed out in front of him.
“I fell off!” the twelve-year-old Russian shouted to Chris, who
immediately came to a stop,
the right wheel of the cart only inches from the wall. Chained to
the chariot, there was nothing the young teen could do to help
himself or his partner. He simply had to stand there in the
harness and wait for Alexei to dust himself off and get back up.
Since none of the boys were tall enough to mount the chariots on
their own, he had to wait even longer for two of the mules to run
onto the track and give Alexei a boost.
The mules were two of the oldest ones on the island. Both
fifteen years old, they wore their usual gray slave smocks and
each had been put into a pair of shiny latex shorts with locking
straps around their waists and thighs. They ran out the instant
Alexei got to his feet. The other chariots had gone on, but were
still moving down the first straightaway. The mules quickly got
the boy gladiator back onto his chariot and ran back to their
holding area just outside the pavilion.
Alexei wrapped the leather reins around his wrists again and
gave them a firm snap. “Let’s go!” he shouted, pressing the
button again.
Chris growled and grunted and pulled forward with all his
thirteen-year-old might. They were moving again, but by the time
Chris got the cart back up to full speed, they were far behind.
At the start of the thirteenth lap, Josh and David were back in
the lead. Two places behind them, Danny decided it was time to
make their move.
“Ready, Gabe?” he shouted over the rising noise of the excited
crowd.
The harnessed twelve-year-old nodded eagerly into his bit. Their
strategy had paid off so far. His legs felt great. He wasn’t even
tired yet. Danny let go of the reins and gripped the hand rails
as hard as he could. He squatted down. He couldn’t even see the
track now. He didn’t need to. He could feel the cart rocking
under his feet and he shifted his balance accordingly. Squatting
down also lowered the cart’s center of mass, although he was too
young to understand this, making it more stable.
“Go! Go! GO!” he shouted to his partner. He heard Gabriel let
out a loud shout and immediately felt the cart picking up speed.
They passed Philippe and Miles in just under one lap and closed
fast on Josh and David.
With one lap left, Gabe had brought them right up behind the
leading team. Danny popped his head up for just an instant.
“Who’s the sucker now, dick-wipe!” he shouted ahead at Josh.
“Shit!” shouted the eleven-year-old. “You gotta go faster,
Dave!”
David tried his best, but his young body was already spent, his
fourteen-year-old legs exhausted. Only his long strides allowed
them to keep the lead at his point but he was slowing down with
each step.
With Danny nestled down in the chariot again, Gabriel saw his
opening and took it. He moved inside at the very end of the
straightaway. As the two teams started the last turn side by
side, Gabriel’s strength and Danny’s strategy finally paid off.
He made the pass and kept on going. He could not see behind him,
but his focus was only on the track ahead and the waving flag at
the far end of the second straightaway.
Driven almost to collapse, David began to stumble on the last
stretch. Two more teams passed them just as Gabriel and Danny
crossed the finish line first. Ian and Illya came in second.
Miles and Philippe were third. Josh and David wound up fourth,
and Alexei and Chris came in fifth, one lap behind everyone else.
“Victory. Boy Zero-Five!” the public-address system announced.
No mention was made of Gabriel who, as the boy pony in this
event, did not merit such consideration. He would get credit on
the scoreboard for the victory, but he received no
acknowledgement for his hard labor chained and harnessed to the
chariot. Normally a bit of a hot head, quick to point out when
things struck him as unfair, Gabriel was, at the moment, simply
too tired to care.
Danny stepped down from the cart and, under his trainer’s
instruction, led Gabriel around the track by the reins. A victory
lap, humiliating for Gabriel, which allowed the assembled crowd
to take photographs and get a good look at the winning boys.
Once gathered again under the shade of the pavilion, the younger
boys were given water and then helped their trainers release the
older boys from the chariots. The harnesses and bits were removed
and the pony boys all slumped over in exhaustion, grabbing their
knees with their hands and gasping for breath. They were then
watered too, desperately sucking down the contents of the plastic
drinking bottles they were given. All the boys were then
assembled together and allowed to sit on the ground while the
spectators filed out of the hippodrome. The sun had set and the
damp humid night air had already set in. The smell of coming rain
was strong and all the boys breathed in deeply.
“You boys can talk now,” Jason said, giving a general order to
the older boys that their speaking privileges had been restored.
As they sat in a single group, watching the stands slowly
emptying, they said very little to each other. With their
chastity devices removed and their trainers ignoring them for the
moment, quite a few of them fiddled with their dicks and balls,
achieving a few short-lived erections before the trainers
returned and called them back to attention. None of the boys were
caught playing with themselves but they all wore guilty
expressions that spoke volumes.
“Boys, we’re going to pretend we didn’t see anything,” Jason
told them as the ten trainers stood looking down at the
misbehaving young males. “We were going to let you all sleep
without wearing your chastity devices tonight, but you’ve just
lost that privilege.”
A chorus of moans rose from the ten boys.
“On your feet.”
The chariot race was the climax of the day’s events and now that
it was over, the first day of competition had drawn to a close.
Ten very tired and dirty boys stood there quietly, some of them
already yawning, all of them looking forward to falling onto
their bunks. They were chained again in single file, David in
front, little Miles bringing up the rear as always. The younger
boys remained in their leather pouches. The older lads remained
naked, with their now flaccid cocks swinging provocatively
between their slender legs. The boys would all be locked into
their chastity devices once they got back to the barracks. The
camera crews were still on hand to record the scene as the
exhausted boys were marched away. Ten adorable boy butts on
display as they walked in line, chained by their collars. Careful
observation would reveal that they had remained plugged the
entire time, the silvery ends of their metal plugs just visible
between their perfect round globes.
The gate to the barracks was buzzed open by the guard on duty
and the boys were marched through. Once inside the building they
were unchained and assembled in front of the scoreboard. Saturday
night marked the official end of scorekeeping for the two weeks
the boys had been on the island, so the totals glowing on the
board were final. Starting tomorrow morning, the boys scores
would be reset to zero in the weekly column and a new monthly
column would appear on the board as well.
In first place was Daniel O’Hanlon. He had received
virtually no demerits and had done well enough in the
competitions to make him the winner. Second went to Illya
Casparev whose overall performance in the day’s competitions had
raised his score substantially. Last, predictably, was poor Josh.
He’d done quite well in the events, but his smart mouth and
continued problem with unauthorized erections had earned him so
many demerits that all the first place finishes in the world
would not have helped him. He stood there with a glum expression
on his face as the other boys congratulated Danny and Illya.
“You two will get your reward tomorrow afternoon,” Jason
explained. “And you, Zero-Two will begin your punishment.”
At that moment, Roger and Anthony brought in a device that the
boys had not yet seen. It was a large wheel, with different
colored segments, numbers and words on it. The wheel was mounted
on a sturdy metal stand. They positioned it next to the
scoreboard. The boys all stared at it dumbfounded.
“Boys, this is the punishment wheel,” Jason explained. “Tomorrow
afternoon, Zero-Two
will spin the wheel once. He will receive whatever punishment
comes up. Zero-Two, you may look at the wheel tonight if you
want, and see what kinds of punishments you might be given. You
will not touch the wheel or spin it without being told. That goes
for all of you. We have more punishments for you than the wheel
can hold, so they will change each week.”
The rest of the boys all looked at Josh, silently goading him to
step forward and study the wheel. They all wanted to know what
kind of things were on it. Josh shook his head and stepped back
behind everyone else.
“I’ll wait ‘til tomorrow, sir,” he said softly. “I don’t want to
know what’s on it.”
Jason nodded. “I wouldn’t look either, boy. You’ll learn soon
enough. Alright guys,” he clapped his hands to get their
attention, “hit the showers! We’re giving you twenty minutes in
there tonight. The water will be warm. You can wash your own
dicks tonight. The guards will supervise you. If you are
uncircumcised, your penises will be inspected when you’re done,
and they’d better be clean.”
A warm shower was already becoming a rare treat for the boys and
they eagerly ran to the showers. There was a little horseplay and
splashing, but with the night guards watching them closely, they
were, mostly, very well behaved. As Chris washed his genitals he
realized it was the first time in two weeks that he had touched
his own penis. It swelled up and lengthened slightly under his
touch, but it still hung soft between his legs when he stepped
from the water. The guard tossed him a towel and he quickly dried
off and went back out to the common area where the chastity cage
was again secured around his genitals. The other boys followed a
few at a time, each having their boy-parts locked away.
The boys were then given a piece of fruit. They sat down at the
table and ate. Ian and David were taken out to call their parents
in Australia. The rest of the boys spent their remaining free
time talking quietly or lying on their bunks already half-asleep.
At exactly 2330 hours, the boys were locked into their cells and
the lights were turned off. Josh lay there for the longest time,
staring up into the darkness. Every time he closed his eyes, he
could see the wheel.
‘I should have looked at it,’ he thought. Finally the
eleven-year-old rolled over and fell asleep, his right hand
between his legs, caressing the metal plate that encased his
genitals. He had some very unpleasant dreams, the most memorable
one in which his body was strapped to a gigantic version of the
punishment wheel, stretching his limbs painfully and spinning him
around until he felt sick to his stomach. He woke up drenched in
his own sweat.
“Just a dream,” he whispered to himself. “Just a dream . . . “
Chapter 24:
The boys were allowed to sleep a little later than usual the
next morning, but once they were awakened and released from their
cells, everything proceeded under the normal routine. The boys
were showered and feed and marched out to the training center to
work out on the weight machines. They spent most of the day
there, cycling through all the apparatus. Chris and Miles were
taken out to the pool to continue the young ten-year-old’s
lessons. Miles’ trainer Alex was there to supervise them, using
the opportunity to lounge by the waterside sunning himself. Miles
was starting to make progress. He was no longer afraid to put his
head under and he was beginning to learn some basic strokes.
Chris turned out to be a really good teacher and actually enjoyed
himself.
It was late afternoon when the boys were reassembled in the
barracks. Danny and Illya received their rewards for finishing
the week first and second. A cart was wheeled in by one of the
mules. It was filled with snacks and candy bars and other goodies
that young boys crave. The two winners were allowed to pick five
items each.
“You can share if you wish,” Jason told them, “but this is all
you get. When it’s gone, it’s gone."
The two boys, normally kind-hearted, greedily squirreled their
treasures away under their mattresses. “Nobody touch my stuff
when I’m not in there,” Danny warned when he came back out.
Illya, who seldom spoke at all, had similar words for his mates.
The rest of the boys looked on with sad eyes as the cart was
rolled out once again. What they wouldn’t give for just one piece
of candy.
With the winning boys receiving their awards, it was time for
Josh to spin the wheel and find out what his punishment would be.
The camera crews had already set up in the barracks when the boys
were seated in front of the wheel. Josh was made to stand in
front of them with his hands behind his head.
Once the cameramen signaled they were ready, Jason and Hannah
called the eleven-year-old forward. Josh’s legs suddenly didn’t
want to move and his cute little knees were knocking. He bit his
fingers nervously.
“Boy Zero-Two,” Jason began. “You finished last this week. You
will be punished. Step in front of the wheel.”
Josh did as he was told. He could see the wheel close up now and
read some of the punishments listed on it. He promptly lost
control of his bladder and peed himself. It filled the metal
plate that encased his genitals and dribbled out onto the floor.
“Stop that!” Hannah yelled at him. “You’ll be starting next week
with ten demerits for urinating on the floor.”
Josh’s posture sagged even more. Not only was he the first boy
to be punished, but now he was already ten points behind for next
week. He swallowed hard and looked at the trainers expectantly.
“Spin the wheel, Zero-Two,” Jason ordered.
Biting his lip, the boy stood up on his tip-toes and gave the
wheel a hard spin. It went around twice before it started to slow
down. Josh didn’t even know what some of the punishments listed
on the wheel were. There were words there he’d never heard or
seen before. Others were all too clear. His little heart was
pounding as the wheel slowed to a stop. Click, click, click, the
wheel landed on a black colored section with white letters.
Over the next few years the boys would come to learn that the
black spaces always indicated the harshest punishments. Red,
yellow, green and white segments were also on the wheel.
The trainers all agreed it was a valid spin.
“Read your punishment, Zero-Two,” Hannah said.
Josh had to stand on his toes again to get a good view of what
was written. “It says isolation and de . . . dep . . .
deprivation . . .” the boy sounded the word out slowly. It was
one he did not know, but it sure sounded real scary. “Twenty-four
hours.”
Jason and Hannah had grim expressions on their faces as the
small boy turned to face them. Josh thought that he even saw a
little hint of pity in their eyes. Somehow that did not make him
feel better. Just the opposite actually. Pity from the trainers
only meant that whatever his punishment was, it was going to be
really, really awful.
Josh was terrified. He was going to be the first boy to
receive punishment for finishing the week in last place. The
punishment wheel had landed on something called
‘Isolation/Deprivation’. Some of the other things sounded a lot
scarier, and Josh wasn’t really sure what either of those two
words meant, but he was sure it wasn’t good.
“Your punishment starts now, Zero-Two,” Jason told the
eleven-year-old boy. “You will not be returned to the barracks
until it is over. Stand at attention.”
A three-foot length of chain was attached to Josh’s collar and
the boy was led out of the barracks, escorted by three of the
trainers. He looked back at Chris with fear in his eyes. Chris
knew there was nothing he could do to help his little brother,
and he was rather ashamed at the feeling of relief that it was
Josh and not him who was going to be punished. He tried to give
Josh an encouraging smile, but it was empty and they both knew
it.
Josh’s first stop was medical. Doctor Trench explained he would
be receiving four large enemas, one hour apart.
“This is the first part of your punishment,” she told him as the
boy got down on his hands and knees on the cold white tiles of
bathroom area. “We need to get you cleaned out, since you won’t
be going to the bathroom for a while.”
His butt-plug was removed and replaced with an inflatable enema
nozzle. The eleven-year-old was still wearing his belt and he
felt the frustrating discomfort of his penis trying to go hard
beneath the confining metal plate. The doctor had not
exaggerated. Josh was screaming when she finally stopped the flow
of warm soapy water into his guts. And this was only the first
one.
“Stand up,” she told him. “You’re going to hold that for fifteen
minutes.”
With the inflatable plug secured in his rectum, Josh really had
no choice in the matter. With moist eyes and a distended belly he
slowly got to his feet.
“Stand in the corner. Face the wall. Hands behind your head.
I’ll come get you when it’s time to let it out. No talking.”
The doctor sat down at her desk and went about her normal
paperwork, occasionally glancing over at the young boy in the
corner, locked in a chastity belt with nearly a liter of enema
water sloshing around inside him. Josh was moaning and whimpering
quietly, trying to count down the awful minutes in his head.
Back in the barracks, the boys were returning from their evening
training sessions, all of them were winded, dirty, sore and
tired. They were hosed down in a group outside the building
before being allowed back into the common area. Josh, by that
time, had been gone for about four hours. The guards brought in a
television and set it up in front of the mess tables.
“Sit down on the floor, boys, in a single row,” the matron
ordered. Still dripping wet, the nine remaining gladiators
quickly obeyed, crossing their slender hairless legs and looking
up at the blank screen. Jason Sanborne, the head trainer,
returned and stood in front of the seated boys.
“Boy Zero-Two finished last this week. He is the first one
of you to be punished. Every week, one of you is going to spin
that wheel,” he gestured back to the ominous punishment wheel,
which from now on would remain there in the barracks, a frightful
reminder to all the boys what nasty fates awaited them if they
failed. “Punishment is different from the discipline and
correction you receive every day. It is meant to be extremely
unpleasant and frightening. You will all experience it sooner or
later, but as this is the first time, you are all going to watch
the start of Zero-Two’s ordeal, and you will help determine how
long it lasts.”
The screen flashed to life. It showed a small room,
perfectly square. A single harsh bright floodlight was mounted
above in the very center of the space. Everything in it was
black. The walls, the floor, the ceiling, the inside surface of
the heavy steel door, which was currently closed. Even the chains
were painted black. They hung from heavy steel rings mounted to
the walls and floor.
“It’s called the black room, boys. You will learn to fear
it.”
All of the young indentured boys sat up a little
straighter and stared at the image on the screen. Even empty, the
room was terrible. Suddenly, as they watched, the door swung
open. Josh was lead inside by Hannah Dubose and Roger Bramley.
They were handling him very roughly, much more so than the boys
had come to expect from their trainers. He was totally naked. His
iron collar and shackles had been removed, and the boy’s chastity
belt had been taken off as well. His long four-inch cock was
swinging freely between his legs as they moved him into position
directly beneath the floodlight.
On the screen, the nine boys in the barracks watched as
Josh’s ordeal began.
First came the hood.
It was thick and made of black leather. It was pulled down
over the eleven-year-old’s head by Roger. Josh immediately
freaked out and started to struggle. Hannah harshly grabbed the
boy’s testicles.
“Keep still! Don’t move again unless we tell you to.”
Josh, with his face and head now encased in the leather
hood, did his best to obey. But he was more afraid right now than
he had ever been in his life. The hood had a series of belts and
straps that were tightened over his eyes, ears and mouth. There
was a three-inch long penis gag inside the hood, and as the belt
around his mouth was pulled taut, this was forced down his
throat. He gagged against it and struggled again, shaking and
yelping in a panicked high-pitched voice.
A harsh smack to his naked behind warned him to keep
quiet.
The interior of the hood was thickly padded all around.
Once the straps outside were all tightened and locked with
padlocks, Josh immediately discovered that he could not hear. He
already knew he could not see or speak, but being condemned to
absolute silence was a truly terrifying experience for an
eleven-year-old boy. The hood had only two small holes in it,
positioned so that he could breathe through his nose.
After just about twenty seconds in the hood, Josh became
convinced that he couldn’t breathe at all. Again he panicked.
Roger’s powerful hands held him still.
‘Boy Zero-Two,’ a cold voice filled his ears. The hood had
a small pair of headphones next to the boy’s ears that allowed
the trainers to communicate with him and give him orders if they
needed to. ‘You will take a deep breath through your nose. You
will do it now.’
Josh obeyed and sucked in as much air as his lungs could
take. He took a few more breaths and realized he wasn’t about to
suffocate. He started to calm down again, but the hood was
horrible, and he knew he could not get out of it.
‘Isolation-Deprivation punishment,’ the voice droned on.
‘You will be kept in this room. You will not be able to see. You
will not be able to hear. You will not be able to speak. You will
not be able to eat. You will not be able to drink. You will not
be able to sit down. Your movement will be restricted. You will
have no contact with any other human being. You will be totally
alone . . . ‘ the message repeated itself several times before it
stopped. Josh was beyond terror at this point, so scared that he
couldn’t even manage to panic. He simply stood there, shocked and
frightened and hoping this would all be over soon.
Back in the barracks, the boys were all staring
dumbfounded at the cruel hood the trainers had put on Joshua’s
head.
“The hood will keep him from seeing or hearing anything,”
Jason explained. “There’s also a rather large gag built into it,
which is currently stuffed in his mouth, so he isn’t able to
speak either. Right now he’s breathing through two little holes.”
The boys all fidgeted nervously, and their anxiety only
increased when they saw Doctor Trench enter the Black Room. She
had a small medical case with her, which she set down on the
floor.
“I’ll get the cock and ball harness on him first,” she
told Hannah and Roger. “Then I’ll insert the catheter. Hold him
still for me, please.”
With practiced skill, the doctor quickly locked Joshua’s
genitals into a leather harness specially designed to keep a
boy’s penis under strict control. A leather strap was buckled
tightly around the eleven-year-old’s genitals, forcing his
testicles forward. In spite of his fear, or perhaps partly
because of it, Josh immediately sprang a full erection.
This time however, that was the desired effect. “It’s
easier to catheterize a boy when his penis is at least
semi-erect,” Trench explained. “And afterwards the harness will
ensure he remains in that state for long periods of time.”
The cock harness portion of the device consisted of three
steel rings, all connected to each other by a pair of leather
straps which in turn were attached with sturdy rivets to the main
strap around the boy’s genitals. The first ring was nestled
snuggly at the base of Josh’s penis and was just small enough to
ensure that the four-inch long organ would remain at least
semi-erect more often than not. The second ring fit tightly
around the middle of Josh’s penis and had the additional function
of forcing the boy’s foreskin back as far as it could comfortably
go. The third ring was fitted over and nestled just behind the
now exposed head of the boy’s penis.
“It is a diabolical little device,” the doctor went on.
“The ring at the base of his shaft is trying to keep his dick
hard. The ring behind his cockhead is trying to make him go soft.
And of course the middle ring his keeping his foreskin stretched
back. Uncircumcised boys find this particularly frustrating and
uncomfortable.”
Josh of course could neither see nor hear any of this, but
he could certainly feel the harness tightly engulfing his penis.
“Now for the catheter. Then you can continue with his
punishment. Pin his arms behind his back, please.”
Roger Bramley, normally Gabriel’s trainer, quickly locked
Josh’s wrists in a firm grip and pulled them roughly behind the
boy’s back. Through the small earphone inside the hood, Josh was
given the following terrifying warning, once again in that same
droning, mechanical voice.
‘You are having a catheter inserted into your penis. If
you move or resist, the procedure will be very unpleasant. This
is your only warning.’
Josh had no idea what a catheter was, but the words ‘into
your penis’ were all too clear.
‘They’re gonna stick something in my dick!’ the
eleven-year-old thought in terror. He imagined a needle, as if
they were going to give him a shot or something.
The doctor opened her medical kit and removed the
necessary equipment. “We’re using a Foley, so once I insert it,
it won’t come out.” She opened the sterile seal and revealed the
catheter, already with a long clear urine tube attached. Without
further delay she held the eleven-year-old’s semi-erect penis in
her right hand and pressed the end of the catheter into the boy’s
urethra.
Josh gasped in terror as he felt something being forced
down his piss hole. He tensed and let out a frightened whimper.
Roger Bramley’s grip on his wrists tightened. Blind, gagged,
unable to hear anything but that horrible voice in his ears, the
poor boy began to panic once again.
With clinical disinterest, Doctor Trench continued
inserting the catheter. Boy slaves were little more than
livestock to her, and she felt no particular sympathy for the
little boy’s distress. She noticed that the eleven-year-old’s
oversized penis was hardening rapidly as the tube was worked in
further and further.
Josh bit down hard on the gag in his mouth and locked his
knees to keep from moving. The sensation of the cold hard device
slowly and relentlessly moving inside his penis was making him
more and more frightened with each passing second. It seemed like
it was about half-way down his dick when suddenly it slid in all
the way. Josh shrieked into his gag and bucked wildly against
Roger Bramley’s relentless iron grip. The thing was all the way
in his dick now, and still moving. Where was it going?! He felt
pressure building up inside him, and suddenly he realized he
really needed to pee. They’d made him drink a full liter of water
before bringing him in here, and now he needed to get rid of it.
“It’s in,” the doctor announced. “I’m going to inflate the
balloon now to keep it in place. You can open the clamp on the
tube once you’ve got him in the bodysuit.”
Josh of course could not see it, but his penis, already
locked in a cock and ball harness, now had a long thin tube
sticking out of it. In the barracks, the boys all stared at
Josh’s penis in horror. Chris, who still had his cock plugged,
got a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Doctor Trench departed. Roger bent Josh over and removed
his butt-plug, less than gently. Again Josh’s scream was muted by
the gag and the leather hood. A second one followed shortly after
as Hannah inserted an even larger plug, this one made of latex
and considerably thicker and longer than the one Josh had been
forced to wear since his arrival on the island. A sharp smack on
his behind told him to stand up straight again.
A heavy leather posture collar was put around the boy’s
neck and the hasp closed with a large padlock. Additional straps
from the hood were then attached to the collar, essentially
forming a single piece. Josh immediately discovered that he could
neither turn nor raise or lower his head, not even an inch.
What followed next was strange and not entirely
unpleasant. Josh felt a warm substance being applied to his skin.
It was oil. With gloved hands, the two trainers quickly covered
the naked boy’s hairless skin from his shoulders down to his
toes. His penis and scrotum were oiled. Even his hands and
fingers were oiled. In the barracks, the boy gladiators could see
young Joshua’s skin glistening in the harsh overhead floodlight.
The last and final element was a shiny black latex
bodysuit. First the boy’s right leg and then his left were fed
into the suit and pulled up, sliding easily over the boy’s
well-oiled skin. When they got the suit to his hips, he could
feel the tube in his dick being moved. The suit had a single
small hole, specifically placed so that the catheter tube could
be fed through. It took a few very uncomfortable (for Josh)
minutes to get this done. The suit was then drawn up to his
stomach, then his chest and finally over his shoulders. It was
one single piece. It zipped up behind his back, the zip itself
then being secured with a small hasp and locked. It formed a
perfectly skin-tight glove, which now covered the
eleven-year-old’s slim athletic little body. His genitals were
noticeably pronounced inside the tight covering of latex,
revealing in an alluring and subtle way the rather large package
of his boyhood.
The suit covered his feet. The arms of the suit ended in
tight fingerless mitts that forced him to keep his hands clenched
into fists. Not so much as a hair was now exposed to the outside
world. His entire body was encased in black leather and latex
from the top of his head to the tips of his toes and every little
precious inch in between. The only opening the in suit was the
small hole that allowed the urine tube to exit his body.
“Let’s get him into position,” Hannah said, enjoying the
site of the small eleven-year-old boy in shiny latex. Being a
lesbian, she felt no particular sexual arousal, but she did take
a certain delight in the idea of naughty boys with ridiculously
large penises being thoroughly and harshly punished. Roger, on
the other hand, was quite turned on by the sight.
Leather restraints were fastened around Josh’s wrists and
ankles, and another set was buckled around his thighs. The
trainers each took one of the chains mounted on either side of
the wall and ran them through the d-rings in the wrist cuffs. The
boy’s arms were pulled straight out toward the walls and the
chains were adjusted until there was no slack. They were then
locked to the d-rings with clasps. Almost immediately Josh felt a
slight painful tension in his shoulders.
An identical procedure was carried out with the thigh cuffs,
forcing the boy to spread his legs wide. Lastly, the boy’s ankle
cuffs were secured with padlocks to a pair of iron rings embedded
in the floor, three feet apart. Four additional chains were now
connected from the walls to the posture collar. Josh’s neck was
chained front, back and on both sides. It was impossible for the
boy to move his body more than a few inches in any direction.
Josh felt another wave of panic coming over him. He screamed and
screamed and screamed some more into his gag, but the hood
allowed only pathetic muffled cries to escape. Hannah fed the
other end of the boy’s urine tube into a drain in the floor
directly beneath the latex-encased and totally helpless boy. She
then released the clamp. Josh trembled for an instant and then a
stream of yellow fluid began to flow through the tube. Josh now
had no control over his bladder, and even as his body drained
itself, the urge to pee never went away.
Locked inside the hood, Josh was now crying fitfully, pulling
wildly against the chains to test the limits of his movement.
“He’ll figure it out in a moment,” Hannah said coldly. Roger
nodded and gave the eleven-year-old’s adorable latex-clad rump a
sharp smack. That would prove to be the last human contact he
would feel for a very long time.
In the barracks, the boys sat silently watching Josh on the
closed-circuit television. Suddenly a digital clock appeared at
the bottom of the screen. It read ’24:00:00’
“Zero-Two will be kept this way for the next twenty-four hours,”
Jason informed them. ”The countdown begins now.”
The boys began murmuring to one another, staring at the screen
and watching as the clock began to move.
“Pay attention, boys,” Jason said sternly. “We’re not finished.
During the next twenty-four hours, each and every demerit you
boys receive will add one additional hour to Zero-Two’s
punishment. He was told he would be kept in the black room for
twenty-four hours, but he was not told his release depended a
great deal upon how well the rest of you behave. If you are all
good boys, Zero-Two will be returned to the barracks when the
clock reaches zero. If not, he will remain in total isolation
until all the additional penalties have been served.”
Chris raised his hand urgently.
“This is not a question and answer session, Zero-Seven. Put your
hand down.”
“But, sir, please . . . “
“That’s two demerits for disobedience. You’ve just added two
more hours to your brother’s punishment.”
Chris looked like he was about to argue.
“Would you like to make it four hours?”
“No, sir,” Chris piped down and stared back at the television.
He couldn’t believe what they were doing to his brother. His eyes
started to water and he wiped them quickly with the back of his
hand. He wasn’t going to let the other boys see him cry.
“Now, you have one hour of free time before bed. The television
stays on.”
The boys broke up and went about their own interests. Books and
board games, and the few coveted snacks the boys with the top
scores had earned. Chris alone remained seated in front of the
TV. Alexei challenged him to a game of chess, but it didn’t feel
right to be playing games while Josh was being punished.
“Sitting there isn’t going to do him any good,” Jason bent down
and whispered into his ear. “Get up and play a game and keep
yourself out of trouble.”
“Yes, sir,” the thirteen-year-old said, dispiritedly uncrossing
his legs and standing up. He was happy when the guards finally
called lights out. The cell doors were closed, but the tiny slots
in them were left open so that if any boy looked out, he would
see the television and Josh’s continued torment. It was a mostly
sleepless night for Chris, and, of course, it was a totally
sleepless night for Josh.
Chapter 25:
‘There once was a boy from Boston, Mass, whose cock and balls
were made of brass. He clanged them together in stormy weather
and a lightning bolt shot out his ass . . . There once was a boy
from . . . ‘
Encased in the latex suit, the isolation hood strapped around
his head, Josh had been repeating that elementary school limerick
in his head for quite a while. The boy had been in the black room
for almost five hours now. After his initial panic, he’d managed
to calm down. He was still scared, and his shoulders and legs
were already aching, but he hadn’t freaked out like when they’d
first put him in the suit. He was, actually, rather proud of
himself.
‘I’ll show them. At least I’m not naked,’ he thought,
interrupting his bawdy lyric. Between his legs, he could feel his
cock pressed tightly against the warm slippery latex. It wasn’t
exactly an unpleasant feeling. In fact he was a rather horny
pre-teen at the moment. The harness they’d locked around his
genitals was keeping him half-hard most of the time, but with his
boyhood basically pinned down by the tight suit, a full erection
was impossible. The catheter was starting to bother him a lot.
His penis was itching from the inside out and the maddening
pressure in his bladder was driving him crazy. The
eleven-year-old could not tell whether he was actually peeing or
not. The fact was that his bladder had been completely drained at
this point, and now only an occasional flow of urine trickled
down the tube that exited through a small hole in the suit.
The boy was thirsty and hungry. He could feel his stomach
growling.
The plug in his butt was giving him funny feelings deep inside.
Often he would find himself moaning into the gag in his mouth and
thrusting his hips forward as far as his near total bondage would
allow him. Aside from being very large and applying constant
relentless pressure to the pre-adolescent’s prostate, the plug
would also heat up and start to vibrate at random times and at
random speeds. Every time that happened, Josh’s dick swelled up
in the latex suit and a little coo of pleasure escaped his gagged
lips.
‘This isn’t so bad . . . ’ Josh continued his personal monologue
‘ . . . from Boston, Mass, whose cock and balls were made of
brass. He clanged ‘em together in stormy fuckin’ weather and a
lighting bolt shot out his ass . . . There once was a boy . . . ‘
The time on the digital clock read 19:05:58.
The next morning, while Josh remained confined in the black
room, the rest of the boys were in the holding area beneath the
arena. A small crowd of VIPs and other guests who had remained on
the island after last night’s finale was gathered in the stands
waiting for them. Today’s competition was going to be recorded
live but broadcast later in the week. Young Miles had been led
away by Jason and Alex and the two men were currently working
with the littlest gladiator off in a quiet corner. The other boys
meanwhile were now wearing spiked leather collars with matching
leather wrist and ankle cuffs. Their chastity devices had been
removed. Their butt-plugs remained firmly in place. The small
decorative plug inserted in Christopher’s penis was taken out.
The boys were all staring at each other wondering what was going
to happen. Without their belts and chastity cages, more than a
few of them sported erections.
“Up the ramp boys,” Hannah Dubose ordered, taking charge in
Jason’s absence.
The gladiators in their leather collars and cuffs scurried up
and out onto the arena floor. The gathered crowd stood and
applauded them appreciatively. Enjoying the attention, several of
the less inhibited boys waved their hands or flexed their muscles
for the audience, eliciting even more cheers and catcalls.
Last up the ramp was Miles Harris. The four-foot-three-inch tall
ten-year-old was currently wearing a white bow-tie, a formal
black tuxedo jacket with tails, and absolutely nothing else.
Naked from the waist down, and the jacket open to reveal his bare
chest and tummy. He held a microphone in his right hand and
strode purposefully to the very center of the arena. There he
stopped and turned a complete circle so that everyone could get a
look at him. He had a little two-and-a-half-inch boner bobbing
adorably between his legs. The cameras followed him closely, but
gave him plenty of room to walk around.
The little boy raised the microphone. “Hi everybody!” his sweet
cheerful boy soprano rang out over the public address system.
“Welcome to another episode of Worldwide Boy Gladiators. I’m boy
zero-one, and I’m your host for today’s cock fight.”
The rest of the boys all knew they were in trouble when they
heard Miles say that.
“Oh, no.”
“Oh, shit.”
“They’re not gonna make us . . . “
But they were. Miles, having carefully memorized his lines,
quickly went over the rules.
“There’s eight boys . . . hi guys,” he waved at them before
looking back up at the small but suddenly eager crowd. “They’re
going to get their dicks hard and then whack ‘em against each
others until they start cumming. The boy who lasts the longest is
the winner. There’s one special rule to make it more fairer. Dry
cummers get to have three organisms before they get ‘liminated.”
The little ten-year-old’s grammatical errors, combined with his
English accent, brought a round of laughter from the crowd. The
consensus was already in that young Miles was exceptionally
cuddly and adorable, and he was beginning to learn that he could
use this to his advantage.
“Why aren’t you in the fight?” someone in the front row of seats
shouted down at him.
Miles flashed a big grin and gestured down to his tiny little
boy package. “’Cause my weenie’s so small,” he said. “But I can
make it bounce. Wanna see?”
A unanimous shout of ‘yes’ went through the stands.
Miles had been given special permission to touch his penis if
the crowd approved. He quickly wrapped his fingers around his
little member and gave it several quick eager yanks, making it
stand up to its full almost three-inch length. When he was nice
and hard he pulled it down between his legs and let it go. The
ten-year-old’s stiffy snapped back up against his hairless groin,
bobbed up and down a few times and then stood straight out from
his body. Miles did it a few more times, getting roars of delight
from the crowd. Finally he felt that tingly feeling starting to
build up. Still holding the microphone in his right hand, he
jerked himself off with his left until he gasped and tensed and
curled his cute little toes. A nice little dry orgasm, caught on
camera.
“Wow, that felt totally awesome,” the little boy said into the
microphone. Now it was the older boys’ turn. “Ok, guys, get your
dicks hard and start fighting!”
The rules, as Miles had explained them, seemed simple enough.
With the crowd on its feet and cheering, eight young hands went
to their eight young cocks and started stroking them intently.
All the boys were hard in just a few seconds, except of course
for twelve-year-old Daniel, whose penis was already under the
influence of the testroxil. With the other boys already pairing
up and starting to rub their penises together, Danny finally
managed to spring a weak three-inch boner. Ian was the last boy
without an opponent, and so they quickly moved together, swaying
their hips from side to side, dueling with their hard little
tools.
“It is like sword fight,” Alexei giggled as he and Chris slapped
their dicks together again and again. Their ripe young balls were
bouncing around between their legs now too.
“Ha!” Chris laughed. “I’ve got a sword, you’ve got a toothpick!”
“Do not!”
“Do too!”
“Do not!” Alexei added another few words in Russian expressing
his opinion of Chris’ parentage.
A few feet away from this spirited duo, David Brown and Illya
Casparev were paired up. Thirteen-year-old Illya’s exceptional
eight-inch boner dwarfed that of his older opponent by almost
three inches, but from David’s perspective that simply made it an
easier target. The two teenagers were standing close, their toes
almost touching, swinging their hard cocks back and forth,
brushing them together, the friction causing both boys to gasp
and pant. They both needed to cum so desperately, but neither of
them wanted to now. Their adolescent organs were already leaking
from the rough but not unpleasant stimulus they were receiving.
Illya’s cock was incredibly hard. He started to make small
whimpering noises in his throat.
“No way you’re gonna make it,” David taunted, seeing the
contorted look on Illya’s lightly freckled face.
Next to these two, fourteen-year-old Philippe and
twelve-year-old Gabriel were wagging their cocks back and forth
against each other, their hands at their hips, the shafts of
their turgid erections rubbing continually as they stood toe to
toe.
“Come on, Frenchie,” Gabriel taunted, starting to become
breathless. Their cocks were almost the same size, despite a two
year difference in their ages, and the tension in young Gabriel’s
dick was becoming unbearable.
“You first,” Philippe replied. He could tell by the younger
boy’s urgent movements that it wouldn’t be too much longer.
He was quite right. In that moment, a rather unexpected thing
happened. Chris, Illya and Gabe all had crippling orgasms, all
within a few seconds of each other. All three of them shouted,
“I’m cumming!” obeying the standing orders given them by their
trainers. All three of them shot several globs of ropy boy cum
out of their convulsing dicks. Gabriel made up for his lack of
volume by shooting his farther than anyone else’s. Chris and
Illya managed to get most of theirs all over Alexei and David,
both of whom stood there still needfully erect with another boy’s
cum now splattered all over their chests and stomachs.
“Wow!” Young Miles said into his microphone. “Three in a row!”
The little boy had been providing humorous color commentary
throughout the competition, walking around in his bow-tie and
tails. His own little cocklet was hard again, but he was young
enough to not even be aware of that fact.
Ian and Danny (who by virtue of being non-cummers were allowed
three orgasms before being eliminated) were still going at it,
their arms locked around each other, grinding their hips into one
another’s groins. Ian had already suffered the spasms of his
first orgasm, producing a tiny little dribble of clear semen. The
eleven-year-old’s twitching penis remained rock hard and ready
for a repeat performance. Danny had experienced one as well,
though it was little more than an itchy tickly tingly feeling in
his dick.
With the two youngest boys literally wrapped up in their own
private battle, the three remaining gladiators formed a tight
three-way circle and began the contest all over again. The three
boys who were out of the competition had their leather wrist
cuffs locked behind their backs. They were allowed to kneel on
the arena floor and watch the rest of the contest. Ball-gags were
stuffed into their mouths and strapped tightly behind their heads
to keep them from making too much noise.
“There’s five boys left,” Miles chirped, walking around the
arena and showing off for the crowd. “Who’s gonna be next?”
The crowd shouted out their favorites. Miles walked up to Ian
and Danny, who were still
front-to-front, pressing their bodies together, thrusting their
hips into one another. Both of them
were obviously building toward another knee-wobbling pre-teen
orgasm, but Miles forced the microphone in between them.
“Hey, guys, how’s it going?” he asked, playing his role with
impish delight.
“Not . . . so . . . mmmmm . . . good . . . oh man . . . “ Ian
answered through gritted teeth. He was trying to hold himself
back, but his instinctual thrusts were growing faster and
stronger. In spite of his best efforts, Ian’s eleven-year-old
body and his boyish hormones had betrayed him and he was now
trying to get himself off. The game was no longer trying to make
Danny cum first, but just to have that awesome feeling again. He
really didn’t care about winning and losing anymore. “Oh . . . oh
. . . ohhhhh, here it comes . . . oooooh, I’m cumming!”
Ian’s entire body quivered and he bit his lower lip. “Oh, yeah,”
he sighed as he slowly came down. His four-inch long erection was
still standing and ready for more action. “Make me have another
one, Danny! I don’t care!”
The two boys locked arms again and continued rutting. Danny had
his second cum, much stronger than the first one. The testroxil
had yet to take its full effect and the twelve-year-old was about
as horny as he had ever been, or would ever be again for the next
four years of his life. “I don’t care either, Ian. Let’s just see
how many we can have, ok?”
“Deal!”
The two boys eliminated themselves simultaneously a few seconds
later and just kept on going. Their sexual hysterics were such a
hit with the crowd that the trainers didn’t make them stop.
Without any conscious thought, Ian soon had Danny beneath him on
the ground. The eleven-year-old would thrust downward at the same
time the twelve-year-old was thrusting upward, both of their
throbbing eager dicks pressing together and straining for a
climax they were too young to achieve.
“There’s three boys left!” Miles announced. “Place your bets!”
From the archway leading down to the holding area, the trainers
were watching the contest and laughing at the ten-year-old’s
theatrics. “Did you tell him what to say, Alex?” Calvin Mayfair
asked.
“No, Cal,” the cultured elderly gentleman replied. “I simply
told him to put on a good show and keep the crowd entertained. He
gets ten bonus points if he does a good job. And of course he'll
get demerits if they start to get bored.”
“Speaking of demerits,” Ian’s trainer Anthony broke in. “I think
Ian and Daniel are way outside the established rules at this
point. Look at them.”
Ian now had Danny flipped onto his stomach and was pressing his
thin four-inch boner into the twelve-year-old’s butt crack.
Naturally the plug in Danny’s butt kept the randy pre-teen from
gaining entrance, but he was still doing his best to fuck the
older boy and bring himself off yet again.
“Normally I’d agree,” Jason said. As head trainer he was the
final judge on the handing out of demerits. “But the crowd is
loving it. Two little boys going at it. And those two especially.
They’re our most obedient boys. We couldn’t have scripted that.
Give them each three demerits and let them keep going until the
contest is over. Acceptable?”
The trainers all nodded in agreement. Three demerits each
equaled six more hours in the black room for young Joshua.
With the three remaining boys already in a highly aroused state,
it didn’t take much bumping and rubbing and swinging of cocks
until the first cry of “I’m cumming!” was heard. It came from
fourteen-year-old Philippe, who, not counting the milking
session, had gone more than two weeks now without an orgasm. The
young teen’s seed erupted out of his dick and his knees went all
rubbery.
“Oi, that was good . . . “ he panted. He longed to give his
already softening cock a few quick strokes with his hand, but he
knew this was forbidden. During the course of this particular
contest all of the older boys had learned how maddening it was to
not be allowed to touch their dicks when they ejaculated.
David was the next to lose what little control he had. He choked
out a weak “I’m cumming!” then arched his back, thrust his head
back and shot a copious load of teenaged boy-juice all over his
two competitors.
The second David’s hot seed splashed against his stomach,
twelve-year-old Alexei let out a high-pitched squeak, shouted the
required announcement to the crowd and enjoyed the last orgasm of
the contest. His ejaculate was still mostly just clear seminal
fluid, but there was an incredibly large amount of it.
“Look at him go!” Miles capered excitedly and Alexei’s orgasm
seemed to show no signs of ending.
Even when the last spasms of his climax had passed, a continual
stream of clear fluid was still dribbling out of the young
Russian’s dick. Like David, he desperately wanted to grab his
five-inch long stiffy and coax every last drop out of it. Instead
he just stood there looking down at his middle, watching his
penis slowly soften. His entire body glistened in a fine sheen of
sweat. He’d won the contest by exactly two seconds over David.
“And we have a winner, folks!” was Miles final announcement. A
slow motion replay of Alexei’s winning orgasm was shown on the
overhead digital screen to the raucous applause of the crowd. The
cameras panned around the arena, showing all of the boys in their
post orgasmic exhaustion, pausing for a few seconds on Ian and
Danny who were still going at it, then finally moving in for a
close up on little Miles, who was once again playing with his
little dick. He stopped long enough to look directly into the
lens. “I’m boy zero-one and you’ve been watching Worldwide Boy
Gladiators, an XB1 production.”
The boys were then brought to their feet, took a bow for the
appreciative and rather lecherous crowd and then marched
double-time back down the ramp to the holding area. Ian and Danny
had to be forcefully separated. Both of them were red-faced and
embarrassed, only just now realizing that their antics had been
captured on film and would be broadcast in full later in the
week.
“Nice job, dumb-ass,” Danny said sarcastically to the younger
but much better endowed boy.
“Look who’s talkin, mate. ‘Ohhh, oohhh, Ian . . . don’t stop!
That feels soooo good!’ Sound familiar?”
“Shut up.”
“No, you shut up.”
After spending nearly fifteen minutes pleasuring each other, the
two boys now almost came to blows. Their trainers had to
intervene and pull them apart for the second time in as many
minutes.
In the black room, young Joshua had been confined in the leather
hood and latex body-suit for close to twelve hours now. The boy
had no way of knowing that of course. It could have been twelve
minutes or twelve days from his perspective. The boy was slumped
over as far as his strict bondage would allow. His legs and
shoulders were sore and tired and he was no longer able to
support his own weight. He was hot and sweaty and miserable
inside the suit. He’d gotten used to the large gag in his mouth,
but remembering to breathe through his nose was still a problem
for him. Every so often he would panic and struggle against the
chains, desperate to get loose and tear the hood off, but utterly
helpless to do either. Then he would slowly calm down again.
He’d managed to sleep in fitful intervals, ten minutes
here, twenty minutes there, but for the most part the latex-clad
eleven-year-old had been awake the entire time. He was so hungry
now his stomach was starting to hurt.
‘What if they forget about me?’ his young mind raced.
‘What if they let me starve!’
Josh had no real concept just how long a human body, even
a young one, could go without food, or water for that matter. He
also had no knowledge of the fact that he was being monitored
continually by the people in the control center. The latex suit
had built in micro-processors that provided them with a constant
stream of data on the boy’s heart rate, blood pressure and other
vital statistics. Josh was in no real physical danger, but he, of
course, did not know that.
The plug in his butt started vibrating again. Fast this
time. The last three times it had almost brought him to orgasm,
denying him that pleasure on each occasion at the last possible
moment.
‘Oh, no! Not again!’ the boy screamed inside his head.
The time on the digital clock read 12:17:23. Josh still
had more than half of his sentence to go, and that of course was
not counting any additional time he would serve due to the
demerits earned by the other boys. That number was currently six,
meaning he would be spending six additional hours in the black
room.
Chapter 26:
William Durand sat leisurely in his study, having just watched
the events in the arena. He sat back and took a sip of wine, then
glanced over at Trevor. The boy was busy dusting the bookshelves.
He was dressed as a maid at the moment, an outfit he wore when he
was being punished for minor little infractions. It consisted of
a short black petticoat with white lace trim that came down just
to his slim hips and barely covered his tiny cock and balls.
White stockings were pulled up over his calves, ending just below
his knees and held up by a pair of frilly garters around his
thighs. Shiny black high-heeled shoes were on his feet. He still
wore his spiked leather collar and wrist cuffs.
“Make sure you get the top shelf too, Trevor,” Durand reminded
his young slave boy. “Or you’ll be wearing that outfit for the
rest of the day.”
“Yes, sir,” the fourteen-year-old replied in his high unbroken
voice. “I’ll pay more attention this time, I promise.”
“See that you do. I don’t like having to punish you all the
time.”
“And I don’t like being punished, master,” Trevor looked down at
himself and gestured to his humiliating costume. “At least, not
like this.”
Durand smiled at him. “Back to work now. No more talking or
I’ll have to gag you.”
Trevor nodded silently and continued with his dusting, careful
to be a lot more thorough this time. He hated having to wear this
outfit. It was better just being naked.
The bell rang at the front door a few minutes later.
“That must be Mr. Hilthorpe. Go and let him in, Trevor.”
The boy set down his feather duster and obediently ran out to
the entry hall to open the door. The man waiting there was young
and dressed in a smart tailored suit. He carried an expensive
briefcase.
“Good afternoon, sir,” Trevor bowed at the waist. “My master
will see you in the study.”
The man smiled at the sight of the young teenaged boy in a
maid’s outfit. The boy’s smooth slender legs were things of great
beauty. He paused at Trevor’s tiny genitals, no bigger than a
five-year-old’s, and looking much like one would find on those
ancient Greek statues of idealized boyhood. He wondered idly what
had been done to shrink them to such a small size, and he
privately approved of the procedure.
“Lead the way, boy,” he replied in an accent that spoke of
wealth and privilege.
Well trained in his duties as a domestic servant, Trevor bowed
again and quickly stepped aside so the man could enter. “If
you’ll follow me, sir,” the boy turned gracefully and led his
master’s guest into the study. He was curious about the man’s
identity and what he was doing here, but he knew it was not his
business to ask questions. If his master wanted him to know, he
would be told. He opened the double doors to the study and
gestured the man inside, following quietly behind him and
resuming his dusting straight away.
William Durand rose from his lounge and shook the man’s hand in
greeting.
“Nathaniel Hilthorpe,” the young man introduced himself.
“Pleasure to meet you. Welcome to Gladiator Island.”
“I’m pleased to be here. I have to confess I was thrilled when I
got a call from Ms. Tomlinsin. This is a tremendous opportunity
for me.”
“Please have a seat.” He poured the island’s newly arrived tutor
a glass of wine. “I’ve read over your curriculum vitae. Very
impressive. You have some rather progressive viewpoints on the
education of young males.”
“I believe discipline and education go hand in hand. The board
at my previous private appointment did not entirely agree with my
experimental approach.”
“You’ll have no such interference with your methods here, Mr.
Hilthorpe.”
“Excellent.”
“We have a suite prepared for you in the administration
building. I’ve taken the liberty of transferring the boys’ files
to your workstation there.”
“I look forward to learning more about them.”
“Did you watch the premiere Saturday night?”
Hilthorpe smiled broadly. “I did. Terrific. The boys are
adorable, and tremendous athletes. I hope I’ll find them to be as
gifted intellectually.”
“They are. Their intelligence makes them somewhat harder to
manage, but we wanted it that way. How would you like to
proceed?”
“I think I should meet them first as a group. Then I would like
to interview them each individually. I’m told a classroom is
being prepared in the training facility?”
“We thought that was the logical place for it. If you find it
unacceptable, I’m sure other arrangements can be made. We are
required to provide education for them under the terms of their
indentures. I will leave the logistics of how that is best
accomplished entirely in your hands.”
“I’m sure the existing facilities will be appropriate,”
Hilthorpe answered. “Your budget is quite generous. I will need
to have your maintenance team construct a few items for me before
we begin the boys’ lessons. Black boards, special desks of my own
design, that sort of thing.”
“I’ll instruct them to give your projects top priority.”
“Thank you, sir. Once the classroom is properly outfitted, we can
begin their instruction.
I’d estimate the end of next week at the latest. I do intend to
give them all reading and writing assignments on a fairly regular
basis. Are there any restrictions on allowing them to keep books
or journals in their cells?”
“Not as long as they are part of your required curriculum.”
“Excellent. Are there any other restrictions I should be aware
of?”
The look in Nathaniel Hilthorpe’s eyes told Durand his question
went a good bit deeper than reading, writing and arithmetic. “You
may discipline them as you see fit. We do try to keep casual
physical abuse to a minimum, but I will rely on your discretion
where that’s concerned. The boys are kept in strict chastity as a
general rule. I would appreciate it if you honored that. If you
should need to remove a boy’s chastity device for any reason,
please consult with his trainer first.”
Hilthorpe nodded and drained his glass. “Well, I suppose I
should get settled in. I’ve got files to go over and textbooks to
unpack.”
“Should I assign one of the mules to help you?”
“Heavens no. I do not want those uneducated little animals
touching my books. I will take care of that myself.”
“As you wish.”
The two men shook hands and Trevor obediently escorted the new
teacher out.
Beneath the arena, the boys were quickly hosed down and locked
back into their chastity devices. The leather collars, wrist and
ankle cuffs that had adorned their muscular little bodies during
the cock fight were currently being replaced with the standard
sets of irons and chains that had now become second nature to the
boys.
Not all of the boys however were being so restrained. Chris and
Danny had been pulled aside by Jason once their genitals had been
securely locked away.
“Zero-Seven and Zero-Five, you have been procured by VIP
clients,” the head trainer informed them, reading information
from his personal data organizer. “Zero-Five, your services have
been acquired for twenty-four hours. Zero-Seven, you have been
purchased for forty-eight hours. I am going to take you both back
to the barracks to get your properly cleaned up. You will shower
and brush your teeth and you will be dressed as our clients have
requested.” Jason attached a leather leash to each boy’s collar
and passed his right hand through the loops. “Follow me.”
Still wearing their leather restraints, the two boys fell in
line behind Jason and walked along behind him on their leashes.
It felt strange, walking from one place to another without chains
between their feet. Having a leash hooked to their collars
however was something they no longer found unusual at all. Just a
few weeks ago, they would have been terrified, now they really
didn’t think about it at all. Being restrained at all times was
becoming as normal to them as breathing.
Unhappy with the youngsters’ pace, Jason gave a firm tug.
“Move faster, boys, you are both going to be delivered in thirty
minutes. You will not be late.”
Chris and Danny were sent straight to the showers where they
quickly rinsed the dirt and dust off their bodies, always under
the watchful eyes of the guards. The boys washed their
short-cropped hair and scrubbed behind their ears and between
their toes. With their flanks still dripping wet, they were given
their numbered toothbrushes and a small tube of toothpaste to
share between them.
“Alright boys,” Jason said as the now squeaky-clean pair
presented themselves for inspection. “Lets get you ready.”
Calvin Mayfair took charge of young Danny while Jason lead Chris
over to a small box on the mess table. “Your first clients have
been very specific about how you should be dressed,” Jason told
the nervous thirteen-year-old. “Stand still now. I have to put
your cock-plug back in first.”
Jason took hold of Chris’ cock cage and produced a cock-plug
somewhat different from the one Chris had been wearing for the
last few days. This one was flanged like the first one, ensuring
that once it was inserted into the boy’s urethra it could not
come out involuntarily, but it had a large ring at the end.
“We could attach a chain or leash here,” Jason explained,
flicking the ring that now stuck out from the end of the boy’s
dick.
“I don’t think I’d like that too much, sir,” Chris said softly.
“And I don’t recall asking for your opinion. There’s a pair of
leather shorts in the box. Take them out and put them on.”
Chris removed the shorts from the box. They were, without a
doubt, the strangest shorts the young teenager had ever seen.
They were leather, all black, with belts and straps around the
waist and thighs. The pants had numerous rings built in, perfect
for securing the wearer in a variety of imaginative ways. There
was also a series of small padlocks. Chris dutifully laid them
out on the table before sliding the shorts up his slim muscular
legs. Immediately he discovered that the shorts were going to be
very, very tight.
“Put your cock-cage in there,” Jason instructed.
Chris had to push the chastity device downward between his legs
a bit in order to get it tucked inside the shorts.
“Good boy. You’ll need to learn to put these on and take them
off quickly. Now lace up the front . . . just like tying shoes .
. . “
The thirteen-year-old pulled the laces through the grommets,
Jason watching to make sure everything was nice and snug. Chris
tied them into a tight knot. He looked up at Jason with a bit of
an amused smile on his face.
“These feel kinda neat . . . I mean . . . I sorta feel sexy in
them, you know.”
“Oh, I know,” Jason said. Chris looked amazing in the leather
chastity shorts. “Now tighten the straps. Do the one around your
waist first, then the ones that go around your thighs.”
Chris obeyed, pulling and buckling the straps, making the shorts
even tighter than they already were. “How’s that?” he asked,
seeking his trainer’s approval.
“Perfect.” Jason picked up the padlocks and clicked them shut
one at a time over the hasps on the buckles. There were five
locks in all. Chris was now secured in the pants. He could not
take them off or loosen the straps until they were unlocked.
The same combination of leather collar and cuffs that Chris had
just worn in the arena was once again locked around his neck,
wrists and ankles. A pair of thigh cuffs went on next, joined
together by a short length of thin chain.
Jason next put a black ball-gag in the boy’s mouth and
pulled it tight behind his head, locking it in place. Chris was
no longer quite as intimidated by these sorts of things as he had
been those first few days on the island, but wearing a gag was
still one of his least favorite parts of his new life as a slave.
“Your clients think you talk too much,” Jason said with
smirk. “I tend to agree with them. Don’t expect that gag to come
out too often for next few days.”
Chris groaned, not liking the sound of that at all.
The last piece of young Christopher Andrews’ new costume
was a body-harness. Two leather straps went over his shoulders,
four more went around his chest, all joined together by
additional straps and large steel rings. Chris was surprised how
heavy it was, and how constrictive.
“Too tight?” Jason asked as he worked the straps around
the boy’s rib-cage.
Chris shook his head. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but
he knew that was of no concern to his trainer and didn’t bother
complaining.
Jason stepped back and whistled.
“Aren’t you a cute leather-boy,” he said, tussling Chris’
short blonde hair.
The leather leash completed the look. Jason led the
leather-clad boy toward the door. He was joined by Calvin,
leading Danny behind him. The boy was crawling on his hands and
knees. The twelve-year-old was dressed as a puppy, with a muzzle
and head-harness that included pointy dog-ears. Danny was wearing
a wide spiked collar. Leather mitts covered his hands. A
puppy-tail butt-plug was nestled in his cute little behind, the
tail sticking out and wagging with every movement he made. His
chastity belt had been removed, leaving his tiny little penis
dangling between his legs. His balls had been pulled downward and
cinched with a wide leather strap and were already turning a nice
shade of red as he crawled along. He looked, and indeed was, a
thoroughly miserable boy.
Outside the security fence, Ophelia Winstrom was waiting with
her little eight-year-old boy-pet Spike on all fours beside her.
He was wearing a muzzle and harness identical to Danny’s, and he
too had a little doggie-tail protruding from his butt. His little
penis remained pulled down below his tiny ball sac and locked in
place by the chastity ring that passed through his cute
circumcised cockhead and was joined by a short chain to a second
ring that pierced his perineum, just behind his scrotum. His soft
soulful blue eyes blinked rapidly in the bright mid-morning sun.
Calvin pulled Danny forward on the leash and turned him over to
the wealthy heiress.
“Sit up on your knees, boy,” Ophelia said, putting the end of
the leash in her left hand, which already held the one attached
to Spike’s collar. “Let me get a look at you.”
Danny got up on his knees and put his hands behind his head,
looking up at her. Ophelia glared down at him. “A boy’s eyes
should always be at a lady’s feet.”
The twelve-year-old quickly corrected his error.
“I will forgive you this once. My, you do have a small penis,
don’t you? It is not much bigger than Spike’s. Isn’t that right,
Spike?”
The little boy let out high-pitched ‘yip’, sounding as much like
a puppy dog as a human boy possibly could. Doggie sounds, were,
in general, the only sounds the boy was ever allowed to make.
Danny blushed as his small organ was once again the subject of
ridicule, but he knew it was true.
“Come along, boy. I’ve always wanted to have two little puppies
to train.” She tugged on Danny’s leash and the very frightened
twelve-year-old crawled over beside Spike.
Calvin presented Ophelia with a small cloth bag. Danny’s number
was on the outside of it. “His chastity belt is inside, along
with the keys. All we ask is that he be wearing it when you
return him.”
“I’m sure I won’t be needing it,” the middle-aged woman said.
“You won’t be having any nasty erections, will you, boy?” She
yanked firmly on Danny’s leash, indicating it was not a question
he was required to answer, but rather a command he had better
obey.
With her two boy-pets crawling on all fours behind her, their
little doggie-tails wagging as their hips moved from side to
side, Ophelia strode off at a leisurely pace.
Still standing by the gate, Chris watched them go and breathed a
huge sigh of relief. He felt sorry for Danny, but not enough to
want to take his place.
“Your clients are coming now,” Jason observed. Chris looked
ahead and saw two men approaching. They stopped and exchanged
greetings with Ms. Winstrom, then continued toward the barrack.
Chris recognized them immediately. It was the same pair who had
stroked his penis and made him ejaculate at the reception. They
were dressed in light colored shorts and shirts. He noticed that
the older of the pair had a small riding crop in his hand.
“You behave yourself,” Jason admonished. “You belong to them for
the next two days. I’d better not get any bad reports.”
Chris vehemently shook his head. He wasn’t sure how much time
Josh had left in the black room, but he knew any demerits he
received would only add to his brother’s punishment.
“Over here, boy,” the man with the riding crop spoke sternly.
The leather-clad thirteen-year-old marched over as bravely as he
could. The younger of the two men ran his hands over the boy’s
body harness and playfully tweaked Christopher’s nipples. He then
took the leash dangling from the young hairless teenager’s
collar.
“When you walk anywhere with us, you will always stay two feet
behind.”
Chris found that instruction easy to follow as the leash was
about that long. Jason turned over the keys to Christopher’s
cock-cage and all of the many padlocks that kept all of the boy’s
leather gear securely in place.
“Is he plugged?” the older gentleman asked.
“At all times,” Jason replied with a congenial smile. “It is a
large one. He’ll scream a bit when you take it out, and a lot
more when you put it back in.”
The younger partner reached behind, caressed the five-foot-tall
adolescent’s sexy bottom and felt the hard base of the metal
butt-plug beneath the boy’s tight leather shorts.
“He has a fantastic set of legs,” the senior member of the pair
said.
“And just feel his abdominal muscles,” the younger man replied,
running his hand over the thirteen-year-old’s tight stomach,
“solid little beast, isn’t he?”
Chris felt his ears going red. One of the strangest things about
being a slave, and one of the toughest things to get used to, was
being talked about like he wasn’t even there. Of course, Chris
was no longer a person. Slaves were property, commodities,
animals, objects either of beauty or scorn or both. And so he
stood there blushing as the two men discussed his many attributes
as if he were prize livestock. Strictly speaking, the boy was
precisely that. A firm tug in his leash told him it was time to
go. He walked off behind his new temporary owners. They were
talking enthusiastically to each other about the events on the
island, occasionally making certain comments about various parts
of his anatomy that were starting to make the young boy just a
little nervous.
The two men led Chris back to the large bungalow that housed the
luxury suites. It was the first time the boy had seen this
particular building. The gladiators had not been brought here
during their tour of the island on the first day. It was a
two-storied structure built in the classic British colonial
style, with a large veranda supported by white pillars. The
second he stepped inside a felt a blast of cool air and shivered.
‘Air conditioning!’ the young American boy thought. He’d quickly
gotten used to being hot and sweaty pretty much twenty-four hours
a day, so this was a sudden shock. He got goose-bumps on his bare
skin almost immediately.
“Poor thing’s not used to being in the air,” the younger man
said.
“We’ll have to warm him up then, won’t we?” his older partner
replied, looking down at Chris with a wicked smirk on his face.
The wealthy male couple had a suite on the ground floor.
Christopher’s jaw would have dropped if he hadn’t been gagged.
The suite was enormous, almost as big as the whole first floor of
his house back home. It opened out through glass doors directly
onto the white sandy beach.
‘What a cool place for a vacation,’ Chris thought.
Bruce and Lance, those were their names respectively, opened the
doors to allow the sea breeze to come in. Lance, the younger one,
went to the kitchenette and returned with two cold beers. Chris
was a bright kid, and he’d noticed from the first time he’d
encountered these two that the younger one seemed to always defer
to the older one. Now it suddenly dawned on him that the gold
chain around the young man’s neck was symbolic, and much more
than mere expensive jewelry. Lance noticed the look of dawning
awareness on the young boy’s face.
“That’s right, kid. I’m a slave, at least legally speaking. I
was just a bit younger than you are when I was sold. Bruce has
owned me since I left the processing center. That was like ten
years ago now, right Bruce?”
“That’s right, sweetheart,” the older man said. His hair was
slightly graying, but he still had a youthful appearance about
him. He kissed his younger partner squarely and firmly on the
lips. It was the first time in his life that Chris had ever seen
two grown men kissing. Even as a gay boy, it was not something he
really thought about. You kissed your mom, and maybe your
grandmother, and that was the limit of his list of potentially
kiss-able human beings.
“Thirsty, boy?” Bruce asked, resting his dark commanding eyes on
the thirteen-year-old.
Chris nodded eagerly. He hadn’t had anything since his juice
that morning.
“Lance is going to take your gag out and we’ll give you a drink.
If you say a single word, the gag goes back in. Understood?”
Again the boy nodded. Lance moved behind him and unlocked the
ball-gag, setting it aside. He handed Chris his beer.
“Take a swig or two,” the young man instructed.
Chris gave him a dubious look, wondering if the offer was some
sort of trap. He was too young to drink that kind of stuff, but
he was also very curious. He held the bottle to his lips and took
a small hesitant sip. His thirteen-year-old tastes were clearly
not quite ready for the alcoholic brew.
‘Geez, this stuff is awful,’ he thought to himself. ‘What’s the
big deal about it?’ He coughed and shivered at the bitter taste
and politely handed the bottle back.
“Maybe he’d be happier with a soda,” Bruce suggested.
The boy’s eyes lit up. It had only been two weeks, but before
coming to the island he could polish off three or four cans a
day. He’d forgotten just how much he missed that sort of thing.
“It’s diet,” Lance said as he returned with an ice-cold can.
Chris smiled his gratitude and snapped it open. The first gulp
of cold carbonated liquid went down his throat. It was great.
Just this one little gesture of kindness, this one little bit of
normalcy, this one brief opportunity to be a regular boy again,
made Chris happier than he had been since the day he first got
the letter from XB1.
“Doesn’t take much to keep a slave happy,” Lance observed.
“You should know that better than anyone, dear boy,” Bruce
replied. “Let’s enjoy the afternoon on the deck.”
The two men walked outside. Chris followed them on his own, his
leash trailing from his collar down his chest. Bruce and Lance
sat down on a pair of cushioned lounge chairs facing the ocean.
It was a terrific view and a perfect day in the tropics. Chris
was made to stand between them and hold their bottles while they
talked. His own can of soda was relegated to the wooden deck
between his bare feet. He would have to wait until the men were
done before he could finish it. Occasionally the boy would feel a
hand gently running over his legs, or his arms, or his
leather-clad behind. It gave him a tingly feeling inside, and
made his cock swell uselessly inside the chastity cage. He felt
the spikes digging in and let out a soft whimper.
“Serves you right, boy,” Bruce told him, smacking his butt
sharply. “That cage is on your dick for a reason. Don’t get hard
unless you are told. And you, Lance,” Bruce admonished his young
partner, “don’t let that boy get so excited.”
Just outside the black room, there was a small monitoring booth.
Hannah Dubose was currently on duty, watching young Josh encased
in leather and shiny latex on the multiple screens. The digital
clock now read 06:58:32. Inside the black room the temperature
was eighty-nine degrees. Josh was standing still at the moment.
He would, on occasion, jerk violently against the chains that
restrained him. He would then cry out hysterical frustration and
wail into his gag, the sounds of his distress muffled by the
leather hood. Hannah had the internal speakers turned on so she
could hear the eleven-year-old’s plaintive little cries.
Currently the barely audible sounds of sobbing were coming
through the speakers.
Josh had finally broken about two hours ago. All boyish bravado
and resistance was gone. He was a terrified, miserable, starving,
thirsty, sore and very unhappy little boy and he was unable to do
anything about it but cry. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t speak, he
couldn’t hear, he had a tube stuck in his dick and a plug jammed
in his butt. It was currently vibrating again, but it was no
longer even little bit pleasurable. He wanted out. He wanted that
tube out of his dick, that plug out of his butt, that horrible
hood off his head, that hot slippery suit off his body. He wanted
off the island. He wanted to wear clothes again and not have to
wear a chastity belt all the time. He wanted to go home.
He was screaming and shouting into his gag now and again pulling
hard on the chains.
“How long has he been carrying on like that?” Allison Trench
asked as she entered the booth.
“On and off for the last two hours, doctor,” Hannah
replied. She was currently finishing her lunch, but Joshua’s
cries had suddenly pitched up to shrieks and increased in volume.
“He’s screaming his little lungs off,” Trench said. There
was, perhaps, just a hint of pity in her voice, mostly however
she spoke in the cold detached phrases of a doctor long
accustomed to dealing with young boy slaves. He was a commodity.
An investment. If she was concerned for the boy’s well-being it
was simply because it was her job to protect the companies prime
assets, of which young Joshua Andrews was currently one.
She quickly checked the boy’s bio-monitor. “His heart rate
is jumping. And there hasn’t been any flow of urine through the
catheter in over an hour.”
“Is he in danger?”
“Getting too close for my liking, Hannah,” Allison
answered. “We need to get him calmed down and hydrated. He’s got
six hours of his original punishment, plus at least another
twelve coming.”
“When he finds out how many demerits the other boys got,
he’s going to freak.”
Allison Trench heartily agreed. “He’s not going to be a
very happy boy.”
“What’s this doing to his head, doctor?”
“Is that pity?”
“No,” Hannah replied rather defensively. “I think of him as a
thoroughbred racehorse. It’s my job to keep him in shape,
mentally as well as physically. If he comes out of this a nut-job
he’s not going to be much of a competitor. I can’t have him
breaking down in tears the next time he’s in the arena, or
driving the chariot. That’s bad news for me. And no bonus at the
end of the season.”
“Ah, motivated self interest then.”
“Precisely.”
“Well, dear, there will certainly be some short term
psychological problems. But I think you will find him a great
deal more docile, at least for the foreseeable future. A boy does
not soon forget an ordeal like this. If you just mention the
black room to him, that should bring him back in line very
quickly. A little conditioning goes a long way. There are various
drugs we can give him if he shows signs of depression or
psychosis, but I doubt he’ll develop anything more serious than a
few recurring nightmares and an occasional flashback. We will be
keeping a close watch on him for the next few weeks, so don’t
worry. I’ll do my job so that you can keep doing yours.”
“Fair enough.”
Just then another frantic shriek came over the speaker, this one
so high-pitched and desperate that it truly sounded as if it came
from an injured animal rather than a young boy.
“We’d better get in there.”
Doctor Trench was already buzzing the door open, her medical kit
in her free hand.
When Josh felt hands touching his body for the first time in so
long, he jerked wildly and shouted in terror.
‘Leave me alone! Don’t hurt me!’ is what he was trying to
say. All that came out through the gag and hood was a series of
muffled grunts and groans. Suddenly a voice came over the headset
built into the hood. He recognized it as Hannah’s.
“Calm down, Zero-Two. We’re going to take the hood off for a few
minutes and give you something to drink. Be still. Keep your eyes
closed. Remember, you are not allowed to talk.”
Josh could feel the straps around the outside of the hood being
unbuckled and pulled loose. With the hood no longer attached to
the posture collar, he could turn his head again. His little neck
was stiff and sore. With a single swift motion, the hood was
pulled off. The warm humid air in the black room actually felt
cold to the boy. It was quite a shock. He gasped, desperately
trying to fill his lungs. His natural instinct was to open his
eyes. They fluttered for a second and he opened them, even as
tears ran down his cheeks. The bright spotlight directly over his
head blinded him almost instantly and he quickly squeezed them
closed again.
“I told you,” Hannah chided him gently, rubbing his side through
the latex suit. He’d never heard her speak to him so softly. “Now
keep them closed.”
Josh’s lower lip trembled. “Yes, ma’am,” he said weakly. His
pre-pubescent was voice soft and hoarse. “I’m so hungry . . . “
“Hush. No talking.”
Doctor Trench removed a plastic bottle from the medical bag. It
contained a drink the boys would come to call Gladiator Power
Punch. It looked like fruit punch and was specially formulated to
help pre-teen and young teenaged boys restore their fluids and
energy levels very quickly. The taste, as Josh quickly
discovered, was not at all bad either.
“Slowly, Josh,” Allison said as she held the bottle to the boy’s
parched and chapped lips. It was the first time any of the adults
had called him by his name since he’d arrived on the island.
“Drink it all, but take small sips . . . that’s a good boy.”
Josh started to feel a little bit better right away. At least
his mouth and throat weren’t so dry anymore. He wanted to ask how
much time he had left, but he’d already talked once without
permission and he was afraid what might happen if he spoke again.
So, he kept his mouth shut and kept his eyes closed. He could
feel it when the doctor repositioned his catheter tube back over
the drain in the floor. During his recent struggles he’d managed
to pull the tube up out of the drain. Consequently a little
puddle of the boy’s urine had trickled out onto the floor. Having
that thing in his dick was probably the worst and most
humiliating part of his punishment. He whined plaintively but the
doctor simply ignored his obvious shame and discomfort.
Before he knew it, the hood was swiftly pulled down over his
head again, the built-in gag forced between his teeth and the
straps pulled tight. Once more, young Josh was condemned to
darkness and silence. He had been out of the hood for exactly
five minutes. The only break he would receive during his
punishment.
Hannah smacked his latex-clad butt, hard, and the two women left
the black room, locking the door behind them. Josh choked back a
frightened sob. When were they ever going to let me out?
‘What if they never let me out?’ his eleven-year-old brain was
coming up with all sorts of increasingly horrifying
possibilities.
Chapter 27.
Chris was on his hands and knees, moaning loudly. His lean,
hairless young body was covered in a fine sheen of boyish sweat.
The leather shorts he’d been locked into earlier in the day were
currently cast off on the floor beside him. He had Lance’s dick
stuffed in his mouth, and Bruce’s cock was violently ramming in
and out of the thirteen-year-old’s no-longer-virgin ass. The two
men had been fucking him from both ends, either with large dildos
or their own cocks for over two hours now. Chris still had the
chastity device locked around his penis, but the silver cock-plug
had been removed. His young organ was painfully engorged,
hopelessly trying to get hard, straining against the unforgiving
metal cage, the spikes digging deeply into his aching boyflesh.
He was so horny and so eager to cum, and so totally frustrated
that he couldn’t. His teen cock and balls felt like they were on
fire and he was leaking a constant and humiliating stream of
pre-cum. He whined plaintively.
“You like it, don’t you, little slave,” Bruce said as he thrust
rapidly in and out, driving his large fat cock deep into the
young boy’s rectum.
With his mouth stuffed full of Lance’s dick, the boy’s only
answer was a muffled groan. After two hours of relentless abuse,
he was totally exhausted. His arms and legs were starting to
tremble. He’d been on all fours since the ordeal began, and he
was having a hard time holding himself up now. A sharp smack on
his butt reminded him to keep still.
“You will learn to take it, boy,” Bruce chastised him as he
continued violating the youngster’s rear end.
The two men increased the speed and force of their thrusts,
driven into a sexual frenzy by the slim, hairless, naked boy
between them. Chris tried hard to concentrate on the cock in his
mouth, but it was difficult, since the one in his butt was
constantly assaulting his adolescent prostate. In spite of his
fatigue, Chris was, at this point, every bit as aroused as the
two men using him were. High-pitched moans and desperate sighs,
voiceless pleas for sexual release, were issuing from the boy’s
throat. They were music to Bruce and Lance’s ears. Given such
powerful stimulus, it wasn’t long before the two men climaxed,
filling the boy from both ends with their seed.
“Swallow it, boy,” Lance hissed, his head thrown back in
ecstasy. “Don’t spill a drop.”
Chris obediently slurped and suckled, making sure none of the
younger man’s ejaculate dribbled onto the carpet. He was still
licking it off his bottom lip when Bruce, still half-hard, pulled
out of him. The boy let out a short wail, then collapsed onto his
side, exhausted and suddenly overwhelmed by the humiliation of
what had just been done to him.
“Clean up your mess,” Bruce ordered, pointing down at the
puddle of pre-cum the boy had produced. “Then pour us each a
glass of wine. We’ll be outside. Don’t keep us waiting.”
Chris was left there on the floor, sobbing quietly, his
dick still throbbing desperately inside its metal cage. Sniffling
and wiping his nose with the back of his hand he crawled to his
feet and spent a few seconds just standing there feeling very
small and very bewildered and very lost. Then, remembering
Bruce’s orders, he hurried to the tiny kitchenette to find a rag.
He was back on his hands and knees a moment later, cleaning his
own pre-cum off the luxuriant carpet.
“We’ll set up the main camera here,” Mike Brussard told
his crew as he checked the light levels. “Make sure we have good
sound. I want every scream to come through loud and clear.”
The outdoor location was just outside the training
facility, an exercise yard of hard-packed dirt fenced in with
razor wire. A small grandstand was placed close to the fence, and
already packed with spectators. For most of them today would be
their last day on the island. A new group of visitors would be
flying in on Friday morning.
Today’s event, which would be videotaped for later
broadcast, was known simply as The Trojan Horse.
Within the squared outdoor yard, ten bizarre wooden
contraptions were placed several feet apart, all in a single
line, all facing the grandstand. They were wooden boxes,
triangular in shape, with flat bases and sloping sides that
formed a forty-five degree angle. Each box, each ‘horse’, was two
feet in length from front to back, and stood two feet high from
base to apex. Running the two-foot length of the apex was a
one-inch wide rubber strip. At the front of the box there was a
carved wooden horse’s head. In the center of the horse, attached
to the rubber strip, there was a large black latex dildo. Each
horse had a dildo of a different size, the biggest being nearly
seven inches long and frightfully thick. Each horse was numbered
on the front panel, below the carved wooden horse head. Horses
02, 04, and 07 would remain empty today. The others would be
occupied shortly.
The seven boy gladiators not currently occupied on other
parts of the island were marched into the yard. All of them were
in leather collars, with matching leather wrist and ankle cuffs.
As was the case with many of the events, the boys had all been
freed from their chastity devices. All of them currently sported
boners. The crowd whistled and applauded and showered the
hairless youngsters with scathing comments about their
misbehaving organs. Each boy was ordered to stand behind the
horse that bore his number.
Obeying quickly, the boys stood with their hands behind
their heads, gazing down at the strange boxes, and all knowing
exactly where those latex prongs were meant to go.
Fourteen-year-old David’s young teenaged face was a study in
terror. His was the horse with the longest, thickest dildo. Down
the line, Philippe and Illya both wore similarly miserable
expressions. Since their arrival, the boys had grown accustomed
to having plugs in their butts at all time, but these nasty
prongs sticking up from the wooden boxes were just plain scary.
The younger boys all had progressively smaller dildos, but
even little Miles was standing over a latex penis nearly five
inches long. Tears were already forming in his eyes. The little
boy did not want to sit down on that thing.
He had little choice.
“Stand over horses, boys,” Jason ordered. He was speaking
to them through a megaphone.
The seven boys all straddled the wooden horses, having to
spread their legs wide to do so. Seven sets of young balls
dangled erotically in the tropical heat. Seven hard boycocks
bobbed and throbbed and in the case of the older boys leaked
rather embarrassingly.
“Put your hands behind your backs.”
The boy gladiators obeyed and waited. They knew things
were about to get very unpleasant. On the rear panel of each
horse there was a single steel ring mounted on a metal plate. The
boys’ wrist cuffs were attached to this ring with a twelve-inch
long chain. This action pulled them down until the tip of the
dildo was resting ominously against their young rectums. They
quickly discovered that being chained this way also made it
impossible to stand up again. The boys’ ankle cuffs were secured
to similar rings on the sides of the horses. These rings were
positioned slightly behind the center-line where the dildo was
located. In this way the boys’ feet would be kept off the ground
and their legs forcibly drawn back. This position was not enough
to be painful right away, but enough to put immediate strain on
their smooth shapely young thighs and tend to force the boys to
put more and more of their weight on the dildos directly beneath
them.
Jason Sanborne now addressed the crowd. The boys cringed
and shared nervous glances as they listened.
“The boys are now riding the horses,” the head trainer
began. “For the moment, the strength in their gorgeous young legs
is enough to keep them from sliding down onto the dildos.”
He paused and gestured at the seven young gladiators,
their legs forced back, the muscles in their thighs already
starting to hurt. They were already struggling, tugging on their
bound and chained arms, testing to see how far they could stand
up and not daring to allow the tip of the latex cock to touch
their young boy-holes.
“As you can attest it is very hot out here today,” Jason
continued, “and the position they are in will become harder and
harder to maintain. They cannot use their hands. Eventually,
their legs will give out and they will have to sit down. The fun
will begin when the boys start to slide down onto the dildos.
They will still try to keep as much of those enormous things out
of their butts as possible, so you will be able to watch and hear
as they slowly impale themselves. It will, I assure you, be quite
painful for them as we have coated the prongs with a lubricant
derived from various hot peppers. The boys will feel the burning
the second the dildos enter their rectums.”
Yelps of fear and terror escaped from the boys even as the
spectators applauded this sensible and wonderfully devious twist.
“You will notice that all of the boys currently have
erections. Quite a few of them will remain hard throughout the
contest, even as the dildos enter them and the burning begins. If
we are lucky, one of two of them might even experience an orgasm
or two. The boy who is the last one to sit town all the way on
his horse is the winner of the contest.”
Jason blew his whistle, indicating the official beginning
of the terrible Trojan Horse competition. It was to be a weekly
and sometimes twice-weekly event, and it would become the stuff
of nightmares for these boys over the next few years of their
harsh and pain-filled lives.
William Durand was out for a late afternoon walk. It was
his daily routine to survey the island. He also understood the
political importance of being seen when there were wealthy and
well-connected guests on the island. He was dressed today much
like a colonial gentlemen of a by-gone era. White Bermuda shorts,
a fine white linen shirt, dark socks and white shoes, a Panama
hat adorned his head. Young Trevor was shuffling along obediently
behind him. The boy was stark naked this afternoon, but, in the
fourteen-year-old’s humble opinion, this was a big improvement
over the humiliating maid’s outfit he’d been forced to wear for
most of the morning. His slave collar was still around his neck,
but aside from that he was entirely nude and being led around by
his cock and balls. Durand had buckled a thin leather strap
around the young teen’s tiny shrunken genitals and attached a
chain leash to it. Trevor had first been introduced to the cock
and ball leash at the age of ten, and he was now quite adept at
keeping pace and thus keeping his balls from ending up sore and
swollen at the end of a long walk behind his master. Durand would
occasionally give the chain a sharp pull, just to remind the boy
of his place and elicit a little yelp of protest.
Master and slave did make a striking pair. Trevor’s slim
frame, his smooth and hairless alabaster skin, gave him the
appearance of a living statue. Durand had been careful to ensure
the boy wore lots of sunscreen whenever they ventured out over
the island. It was fine for the young gladiators to end up tanned
a deep berry-brown, but his young Trevor had skin like porcelain,
and he intended to keep it that way.
As they walked slowly down the main thoroughfare toward
the arena, they encountered Ophelia Winstrom approaching from the
opposite direction. Her little boy-pet Spike and Danny O’Hanlon
were crawling along on their leashes on either side of her. Both
of the young doggie-boys were muzzled, their butts plugged with
puppy-tails, their hands encased in leather mitts. Pre-teen
Danny’s well-muscled wrestler’s body contrasted nicely with the
softer curves of little eight-year-old Spike.
“Good afternoon, Ophelia,” William said warmly, flicking
Trevor’s cock-leash to bring him to a stop.
“And to you, Bill,” Ophelia said. She pulled back lightly
on the boys’ leashes. “Sit!” The boy-pups immediately assumed a
squatting position, their ‘paws’ on the ground between their
knees.
“So, what do you think of my little island?” Durand asked.
The wealthy heiress grinned and her eyes lit up. “It is
simply delightful, Bill. Positively delightful. I’m having a
wonderful time. I’ll be sure to tell all of my friends when I
return home.”
William Durand smiled inwardly. That was sort of word of
mouth advertising that money just could not buy.
Back in the exercise yard, The Trojan Horse was entering
its second half-hour. So far none of the boys had succumbed to
the growing pain in their thighs. There was a lot of struggling
and wiggling and whining, but so far they had all managed to keep
the enormous dildos out of their cute little butts.
Eleven-year-old Ian had momentarily relaxed his legs, and he
immediately felt the bulbous tip of the latex cock pressing into
his bottom. The burning sensation was also immediate and
horrible. He’d shouted loudly and lifted himself off the dildo
again. To his terror he discovered that the chain that bound his
arms to the horse behind him was on a ratchet system. He
couldn’t bring himself back up to his previous position, because
two inches of the chain were now locked down by the ratchet. This
put even more strain on his handsome little legs as he now had to
lean noticeably forward to keep the giant prong out of his rear
end.
He remained in that uncomfortable position for close to
ten minutes. He was sweating profusely. It was running down face
and dripping off his chin. He clenched his eyes tightly, trying
to summon all his boyish strength. Finally with a loud cry of
agony, his legs gave out and he began to slide down onto the
dildo.
“Aaaiiii!” he shrieked as the monstrous latex penis slowly
and relentlessly impaled him. Or, to put it more accurately, as
the boy slowly and relentlessly impaled himself. That, of course,
was the pure ironic cruelty of this event. Ian was about half way
down when he tried once again to lift himself up, only to
discover that the ratchet had taken all the slack out of the
chain. He was now stuck half way down the length of the five-inch
dildo, his tight little hole being forced open, the burning
lubricant sending waves of searing pain into his gut. “Oooohh,
nnnnnooooo! Please get me off . . . please . . . it burns!“ All
the while, the little eleven-year-old’s cock was as stiff as a
nail, much to the delight of the audience. Mike Brussard ordered
his cameramen in close to get a good shot of the contorted
expression of agony of the boy’s face and naturally a nice shot
of his hard four-inch boner. Footage like this was priceless and
he knew it. He was happy today’s event was not being broadcast
live, it would give him a change to do some real stylish editing
in the studio later on. When it did finally air, it would be a
masterpiece.
‘I’ll get another Emmy for this,’ he thought. He would put
it right next to the one he’d received two years ago for his work
on ‘Enslaved’.
“That’s one down, six to go,” Jason told the crowd. Ian
had screamed himself out and was now whimpering and sobbing
quietly, his little boy hole stretched wide and on fire, his
slender cock fully erect, his legs aching and still jerking
spasmodically in a vain effort to lift his seventy-five pound
body off the prong.
Jason had barely finished speaking when Miles Harris, as
if on cue, became the second victim, sliding down into the dildo
with an anguished shriek. The barely four-foot-tall ten-year-old
writhed and wiggled for a few seconds, then started sobbing as
the burning sensation in his rectum became more intense. Like
Ian, his cute little pickle was as hard as a nail and showed no
signs of going soft any time soon. He thrust his adorable little
head back, let out a high-pitched wail, then a soft childish
whimper, and then the little boy just sat there, limp, impaled on
his horse, a lost and miserable expression on his sweet innocent
face. He and Ian were both sniffling and crying, blinking tears
out of their eyes. Flash bulbs went off as the spectators took
photographs of the two little fellows, priceless souvenirs of
their memorable weekend on Gladiator Island.
Over the next hour, and one by one, the boys all
inevitably lost their battle with the wooden horses. Illya and
Gabriel were the last two who had still managed to keep
themselves off the wicked latex prongs, the strain in their young
legs reaching torturous levels. Sweat was pouring down their
faces, and Illya had bit his lower lip bloody in his desperate
effort to keep that thing out of his butt. David had just given
up a few moments earlier and slid down on his dildo, the longest
and thickest one in the contest. His adolescent voice screamed
out in the still humid tropical air. The crowd applauded. Like
all of the boys before him, the young teen broke down in tears,
his hard cock still throbbing insistently as he sat helplessly
impaled on the dildo.
By this time, Miles and Ian had been riding their horses
for over sixty minutes and both of them had experienced several
dry cums, their hard little dicks still pointing up toward their
belly-buttons. The crowd cheered loudly each time one of the
little boys went into spasms. Between their brief moments of
orgasmic ecstasy, the pre-teens sat there miserably on their
wooden horses, fidgeting and struggling but unable to lift
themselves off the dildos. Their sweet faces contorted in
anguish.
None of the older boys had yet to orgasm, but they were
certainly desperate to do so. In spite of the pain of the latex
cocks in their butts, most of them were hard with their young
dicks leaking pre-cum in copious amounts. At the moment,
twelve-year-old Gabriel was the only boy whose penis was flaccid.
So far he had managed to keep himself completely off the dildo, a
feat of strength and stubborn determination that was not
surprising for a street-tough kid from Liverpool. His young
muscular legs were showing the strain, and he was beginning to
gasp for breath. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer. The crowd
wasn’t helping. Rather than cheering for him, they were shouting
at him in a resounding chorus of ‘Sit, boy, sit! Sit, boy, sit!’
over and over again. He looked down the line at Illya, the only
other boy still technically in the contest. The thirteen-year-old
was currently screeching as the first two inches of the enormous
dildo beneath him entered his rectum.
“Just sit down, Illya!” Gabe shouted at the older boy.
“Then it’ll be over.”
The other impaled boys all groaned their agreement, but
Illya was every bit as stubborn as Gabriel. “Nnnnoooo . . . you
sit . . . aaaghhh . . . you sit down,” he shouted back, barely
able to utter a coherent sentence with the giant dildo ripping
him apart.
The two boys carried on a shouting match for a few
seconds.
“Ohhh, will one of you please sit down!” David Brown
moaned.
Finally Illya gave in. Not voluntarily to be sure, but the
strain in his legs had become unbearable. With his eyes tightly
clenched he allowed gravity to take over and slowly felt himself
sliding down onto the remaining four inches of the dildo. His
half-hard dick immediately shot up to its full and rather amazing
eight-inch erection. He whined and cried in shame and agony as
the plastic prong was solidly implanted in his butt. Once he was
down, he could not get back up, pinned to the horse, with nothing
to do but sit there and endure it.
“We have a winner,” Jason announced to the ribald cheers
of the spectators. “Now all Zero-Five has to do is plant his
little butt down on the horse and the contest is over.”
“What!” Gabriel yelled. “But I’m the winner . . . you
can’t make me . . . that’s not fair . . . “
Jason ignored the boy’s protest. “As long as Zero-Five
holds out, all you other boys will go on sitting on the horses.”
There were now six boys urgently and rather vocally
pleading with Gabe to give up, but he didn’t want to. He was
really rather pissed. He was the winner. He’d nearly gone mad
keeping himself off that horrible dildo, even now he could feel
the tip of it just nestled against his little opening. The
burning in his legs was terrible. ‘This totally sucks!’ he
thought to himself. It was stupid to keep going, and he knew
there was no chance of talking his way into getting off that
horse without sitting down on it first. Like Illya before him,
Gabe closed his eyes and let the latex invader work its way
slowly up his butt. The burning lubricant instantly made him
scream. Gabe forced himself down the rest of the way, the dildo
stimulating his prostate and resulting in a turgid erection.
“Ok, ok! I’m down! I’m down! Get me off this thing!”
“Yeah, get us off!” the other boys all shouted in tandem.
Jason raised the megaphone once again. “Let’s have the
audience decide,” he said. “Well, folks, what will it be? Do we
let these little whiners off the horses now, or make them sit and
squirm for another thirty minutes?”
The crowd’s unanimous and instantaneous response should
not have taken the poor boys by surprise. “Let them sit!”
The young gladiators cried in protest and a few of the
bolder ones managed to glare angrily at the spectators.
“You bastards!” David shouted, his voice choosing that
moment to break, making him sound like a little boy and leading
to a round of cruel laughter from the crowd.
“Two demerits for you, One-Zero,” Jason scolded him.
“Watch your language.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” David squeaked, hoping a quick and
polite apology would help him avoid more serious punishment. His
two demerits also meant an additional two hours of isolation for
Josh, but at the moment all the young teenager could think about
was that terrible plastic cock stuffed up his butt and the rather
humiliating effect it was having on his teenaged penis, which was
fully erect, five-and-one-half inches of boyflesh bobbing and
throbbing and pointing up obscenely toward his stomach.
In the luxurious guest suite, Chris was tied spread-eagled
on the bed, his arms and legs stretched taut, thick cotton rope
wrapped around his wrists and ankles. A light breeze blew in from
the open patio, making him shiver as the sweat on his nude body
evaporated. The boy was on his back. His cock cage had been
removed. He raised his head from the pillow as far as he could
and looked down the length of his hairless body. His hard dick
was sticking up in all its teenaged six-inch glory, begging for
attention. He could not see his balls, but he could certainly
feel them. They ached, which was not at all surprising since they
were currently tied off with thin nylon twine.
Thirty minutes earlier, Chris had looked on in mild terror
as Lance, under Bruce’s careful instruction, had slowly wound the
rope in a thick coil around his adolescent balls, forcing them
down and stretching his soft pink scrotum. Chris yelled and
shouted and thrashed on the bed as Lance continued to work,
wrapping the rope around each testicle, separating them and
forcing his ball sack to stretch even further. The pressure on
his balls was intense, and in his innocence the boy was certain
his family jewels were going to be ripped clean off.
“Pleeease . . . don’t! Please . . . “ he’d shrieked as
tears filled his blue eyes.
Bruce leaned over the bed and stared down at him. “You
don’t really think we’d take your nice young balls, do you?” he
asked, mocking the boy’s fear. “Calm down and let Lance finish.
Deep breaths now. Are you really in pain?”
The boy sucked in air and came to the surprising
realization that it really didn’t hurt all that much. It just
felt weird, having your balls all wrapped up like that. He stared
back at Bruce and slowly shook his head. The man smiled at him.
Lance kept going until all the rope was tightly coiled and the
boy’s balls were stretched down a good two inches, separated, and
turning a nice shade of purple.
Now, as Chris lay there, he was starting to get into it.
He was totally, desperately hard. Somehow the tight constriction
and relentless ache in his balls was only making him harder. His
young cock throbbed with the beat of his pulse. Being bound and
helpless, his limbs stretched taut, only added to his feelings of
arousal. Chris had always taken a private delight in being tied
up, not that he would ever admit that to anyone, or himself. Even
Josh didn’t know about that, in spite of the many tie-up games
they’d played with each other ever since they were little. In
those games, somehow it was always Josh who ended up doing the
tying and Chris who wound up being tied. The last few times,
Chris had noticed a certain look in Josh’s eyes that told him his
little brother knew that something was going on, but if Josh had
noticed the erection on his big brother’s boxers, he hadn’t said
anything.
Strangely enough now that it was no longer his choice, it
was even more exciting to him. It was scary of course, not being
able to get free, but it was also making the thirteen-year-old
exceedingly horny.
Every so often either Bruce or Lance would come over and
give his penis a few slow, teasing strokes, milking a few drops
of pre-cum out of him and causing the boy to moan in pleasure.
‘Don’t you dare cum, you little animal.’ Bruce would say
something to that general effect each time. Lance for the most
part said nothing to him at all, but he seemed to have a
particular skill at bringing Chris close to orgasm and denying
him at the last minute.
Chris laid his head back again, rather enjoying the treat
of being on a soft bed with a soft silken pillow under him. He
closed his eyes. His breathing was shallow now.
‘This isn’t so bad,’ he thought to himself. ‘Maybe they’ll
make me cum again, like they did before. That would be cool.’
Chris’ dreamlike musings were interrupted when he felt a hand
firmly grasping his cock. ‘Oh, yeah . . . this is it.’ The boy
purred happily, sure he was finally going to get to shoot his
pent-up teenage spunk. The thirteen-year-old’s excitement slowly
turned to confusion when he felt something ice-cold and very hard
being pressed into his piss slit. It felt a little bit like the
cock plug he’d been wearing for the last few days, but when he
opened his eyes to investigate he discovered that it was
definitely not the little two-inch plug he’d rather come to
enjoy.
His blue eyes danced with fear as he saw Bruce kneeling
between his outstretched legs, holding a thin silver rod in his
right hand. It was, in Chris’ hurried and frightened estimation,
at least twelve inches long and a quarter of an inch thick,
thicker than the cock plug, and about six times longer.
“Oh, no way!” he shouted, jerking hard against the ropes.
“You’re not gonna . . .”
“Oh, yes, little man, I am,” Bruce said with a wicked
smirk. “It’s called a sound. Don’t worry, it is designed to be
inserted into a boy’s dick, and I’m really quite skilled at it. I
will make sure it hurts you, a lot, if you keep bouncing around.
Now are you going to be still, or I am going to give you a real
reason to scream?”
Chris’ terrified eyes watered. He instinctively looked
over at Lance, figuring if there was any compassion in this room
he would find it there. The younger man simply stared back at
him. “I’d do as he says, if I were you, Chris.”
“This is the smallest one I have,” Bruce explained as he
let the tip of the icy steel rod press gently against the boy’s
slit. “Lance, show him the rest of the collection.”
Lance brought over a leather case and opened it so that
Chris could see. The boy raised his head enough to look in the
case and find nine more steel rods, the biggest one had to be
close to three-quarters of an inch thick. He felt sick to his
stomach.
“That last one would probably ruin your nice big dick
forever if I put it right now, so we’ll have to work up to that.”
“Oh, man . . . oh, shit . . . “ Chris said under his
breath. “Please don’t do this to me, please . . . I’ll suck your
dicks again! . . . I’ll, I’ll do anything . . . please . . . “
Bruce smiled down at him. It was so adorable seeing this
cute thirteen-year-old boy beg and plead and offer to suck their
cocks. “You’ll be sucking our dicks again anyway, boy, and I
don’t recall that indentured boys have a say in what happens to
them. Now are you going to lie still and behave yourself?”
“Yes, sir,” the boy almost sobbed, choking back frightened
tears. “How . . . how far down will that thing go?”
“All the way, boy. There’ll be about an inch sticking out
of your dick when I’m done. The rest of it will be inside you.
I’d keep that dick nice and hard if I were you. These things are
murder when a boy’s cock goes soft.”
With that, Bruce began to work the sound into the boy’s
urethra. Chris gasped and wailed and thrashed his head on the
pillow, but he did his best to keep his body perfectly still. The
steel rod was so incredibly cold it almost burned. He could feel
its icy hardness slowly sliding down into his dick. It stung
terribly as it stretched his piss tube. Whenever the sound
encountered a little resistance, Bruce would stop for a moment,
draw it back up the length of the boy’s cock and then quickly
reinsert it, pushing it past whatever blockage it had found. This
always caused a good deal more shock than actual pain for young
Chris, but the result was the same, a loud high-pitched scream.
Chris was panting now, and sweating even harder. His cock
remained rigid, and large amounts of pre-cum were oozing out
around the steel sound.
“It’s a good thing you’re making so much juice,” Lance
said, running his fingers over the boy’s taut rib-cage, making
the extremely ticklish boy squirm.
“Keep still!” Bruce yelled at him, squeezing the kid’s
bound up balls as a reminder.
Chris nodded and raised his head once more to see what was
happening between his legs. About six inches of the sound had now
disappeared into his dick. Bruce held the sound in place with one
hand and began stroking the young teenaged boy’s penis with the
other. Chris groaned and gritted his teeth. Every stroke, up and
down, caused the sound to move a little bit inside him.
“Oh, wow . . . “
Bruce grinned and stopped rubbing for a moment. He held
Chris’ straining throbbing dick straight up and released his grip
on the end of the sound. Gravity now took over and Chris watched
in bewildered amazement as three more inches of the steel rod
quickly slid down inside him. “Ooohh, oohhh . . . oh, jeeez . . .
goddamn it. . . “
“Watch your language, boy,” Bruce gave the suddenly
foul-mouthed teen’s balls a good hard slap, then spent the next
few minutes methodically fucking the boy’s dick with the sound.
Chris was wiggling his toes and moaning in pleasure and crying in
pain all at once. It was terrible. This sick freak had just stuck
a metal rod down his dick and was ramming up in and out, and yet
somehow the boy’s dick remained incredibly hard. In fact he was
getting very close to cumming.
‘Maybe I’m the one who’s sick,’ Chris thought. “I think
I’m gonna cum, sir,” he said in a weak, far off voice,
remembering his standing orders from Jason.
“Not yet,” Bruce replied, letting the sound slide back in
all the way and then letting go of the boy’s dick. “You’re dick
should start to go soft in a few seconds, then the sound will
start to come out by itself. I’m afraid you’re going to find that
part rather unpleasant.”
Indeed he did. He had to bite his lip to keep from
shouting and tears were rolling freely from his eyes by the time
the twelve-inch rod finally plopped out onto the bed.
“Very good,” Bruce said, tussling the boy’s still rather
short and spiky hair. “Now for a bigger one. If you cum before we
want you to, I’ll go right to the biggest one, got it?”
Chris nodded vehemently, then sighed and closed his eyes
as he felt Lance’s hand bring his flaccid penis back to another
full erection. He didn’t get much chance to enjoy the feeling as
the second somewhat thicker sound was immediately inserted into
his dick, much more quickly than the first had been.
‘Eight more to go,’ he thought to himself with dread. He
wasn’t sure he could hold out that long. Every time they touched
his dick, he felt his balls draw up against the ropes that bound
them, and a tingly feeling shot through his entire body. He’d
clench all of his abdominal muscles and try as hard as he could
not to cum. So far he’d made it work, but he was getting closer
and closer to losing it each time.
By the time the sixth sound, one-half inch in thickness,
was inserted, Chris no longer had to worry so much about keeping
himself from cumming. As the rods grew progressively larger and
heavier, so did the amount of discomfort they caused him. The
half-incher was excruciating. The poor boy screamed his head off
the entire time. It felt like his dick was being split open from
the inside out.
“Take it out! Please . . . you gotta take it out!”
But Chris’ screams fell on deaf ears. Lance straddled the
young teenager’s chest and attached a pair of clamps to the boy’s
nipples. “That will give you something new to think about,” he
said. The clamps were similar to the ones Jason had put on him
before, that first night in the training room. Chris screamed
even louder and jerked even harder against his bonds, digging the
cotton ropes deeper into the flesh of his wrists and ankles.
They continued torturing him with the sounds for another
hour, sometimes going back to smaller one before moving on to the
next larger one in the set. Chris was having a hard time keeping
an erection at this point, but that offered him no reprieve from
the metal rods. Having them inserted into his flaccid cock was
even more agonizing than when he was hard. The irony of the
situation was not lost on the young thirteen-year-old. Now that
he really needed to have an erection, he couldn’t get one.
Finally, when Chris had been reduced to uncontrollable
sobs and pathetic whimpers, they stopped. Chris looked down the
length of his body as Bruce slowly withdrew the last sound. They
hadn’t used the thickest one on him, but that hardly mattered
from the boy’s point of view. His now pathetically limp dick was
on fire, the ache in his balls was intense, and his nipples were
hurting from the clamps.
Lance again straddled him. “Take a deep breath,” was the
only warning he gave the boy before he quickly removed the metal
clamps.
Chris didn’t think he had the strength left to scream, but
he was wrong. If anyone had been walking along the beach they
would have heard the boy’s high anguished wail coming through the
open windows of the luxury suite.
Chapter 28:
Back in the barracks, the boys were all sitting around the
table. It was time for dinner, which normally found the boys at
their most talkative, but this evening they were all very
subdued. The wooden horses had taken a lot out of them. Their
legs were sore, and their butts were still on fire from the
dildos they’d been impaled upon for more than an hour. When they
were finally told to get off the horses, all of the boys had a
hard time getting their feet under them again. With their arms
freed, they slowly lifted themselves off the thick latex prongs,
wincing and grimacing until they were again standing behind the
evil wooden contraptions. They bowed to the audience in practiced
unison then waited obediently for the chains to be attached to
their collars. Bound again in a single file, the seven boys
trekked rather gingerly back to the barracks.
Gabriel was officially the winner, but he didn’t feel
terribly victorious. None of the boys had any congratulations for
him, in fact most of them were rather mad at him for refusing to
sit down on his horse right away, prolonging the ordeal for all
of them. Tired and sore, they sat with their heads down waiting
for the mules to bring in the meal cart. The television was still
on, showing Josh’s ongoing punishment in the black room, but none
of them bothered to look. When the cart arrived, the boys lined
up to receive their nightly ration of soy-loaf and rice and
shuffled back like zombies to their places at the table. They ate
quietly, the only sound their plastic sporks scraping against
their plastic trays. The sporks were a recent addition, since the
initial plan to have the boys eat using only their hands resulted
in some rather untidy messes.
After dinner was over and the cart rolled out by the
silent teenaged mules, Jason gathered the boys in front of the
television and called them to attention. He had a clipboard in
his hands.
“As you can see, Zero-Two has a little less than four
hours remaining on his original punishment. As a group you all
have earned a total of twelve demerits since last night, which
means Zero-Two will be spending another twelve hours in the black
room, thanks to you. He won’t be told which of you specifically
earned the demerits that sentenced him to more time, but your
demerits will be going on the board tonight, so he’ll be able to
see them when he gets out.”
The boys who had received demerits since last night all
hung their heads guiltily. Ian turned out to be the worst
offender, accounting for five of the demerits, and thus nearly
half of
Josh’s extra time. His own brother Chris had been given two
demerits, costing his brother an additional two hours. Of course
Chris was with Bruce and Lance and the moment and would still be
in their charge when Josh was released.
“Now the good news,” Jason continued. “We’ve decided to give you
free time for the rest of the night. No competitions. You can
shower. You can read or play board games. Several of you have
calls home tonight. You’ll be told when it’s your turn. We’ll
open the outside exercise yard for you,” Jason pointed to a door
on the other side of the barracks that as yet the boys had never
seen open. “There’s a basketball hoop out there. If any of you
want the ball, just see one of the guards. Roger and Calvin are
in the weight room. If any of you want to join them, let me know
before I leave. If you go, you stay there until they bring you
back for lights out. They’re not going to shuttle you boys back
and forth.”
This announcement led to a boisterous round of boyish
chattering. All of the young indentured boys were excited about
having a whole night free of competition.
“Now we have to get you back in your chastity devices, and then
Anthony is going to give you some new tattoos.”
The boys all looked down at the numbers permanently inked on the
flanks of their left buttocks. They shivered in dread at the
thought of enduring those nasty needles again.
“This one won’t be permanent,” Jason said to ease their fears.
“You’ll each be getting the Worldwide Boy Gladiators logo on your
chest. Wear it with pride, boys! We’ll also be putting sponsors’
logos on your backs, each one of you will be getting a different
one.”
While the seven gladiators were being locked in their chastity
devices, Anthony arrived and with his usual efficiency set up an
area where he could add more of his distinctive artwork to the
boy’s bodies. This time it would not be a permanent modification,
but the inking would last for several weeks. One by one the boys
came over and sat down on the metal stool. With no need to have
fear of needles, each boy looked down with curiosity and interest
as Anthony painted on his young human canvases. The stylized
letters ‘WBG’ were carefully drawn onto each of their chests and
colored in blacks, reds and yellows. The boys all had to admit
the logo was extremely cool and looked really neat emblazoned in
the center of their chests. Each boy also received a different
sponsor’s tattoo on his back. They had fun reading off which
sponsor was on which boy.
Little Miles and fourteen-year-old Philippe were sporting logos
of two leading soft drink brands, both official sponsors of the
show.
Ian Cloverdale had the logo of ‘BoyGuard Chastity Belts’, the
same brand he himself was wearing.
Alexei Graznikov was a walking advertisement for a major
computer manufacturer.
Gabe Shelton and Illya Casparev were sponsored by two competing
credit card companies, and David Brown simply had the XB1 logo on
his back. Chris, Danny and Josh would all get their new tattoos
once they returned to the barracks.
“Alright, boys,” Jason called after Anthony had finished with
David. “Any takers for the weight room?”
Gabriel reluctantly raised his hand, only because his own
trainer Roger was going to be there and the boy figured it was
just expected that he show up. He was the only boy who
volunteered.
“Go wait for me by the door, Zero-Six,” Jason told him. “You
will have to be chained.”
“Yes, sir,” the twelve-year-old said and marched off toward the
secured inner door of the barracks.
“The rest of you have free time until lights out. Any demerits
you receive still count against Zero-Two’s time, so try to behave
yourselves.”
The boy’s all took a quick glance at poor Josh chained to the
walls of the black room and encased from head to toe in latex and
leather. The digital clock in the corner of the screen read
03:36:23. After his first twenty-four hours expired, his
additional time would begin. Gabriel was quickly chained and led
off to the training center by Jason. The rest of the boys broke
up into smaller groups. Ian, Alexei, and Illya went outside to
try out the dirt-packed exercise yard, bookish David eagerly
returned to his fantasy novel, Philippe waited anxiously for his
first chance to call home, and Miles, the littlest gladiator,
stumbled into his cell and curled up on his bunk, falling asleep
in a matter of minutes.
In their luxury suite, Bruce and Lance were enjoying a late
dinner. The youngest of the mules, a dark-haired
thirteen-year-old with the number 1674 tattooed on his left thigh
had delivered the food cart. He was now standing silently by the
door, ready to take the cart back once the guests had finished
their dinner. The mule kept his head bowed at all times, and did
not even attempt to make eye contact with the other boy he’d
noticed in the room. He remained perfectly straight and still,
his arms at his sides, his genitals encased and permanently
locked away in a small spherical metal pod.
It was young Christopher’s job to act as waiter. He was
stark naked at the moment, wearing only the spiked leather slave
collar and the leather wrist and ankle cuffs. A foot-long chain
ran between his ankles, hobbling the boy’s movements and forcing
him to shuffle around comically as he refilled the glasses and
empty plates. He was free of his chastity device but silver penis
plug was still in him. His long soft teenaged cock swayed back
and forth between his legs as he moved around the table. He’d
managed to not have an erection for almost two hours now,
something of a record for him on those rare occasions when the
chastity cage was removed.
The two men carried on a conversation as if Chris was merely a
piece of furniture, acknowledging his presence only when they
needed more food or drink. Dinner was roast duck, with fresh
vegetables, warm bread and a pricey bottle of wine. Chris looked
on with envy and rubbing his growling stomach. He hadn’t eaten
anything since breakfast. He licked his lips subconsciously as he
laid another slice of the succulent duck onto Bruce’s plate. He’d
never actually eaten anything so fancy as that, but it smelled so
good to the hungry young teenager.
“What do they normally feed you?” Lance asked as he waited for
Chris to refill his plate.
Chris looked up and his eyes smiled. He was happy to be
acknowledged. “We get this food loaf stuff,” he explained,
wrinkling up his nose in disgust. He was not really sure what
exactly was in it. “It doesn’t taste too good. It’s supposed to
be like meat loaf, but it’s not. They give us rice . . . and
sometimes we get soup. That’s it. Breakfast is better, kinda. We
get eggs then. And bacon . . . oh, and they give us apples and
oranges too.”
“Sounds like you’re not too crazy about the food, boy,” Bruce
said.
“It’s pretty bad, sir,” Chris confessed, “and there’s not enough
of it.”
“Slaves don’t get to eat like normal people,” Bruce reminded
him. “You should be grateful for what you get.”
Chris nodded and returned to his silent stance, obediently
waiting on the two men.
“I suppose we should feed you at some point. What do you think,
Lance? Should we let the little slave share our dinner?”
The boy’s eyes lit up hopefully. Real food!
“There’s plenty of it,” Lance replied. He then turned his eyes
to Chris. “Would you like to fix a plate for yourself, cutie?”
“Yes, sir, please, sir,” Chris said, his voice breaking
awkwardly and adorably.
The two men shared a private glance. “Go ahead,” Bruce told the
young slave boy. “Don’t make a pig of yourself or you’ll go
hungry.”
Chris put a modest share on an empty plate, then looked at them
questioningly.
“The floor is good enough for you, boy,” Bruce said.
The boy sat down and crossed his legs with his plate in front of
him. He wasn’t offered utensils and he didn’t ask. Eating with
his hands was hardly the least dignified thing he’d been forced
to do since he became a slave. It didn’t take him long to gobble
everything down. He was eagerly licking his fingers a few moments
later.
“Would you like seconds?” Lance asked with a bemused smile.
The boy’s eyes lit up. “Can I?”
As always, younger Lance deferred to older Bruce, who nodded
slowly. “Help yourself. We’ll help you work off those extra
calories later tonight.”
Chris stared at him for a moment, wondering exactly what price
he would be paying for getting to eat like a real kid again, even
if just for one night.
When all the food was gone, Chris was instructed to get up and
clear the table. He took everything back to cart and the waiting
mule.
“Here ya go,” Chris said in a soft whisper. He knew it was
against the rules to talk to any of the mules, but the other boy
seemed so sad. “My name’s Chris, what’s yours?”
For the first few seconds, the mule didn’t give any indication
he’d even heard Chistopher’s voice, then the boy quickly and
quietly pointed to the number tattooed on the front of his left
thigh.
“Oh,” Chris said. “Well, nice meeting you and stuff,” he quickly
shuffled back to his two temporary masters. Mule 1674 pushed the
dinner cart out and began the long haul back to the kitchen. His
work shift had just started, and he was still quite sleepy and
sore, but that was nothing new to him.
Chris stood in front of the table, waiting for his orders.
Bruce grabbed the thirteen-year-old’s soft cock and pulled out
the penis plug. “Go into the bathroom and piss,” the stern man
told him. “Don’t close the door. Squat over the toilet. Don’t
touch your penis and don’t make a mess.”
“Yes, sir.” Chris instantly scurried off to the bathroom, his
soft four-inch long cock swinging from side to side as he hurried
to obey, the chains between his ankles clinking along as he went.
The bathroom was enormous, with a big hot tub, an ocean view and
expensive looking tiles on the walls. Chris sat down on the
toilet and took a good long piss. He’d been holding it since that
morning.
‘Damn I really needed to pee,’ he thought to himself as his loud
powerful stream splashed into the bowl. It felt good to have a
little privacy, even though the door was open and Bruce and Lance
could both see him sitting there peeing. He felt like he could
probably shit too, but the butt-plug made that impossible. Just
as a test, the he tried to see if he could poop the plug out of
his ass, but it wasn’t going anywhere. The boy was starting to
grow accustomed to having the thick metal invader up his butt all
the time. It still kept his penis leaking, but it wasn’t as
uncomfortable as it was those first few days it was inside him.
That’s not to say the boy wasn’t constantly aware of its
presence.
He stood up and flushed and washed his hands, figuring that was
probably included as part of his given orders. Wiping dry, Chris
marched back to the living area of the suite. Bruce and Lance
were on the sofa watching a taped re-broadcast of the first
chariot race.
“You lost,” Bruce reminded the naked boy.
“Yes, sir,” the thirteen-year-old replied glumly. “I’ll do
better next time.”
“Stand at attention,” Bruce snapped the order quickly.
Just as quickly Chris assumed the required and by now
well-practiced position, hands behind his head, legs spread, back
arched stretching his lean thirteen-year-old torso. The two men
stood up, Bruce in front of him, Lance behind him, and ran their
hands gently over the boy’s smooth hairless body.
“mmmm . . . “ Chris purred. He erected almost immediately. Bruce
gave the boy’s hard frustrated penis a quick firm smack.
“None of that, you naughty boy.”
Chris whimpered softly and closed his eyes. It felt so good
having someone touch his dick. He shivered involuntarily.
Lance stepped away for a moment and returned with the ball-gag.
“Open up, kid,” the younger man said. He forced the rubber ball
into the young teen’s mouth and tightened the straps behind
Christopher’s head.
“Run in place until your dick is soft,” Bruce said, slapping
Chris on his butt.
Chris obeyed, having only little difficulty with the chains
between his ankles, and managed to get his penis soft again in
just a few minutes. Bruce took no time putting a thick silver
cock ring on him, pushing the boy’s testicles through first then
pulling the kid’s soft four-inch teen dick until the ring nestled
against his bare hairless groin. A leather leash was then
attached to the top of the ring.
“Have you been trained to walk on a cock-leash yet?” the older
man asked.
Chris looked down at himself and the three-foot leather leash
now attached to his cock and balls. He shook his head ‘no’.
“Well it’s time you learned. We’re off to the beach. Stay close.
If I have to yank on this to remind you,” he tugged slightly on
the leash, “you’ll be hurting.”
Trailing behind them on the cock-leash, Chris shuffled along
silently. He had to move his legs at half a run to keep up with
the longer strides of the two grown men. It was a comical and
rather adorable sight, this young teenaged boy being led around
by his genitals.
It was Christopher Andrews’ first visit to the beautiful beaches
of Gladiator Island. The sand was purest white and seemed to glow
beneath the setting sun. The blue water glistened. The roar of
the ocean filled his young ears. As he stared at the rolling
waves, the sun went down. Behind him, the floodlights that
surrounded the various athletic venues cast the island in an
eerie silver glow.
After just standing and watching the surf for a while, Bruce
dropped the cock-leash and went back to the suite to get
something.
“Keep and eye on him, Lance.”
The younger man nodded swiftly and watched his partner, and
master, walk back up the
beach. His posture seemed to relax once the older man was out of
sight. Chris looked up at him questioningly. At thirteen he was
still too young to really understand the complexity of the
relationship between the two men, but he was starting to figure
things out, lots of things actually, about his life, about who he
really was inside.
Lance returned the boy’s gaze but said nothing. He reached
behind Chris’ head and unbuckled the ball-gag.
“You won’t need this for a while,” he said. “Just don’t
talk out of turn, or Bruce will make me put it back in.”
The boy nodded his compliance and quickly rubbed his jaw.
He wasn’t fond of ball-gags, but he was slowly growing accustomed
to wearing them.
Lance took Chris’ cock-leash and led the boy down to the
water. The cool wet sand felt wonderful beneath the boy’s feet.
He only now realized just how sore they were. He’d been running
and walking and standing and jumping on them almost non-stop for
the last two weeks.
“Do you like the ocean?” Lance asked.
“Love it. Every summer we’d go to Rehoboth for a week. We’d just
gotten back home a few days before we got our letters.”
“Letters?”
“You know, sir, from XB1. ‘You’ve been specially selected to
participate in our new program Worldwide Boy Gladiators . . . ‘ ”
Chris made his teenaged voice as deep as possible as he
paraphrased the letter that had started everything. Sometimes he
wished he’d never even opened it. “That’s how I ended up here.”
“Oh. Was it worth it?”
Chris stared out at the water. Beyond the horizon, the sun was
still setting the ocean aglow. His eyes started watering and he
quickly wiped them with the back of his hand. “I don’t know yet.
I mean it’s a lot of money. Five million. Dad says it’ll be a lot
more by the time I’m free. Kinda sucks being a slave though.”
“Well, you chose to do this, so I can’t feel too sorry for you.
Wanna go for a swim?”
“Can I?”
Lance let go of the cock leash and bent down to remove the
chains between the thirteen-year-old’s feet. He looked up at the
young teen with a warm smile. “Stay where I can see you. Bruce
will be very mad at me if I let you drown.”
“Not much chance of that,” Chris said with well-earned pride in
his aquatic skills. He laughed and ran for the water. He stopped
when it was waist deep and splashed around like a little kid in a
giant bathtub. This was the closest thing to freedom he had
tasted since the XB1 plane had brought him here, and the closest
thing he would know for quite a few months and years to come. He
swam for a few minutes, enjoying the cool water against his bare
skin. The ocean was so warm.
Not wanting to push his luck, he didn’t stay out for long.
Dripping wet he trudged back onto the sand, looking back
longingly at the rolling waves. Bruce had returned. He and Lance
now held several coils of thick rope in their hands.
“Lie down on the your belly,” Bruce told him.
Chris looked around confused.
“Right there.”
Chris did as he was told and laid down on the wet sand. The
waves stopped rolling in about two feet from him. Before he could
do or say anything, his wrists and ankles were quickly tied. Very
tightly. Bruce cinched the boy’s elbows together next and tied
them as well. His bound ankles were then drawn up and tied to his
bound wrists. Chris was now hog-tied on the beach, the water
inching closer to him with each swell of the waves.
“Tide’s coming in, boy,” Bruce said as he gave the
thirteen-year-old a pat on the butt. “I’d hold my breath once it
starts to roll over you.”
Chris was terrified. “You’re not gonna . . . oh, man . . . don’t
leave me here! Please!” He struggled against the ropes, but he
was bound and helpless and not going anywhere.
“Oh, don’t be such a cry baby,” Bruce scolded him. “Lance and I
will be up on the sand. We won’t let you drown. You will be safe.
That’s all you need to know and pretty much the only right you
have. Now shut your mouth or I’ll gag you.”
Chris jerked in the ropes again, but started to calm down. He
lay there hog-tied, listening to the crash of waves and the
gentle rolling of the water up the beach. Turning his head toward
the ocean he could see the water slowly and relentlessly creeping
toward him. It seemed to take forever for it to finally reach
him, and at first it just barely touched him. The
thirteen-year-old was beginning to think it wasn’t coming in any
farther, but he was wrong.
Over the next ten minutes, the water came in farther and deeper,
rolling around and then finally over his lean, naked body. Chris
had to hold his head up now each time to keep it from being
covered. It was terrible and scary, Bruce’s assertions aside. It
got to the point where he could actually feel his bound-up body
starting to float with each incoming surge, and the outgoing flow
would move him closer and closer to the waves, inch by inch.
Finally even holding his head up did no good. The ocean water
covered him completely now each time it came in. Chris was a
great swimmer and he loved the water, but this was a nightmare.
He was truly terrified. He started shouting and screaming at
them.
“Get me out! Get me out!”
He got several mouths full of salty seawater for his troubles.
Finally, just as his panic had reached its peak, he felt two
pairs of strong hands lift him out of the water and carry him
back to the dry warm beach. He was crying openly now. He buried
his face in the sand.
“God, I wanna go home,” he said to himself as the two men untied
the wet soggy ropes from his slender limbs.
They flipped him onto his back, and retied his hands behind his
head. Lance grabbed Chris’ ankles and folded the boy’s slim
muscular legs up toward his chest, exposing the
thirteen-year-old’s bottom. He whimpered and struggled against
the ropes when they yanked the plug out of his butt. Chris had
his eyes closed at that moment, but he felt something hard
entering him down there. He grunted and let out a little whimper
as he took his second cock of the day up his thirteen-year-old
ass. Bruce squatted down over Chris’ face and fed his balls into
the boy’s mouth.
“Lick them good, boy, and be gentle. If I feel any teeth you’ll
really get it.”
It was hard not to bite down as every thrust of Lance’s dick
caused the boy to moan and shudder. Lance was hitting
Christopher’s special spot every time. The boy felt his cock
harden and throb. It was pointing up toward his belly button now,
turgid and leaking and eager for attention he knew it would not
be getting.
The digital clock outside the black room read 00:00:00.
“How much extra time?” Doctor Trench asked.
“Twelve hours,” Hannah replied, watching the eleven-year-old boy
in the latex bodysuit slumped in his chains. “Can we start right
away?”
“Absolutely. We’ll give him some additional fluids and he’ll be
fine.”
“He’s been in there for twenty-four hours,” Hannah said,
“shouldn’t we set his little ass on a toilet for a few minutes.”
“The boy hasn’t had anything solid in his system for over thirty
hours now. I flushed him out thoroughly before we put him in the
suit. The butt-plug will take care of the rest. Let’s go tell him
the bad news.”
“Wait for the camera crew,” Hannah said. “I want them to film
this. I get a bonus every time that boy is featured in the
nightly re-cap show.”
Josh was in a daze, half-awake, half-asleep. He stomach was
hurting from hunger, and his arms and legs were aching. His hands
were numb. The tube in his penis was very uncomfortable. He could
feel it running the length of his piss hole and disappearing
somewhere deep inside him. The boy could never tell if he was
actually peeing or not, but always felt like he needed to. It was
scary and humiliating, and with the tight cock-and-ball harness
strapped in place, his oversized boyhood was almost always in a
semi-erect state. The harness, and the tightness of the latex
suit, prevented him from having a full boner. He was actually
happy about that. His big penis had been the principal culprit in
getting him into this mess in the first place.
‘It’s not like I can help it,’ he’d thought miserably to himself
in one of his few recent lucid moments.
Condemned to total darkness and silence, the boy’s first
indication that someone had entered the room was when he felt a
hand playfully caressing his latex-clad behind. He jerked fully
awake and struggled feebly against the chains. He next felt the
hood being unbuckled. The hope that he was finally going to be
freed made his heart race. The gag came out and hood came off.
Immediately Josh’s eyes fluttered and he tried to open them.
“Keep your eyes closed, Joshua Andrews,” Trench said sternly.
Hearing his name snapped him further out of his isolation-induced
daze.
“Am . . . am . . . Am I done?” he asked softly, desperately,
weakly. His high voice was dry and hoarse. He coughed and
sniffled.
“No,” Hannah said, swirling her finger over the large
latex-covered bulge between the eleven-year-old boy’s legs.
Josh moaned in protest. The catheter had been in for a full
twenty-four hours now, and the cock harness had kept him
half-hard for much of that time. His penis was sore and tender.
He didn’t want anyone to touch it, not even through the thick
shiny latex.
“How . . . how much longer, ma’am?” he asked, his head hung in
exhaustion.
“Twelve more hours, little man,” his trainer told him.
“Oh no . . .” the little gladiator choked back a sob. “Please
don’t make me . . . I’m sorry I finished last . . . oh, please,
ma’am, please . . .I can’t do this anymore . . . “
Hannah spanked his butt hard through the latex. “Stop it. You
signed the contract. You’re getting a lot of money. And you did
finish last. Your punishment ends when we tell you it ends, not
before.”
Doctor Trench held another bottle of ‘Gladiator Punch’ to the
Josh’s lips and he gulped it down desperately. It was still
dribbling off his chin when they pulled the hood down over his
head again and forced the penis-gag into his mouth. The cameraman
got a priceless close-up of the boy’s terrified and thoroughly
broken expression in those final seconds before Josh was encased
again in the blinding leather hood.
“Twelve hours, Zero-Two,” was the final thing the boy heard. He
felt the straps and buckles being tightened once again. He
started to cry hysterically, but he no longer had the strength to
put up much of a fight.
The doctor checked Josh’s catheter tube for any kinks or
blockages. Satisfied, she nodded to Hannah and the two women
departed, the cameraman slowly backing out of the room, getting a
parting shot of the bound boy in the shiny black suit. The
digital clock over the door read 11:59:59. Josh’s muffled
frustrated cries were barely audible when the door was closed and
locked.
Lance and Bruce dragged a tired and limping Chris back to the
suite, pulling him along on the cock-leash. Lance had fucked him
long and rough, and then the two men had changed positions and
started all over again. The thirteen-year-old had maintained a
powerful throbbing erection the entire time, and finally
experienced a shattering prostatic orgasm, globs of his white
milky boy-juice oozing slowly out of his dick for several
agonizing minutes. Without the pleasurable climax of ejaculation
it was hardly what the young teen wanted, but at least he did get
to release some of his pent-up spunk. He barely had the strength
to stand when they finally got him to his wobbly feet.
In the suite, the cock-leash was removed. Lance took charge of
him from there and watched as Chris showered and used the
bathroom and brushed his teeth, making sure the boy did not touch
his dick, which was already showing signs of getting hard again.
When they returned to the living area, Chris noticed that a small
metal cage had been delivered and set in front of the bed.
The boy stood obediently with his hands behind his head as his
chastity cage was locked in place. The leather collar, body
harness, wrist and ankle cuffs were all put back on and secured
with padlocks. A one-foot chain was clasped between his wrist
cuffs, and another one at his ankles. He was pushed down onto his
hands and knees, and a vibrating butt-plug was shoved into his
now sore and well-used rectum. Bruce turned the plug to its
lowest sitting, enough to provide the boy with constant maddening
anal stimulation all night long.
“Into the cage, boy,” Bruce said.
Chris crawled inside. It was a snug fit. He had just enough room
to turn himself around and lay down curled on his side. The bars
were thick. The base of the cage was wooden. There was no
blanket, no pillow, nothing to serve as a cushion. Chris would be
a very sore and very stiff-limbed boy come the morning. Lance
closed the door and installed a large heavy padlock.
“Get some sleep, Chris,” he said, using the boy’s name. “We’ve
got more fun planned for you tomorrow.
It didn’t take the boy long to follow those orders. Even as the
plug vibrated away in his butt, the thirteen-year-old fell into a
deep slumber.
Sometime after midnight, when the gladiators were all asleep,
with the possible exception of Joshua Andrews, the boy mules were
marched into their stables by Mitchell Harwell’s security team.
It was a small wooden structure located just outside the main
production facility. Unlike the barracks of the gladiators, there
were no obvious hi-tech security measures to keep the boys
inside, there was no need. The mules had all been slaves for at
least five years, some for much longer. They’d adapted to lives
of misery, humiliation and hard labor and seldom offered any
physical, or mental resistance.
Once inside the stables, they immediately strip out of their
short gray slave tunics, revealing their wiry, slim, nude and
completely hairless bodies. Wearing only their iron collars and
their spherical metal chastity pods, they stand in a straight
line over the communal toilet trench as they do every night. They
are bent over and their wrists are shackled to a metal rod
running the length of the trench. Harwell’s security men remove
the butt-plugs from the boys’ asses and quickly insert enema
nozzles all connected to a master pipe running over their heads.
Smaller nozzles are inserted into the small holes at the base of
their small spherical chastity pods. The water is turned on and
the clamps are removed to start the flow into the boys’ bowels.
Simultaneously a strong spray of water is forced into the
chastity pods, washing each boy’s penis and testicles without the
need to actually free them from their permanent imprisonment.
Each boy is filled up until he is moaning and sobbing fitfully.
With practiced efficiency, the water is stopped. The nozzles are
pulled out. The teen boys, already positioned over the
foul-smelling trough, release the contents of their bowels. The
all begin peeing now too, their urine, mixed with the wash water,
dribbling out of a small hole on the underside of the spherical
pod that permanently encases their young genitals.
Their daily group enema completed, the mules are then put into
special leather harnesses which buckle over their shoulders and
around their chests and have two long chains attached to the
back. A track runs over their heads, suspended from the central
wooden beam above. Six heavy-duty hooks and pulleys are swinging
from the track, spaced two-feet apart. The chains on the boys’
harnesses are attached to the hooks and the boys are raised up
onto their toes by the pulleys, which are then locked in place.
The boys will spend their first four-hour rest period like this,
hung from hooks and standing on their tip-toes. They will have
another four-hour rest later in their day.
The lighting inside the mules’ stable is dim, provided by three
bare overhead bulbs hanging from the exposed rafters. The floor
is hard-packed dirt, with straw placed beneath the hanging hooks
to soak up any urine the boys may spill during their rest period.
The mules are not gagged, but they are not allowed to talk to
each other. Overhead cameras monitor them constantly to ensure
their total obedience. Harwell’s men next spray the boys down
with a high-pressure hose, using frigid water mixed with strong
smelling antibacterial disinfectant. Any boy unfortunate enough
to get it in his eyes will be screaming for several minutes. They
are left dripping wet to get what sleep they can until their
labors start all over again. The lights do not go out.
Mule 31-29-1674-C was twelve years ten months old, although he
could not recall that fact himself. The youngest mule of the six
on Gladiator Island, he was originally from Italy, and his given
name was Alessandro. He no longer remembered that either. ‘1674’
was now the only name he knew or answered to. He was sold by his
parents at the age of five to a private slave-training and
auction house in Naples. For the next three years, aside from
being kept naked and wearing a brown leather slave collar, and
frequent spankings, his life was relatively carefree and easy. He
was well fed and allowed to play with the other little boys
living in the training stables. When 1674 turned eight, things
started to change.
His slave number was tattooed onto the side of his left
buttocks. ‘31’ indicated the year of his enslavement, ‘29’ his
country of origin, the four digits after that represented his
identification number. The ‘C’ was an international code
indicating the boy was to be enslaved for life with no
restrictions placed on his treatment, training and potential body
modifications for a variety of services.
After being tattooed, 1674 was taken to a small room where a
doctor applied an ice-cold spray to his tiny genitals and began
the basic modification common to all mules. First, the boy was
given an extremely tight circumcision and his frenum was removed
entirely. The tightness of the circumcision caused his penis to
have a permanent downward curve and would make it impossible for
the boy to achieve a normal erection. His newly exposed cock-head
was then pierced with a thick steel ring with a flanged end.
Surgery then began on his scrotum. His little hairless ball-sack
was opened and split exactly down the middle and his tiny nuts
were repositioned above and to either side of his newly skinned
penis. The loose skin of the boy’s bisected scrotum was then
expertly sutured, the excess cut away, leaving the eight year old
boy with his balls separated and held permanently and tightly to
his groin, just above his penis. The procedure has become known
as scrotal inversion and has become standard among mules held by
private dealers and private masters.
Once the boy’s newly re-shaped ball sack had healed, his
modified genitals were locked into the spherical chastity pod.
The flanged ring that pierced the head of his dick was clasped to
a solid steel ring inside the pod, ensuring that his penis
remained restrained and incapable achieving erection. Since that
day, the pod had been removed on exactly two occasions, both
times to replace it with a larger one as the boy grew. 1674 would
often feel an uncomfortable tightness inside the pod, but he was
entirely uneducated and understood nothing about his own body, or
the changes that, two months shy of thirteen, he was beginning to
undergo. Often he would awake to find clear sticky fluid dripping
out of the hole where his pee came out, but he did not know what
it was, and it was not his place to ask questions. His only focus
was to work hard and do exactly as he was told. He really knew no
other life than that of a thoroughly de-humanized slave boy, and
it never occurred to him that he might aspire to be anything but
what he was, a filthy, worthless animal good only for hard labor
and constant discipline. He hung there from his hook, darting his
eyes up and down the line at the other five boys who shared his
fate. He did not speak to them and they did not speak to him or
to each other. He was feeling that odd sensation inside his pod
again. It was a bit painful, but also sort of nice. He wondered
if the other boys had the same feelings inside their pods.
1674 closed his eyes and drifted off into a fitful
slumber. Over the years, the boy had learned to sleep while bound
in just about any position, even standing on his toes. In just
four more hours he would be awakened again and taken to the
kitchen to help prepare breakfast for the boy gladiators. It did
not occur to him to be jealous of them. In fact he was rather
happy that he didn’t have to do those dangerous and painful
things. Better a mule than a gladiator, in his admittedly limited
opinion.
Chapter 29:
Twelve-year-old Danny O’Hanlon woke up to bright sunlight
streaming through the open door. Spike’s nude body was nestled
close to him. The two boys had slept on the floor at the foot of
Ophelia Winstrom’s bed, their leashes wrapped loosely around the
bedpost. Sometime during the night, Danny had draped his arm over
the younger boy as they lay curled together and that is how he
found himself when he blinked his eyes open. The younger boy’s
body was warm and small, his skin smooth and soft. Danny had only
just met him, but he felt strangely protective of the little boy.
He ran his hand gently over Spike’s shoulder and took a deep
breath. Sleeping naked with another boy was something he’d never
done before in his twelve years, and he had to admit it felt kind
of nice. His penis was soft, even though it had been pressed
against Spike’s bottom for most of the night. Danny yawned and
stretched his legs out. Spike was sleeping soundly, still wearing
his leather collar and his puppy-dog mitts, his little cock
permanently locked down between his legs.
Danny found the little kid exceptionally weird. The boy
never stood up. He never made any sound but little barks and
yips. His hands and feet were always encased in leather mitts. He
really was more like a dog than a boy, but he seemed friendly and
he’d helped Danny with little winks and nods of his head whenever
the older boy was about to do something wrong. For his part,
Danny’s first day as a doggie-boy had gone rather well. He was
embarrassed, being kept on all fours all the time, and not being
allowed to talk, but aside from a few sharp smacks on his behind,
he hadn’t suffered too badly.
“You’re awake,” Ophelia said, standing over him with a cup
of coffee in her hand. “Good. Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, miss . . . ,” Danny answered, forgetting that little
puppy boys don’t speak.
“I’ll have to punish you for talking,” the lady said with
a warm smile, enjoying the look of fear on the young boy’s face,
“but we’ll take care of that later today. Sit up and spread your
legs, let me see your penis.”
Danny got into the required position. Ophelia observed his
small flaccid organ and nodded her approval.
“Was that little thing hard this morning?”
Danny shook his head. Strangely he couldn’t remember it
being hard in several days. Danny had little interest in sex and
never masturbated, but he did get erections for short periods of
time and, like most boys, he almost always woke up with one. It
was odd that he didn’t have one this morning.
“Good boy. Hold out your hand.”
Danny obeyed and the woman placed a small ring of keys
into his palm.
“Get Spike up and take him into the bathroom. Those keys
will unlock your collars and Spike’s mitts. You two can wash
yourselves in the tub. Be quick and don’t make a mess. You can
stand up to wash. Spike can too. He knows it is the only time
he’s allowed to stand up like a boy. Help Spike put his mitts
back on before you come out. Get moving. We’ll go for a walk
before breakfast.”
Danny nudged the younger boy awake and whispered softly
into his ear. “We have to take a bath. Come on.”
Spike stretched and yawned and was quickly up on all
fours, blinking his bright eyes, rested and content and ready for
another day. The two boys crawled into the bathroom, trailing
their leashes behind them. In the luxurious bathroom, Danny
removed all of Spike’s puppy gear. The little eight-year-old
actually looked strange without it. Spike then unlocked Danny’s
collar. They got the water nice and hot and stepped into the tub.
Spike started off on his hands and knees. Danny stood up on his
two feet for the first time in quite a few hours.
“You can stand up, right?” Danny said as he reached for
the soap.
Spike nodded and slowly stood. It was the first time Danny
had seen the boy standing on two legs. The little eight-year-old
flashed a gap-toothed smile and the two boys proceeded to bathe,
careful to get their bodies clean from head to toe.
Twenty minutes later, Spike was again on all fours and
wearing his puppy gear. Danny was beside him, similarly attired.
Ophelia took the boys’ leashes and took them out for a morning
stroll across the island.
Chris was awakened by the sound of his cage being unlocked.
“Come on out, boy.” It was Lance’s soft voice giving him the
order.
Chris crawled out of the cage and stayed on all fours. He arched
his back and rolled his shoulders. He was sore from spending the
night folded up in the cage. His cock was painfully hard inside
the chastity device and the vibrating plug had kept him horny and
dripping all night. The boy had slept in fitful intervals,
spending much of the night peeping through the iron bars of the
cage, looking around the dimly lit room, hearing the two men
snoring in the bed they shared.
“Sleep well?”
Chris looked up at the young man. “Sorta, I guess, sir,” he
replied with a big yawn.
“Stand up.”
“Yes, sir.”
Chris got to his feet, wincing from the stiffness in his arms
and legs.
“You can stretch. Work out the kinks.”
Lance watched with thoughtful eyes as the lithe naked
thirteen-year-old twisted and turned and stretched his sore
cramped muscles. Chris then stood there with his arms dangling at
his sides, looking rather lost and unsure.
“Better?”
“Yes, sir, thanks,” the boy replied.
Lance slowly, almost ritualistically, removed all of the boy’s
leather gear, including the harness, the cuffs, and the chains
that bound his wrists and ankles. All that remained was his
collar, and of course his chastity cage. The young man moved
round behind the boy and gently rubbed his shoulders. He was
nearly a foot taller than the young teenager.
“mmmm,” Chris sighed. “That feels real nice, sir.”
Lance wrapped the nude boy in his arms and slowly worked his
hands over Christopher’s chest and stomach, taking time to swirl
his fingers over the boy’s nipples and run them tenderly across
the thirteen-year-old’s taut hairless abdomen.
“Ohhh . . . “ Chris felt his dick try to get even harder in the
chastity cage. The spikes were digging in worse than ever, but
somehow that only made his painfully constrained erection even
stronger. Lance grazed his right hand over the chastity cage,
feeling the impressive weight of the healthy teen-boy cock
trapped inside it.
“nnnhhh . . . “ Chris moaned. His dick ached from being confined
by the cruel metal cage. He needed to jerk off so badly, but
there was nothing he could about it.
Lance teased the boy like this for several minutes, squeezing
the thirteen-year-old kid’s nice big balls. Chris leaned back
into him, and rested his head on the man’s bare chest. He could
feel Lance’s erect cock pressed against his backside.
“You’re really leaking, kid,” Lance observed, running the tip of
his index finger over the end of the boy’s chastity device and
coming away with a sticky line of pre-cum.
“I . . . I know . . . ,” Chris said in a low whisper. “It does
that all the time now.”
Lance again closed his hand around the boy’s cock cage. “I don’t
have the key for this. Sorry. Bruce took it with him. He’s having
breakfast with Mr. Durand. He said I could play with you all I
want this morning, but he doesn’t want you cumming.”
“That sucks,” Chris pouted, looking down at the metal
contraption that encased his boyhood. The need to shoot his load
was becoming unbearable. Lance’s teasing touches weren’t helping.
“I know it does. I wore one just like that when I was kid.” He
kissed the boy on the back of the neck, just above the leather
collar. “There are other ways to make you feel good besides
touching your dick . . . I can make you cum in that thing. It’s
not really as good as a normal cum, but it’s not bad either.”
“It’s not . . . it’s not like when they milk me, is it?” the boy
shuddered at the memory, and the knowledge that he’d be hooked up
to that terrible machine again before too much longer.
Lance smiled. “A little, but it’s a lot stronger. And little
slave boys have to learn to take whatever pleasure they’re
given.” He played with the boy’s caged-up cock once again,
causing another round of soft high-pitched whimpers to issue from
the thirteen-year-old’s throat. He guided Chris to the bed and
laid him on his back. “Pull your legs up,” he said. Chris obeyed,
folding his legs up toward his chest and holding them there with
his hands, exposing his most intimate parts to this man who was
still a stranger for the most part. That is if you can call a
person a stranger after you’ve had his cock in your mouth.
Lance slowly worked the plug out of the boy’s butt. It was still
vibrating when it finally slid out of the teen’s recently
well-fucked opening. “Has this been going all night?” Lance asked
in sympathy.
Chris raised his eyes, bit his lower lip, and nodded sharply.
“Poor boy. You must be ready to burst.”
Chris nodded again and managed an endearing smile. “My balls
feel like they weigh a ton . . . “
Lance gripped them lightly in his hand, gently massaging the
boy’s healthy good-sized testicles. “Nice set you got there.
They’re really big for a boy so young.”
Chris smiled again, pleased with the compliment. Things
felt different with this man. He was still a little scared of
Jason, and absolutely terrified of Bruce, but he didn’t feel that
way at all with Lance. In fact he sort of hoped Lance would have
sex with him.
“You’re gonna put it in me, right?”
In answer, Lance quickly stripped off his silk boxers. A
young man just out of his teens, he had a lean muscular frame,
and, just like thirteen-year-old Chris, his body was basically
hairless. Bruce, still legally his master, allowed him to keep a
small well-trimmed patch of pubic hair above his cock, which was
currently erect, not much longer than the one young Christopher
possessed, but considerably thicker.
Chris was expecting Lance to enter him right away, and he
clenched his eyes closed tightly in anticipation of that first
searing pain as the man’s penis forced its way in. Instead, the
boy felt the cool and relaxing sensation of lotion being applied
to his sore hole. He opened his eyes and saw Lance slowly sliding
his finger into him and then out again, swirling it gently around
in a lazy circle. Lance added a second finger and Chris cooed in
pleasure. The boy’s dick was as hard as it could possibly be
within the restrictive confines of its chastity cage.
“Bruce likes to make his boys bleed,” Lance said quietly,
remembering back to when he was eleven years old, his little cock
locked away in a small metal cage, screaming and crying as his
new master brutally fucked him that very first night. That was
almost ten years ago now, but Lance had never forgotten what it
felt like to be used like a piece of furniture. “I’m not like
that. I am going to enjoy myself in your tight little ass, and
there’s nothing you can do about that, but its ok with me if you
have some fun too.”
Chris smiled dreamily, already tingling from head to toe
as Lance continued to work his fingers in and out of his boyhole.
“Will I cum?”
“Probably,” Lance replied, withdrawing his finger and
moving himself into position.
Chris felt the tip of the young man’s hard cock briefly
press against his opening.
“Relax, Chris,” Lance told him, breaking the rules by
using the boy’s name. “Just relax and let me in.”
Chris laid his head back on the pillow and did as he was
told. With only the slightest tinge of pain, Lance’s cock slid up
inside him, all the way, in a single thrust, hitting his
adolescent prostate in just the right way.
“Ohhhh, wow! Oooo . . .” Chris moaned.
“Good boy,” Lance encouraged him.
“Fuck me, sir, please, “ the boy whispered, “make me cum.
I need it so bad . . .”
“I know you do. Be still now. Be quiet.” Lance leaned in,
and began a slow steady rhythm of strong yet gentle thrusts into
the boy’s tight little hole.
Chris squealed and whimpered and moaned and soon the
inexperienced boy was learning to relax his muscles in time with
the man’s thrusts, drawing Lance’s cock even deeper inside him.
Every few minutes, Lance would wrap his hand around the boy’s
metal cock-cage and jiggle it up and down. Locked inside the
chastity device, Chris’ penis would strain violently and large
amounts of pre-cum would ooze out of him.
“Oh, yeah . . . “ the young boy gasped.
Lance smiled knowingly and continued pleasuring himself
inside the boy’s tight, warm young hole.
After a slow methodical, gentle twenty minutes, Chris was
writhing and shaking, desperate to cum, desperate to feel more of
Lance’s cock in his butt.
“How close are you?” Lance asked the boy, once again jiggling
his chastity device. The boy’s cock was hard, curved under itself
inside the constricting metal cage. It looked extremely painful,
and Lance knew from experience that it was. He also knew from
experience that the boy was hopelessly aroused at this point.
“Close . . .” Chris whispered, barely coherent. “Gonna cum so
hard . . . “
Lance sped up his thrusts. Young man and young teen were now
grunting in perfect harmony. Nature took its course a few seconds
later. Lance ejaculated with a load groan of pleasure, filling
the young boy with his seed. Chris gasped in surprise as the
feeling struck him, his muscles clenched, he shouted in a high
crackling voice and had the strangest orgasm he’d ever
experienced in his short life. With his desperately swollen penis
trapped inside the small chastity cage, there was no room inside
for him to have a normal ejaculation, but he was having an orgasm
nonetheless. It felt better than good. It felt amazing. He
shouted again and stared dumbfounded down at his caged-up cock.
His boyish sticky white fluid was pouring out of the tip of his
dick. Each shudder of his body, each clenching of his muscles
caused more of his boyseed to surge out of him.
“Oh, god . . . ooohhh . . .” he thrashed his head around on the
pillow. The boy’s orgasm lasted for almost thirty seconds,
certainly a record for this particular thirteen-year-old. When he
finally came down, he opened his eyes and saw Lance gazing down
at him with a contented and very amused smile on his face.
Watching the young teenaged boy in the throes of orgasm was a
great delight.
Young Chris sat up on his elbows. Between his legs he could feel
the gooey wetness from where he’d spilled his seed onto the
mattress.
“That was totally wild!” Chris exclaimed.
“Yes it was. You were so adorable.” Lance ran his hands
playfully over the boy’s smooth thighs, careful now to avoid any
further contact with the thirteen-year-old’s imprisoned genitals.
“Run to the bathroom and bring back something to clean up your
mess. Wipe your spunk off your legs while you’re in there. I’m
going to order some breakfast for myself.”
“Yes, sir,” Chris replied, quickly leaving the bed and hurrying
to the bathroom, globs of his own sperm running down the insides
of his gorgeous silken-smooth thighs.
It was mid-morning on Gladiator Island. The sun was hot, the air
was sweltering. In the black room, the clock once again read
00:00:00. The door to the room was open. From inside the sound of
rattling chains could be heard. Josh Andrew’s additional twelve
hours of punishment had come to an end a few minutes earlier. The
eleven-year-old boy was rolled out on a gurney, restrained with
thick leather straps around his wrists, ankles, thighs and chest.
He was naked. The leather hood had been removed and he had been
stripped out of the latex body suit. The boy’s oversized penis
had been freed of the cock and ball harness and was now laying
soft and flaccid over his balls. The catheter had been
re-inserted once the suit was taken off, the drainage tube
attached to a plastic bag swinging from the side of the gurney.
A soft cloth blindfold had been placed over his eyes, to protect
him from the bright outdoor sunlight. Josh was mumbling softly to
himself and struggling vainly and weakly against the straps that
held him to the gurney. With his bare skin finally freed of the
tight latex, he was shivering, even in the tropical heat. Still
blinded he did not know where they were taking him or what was
happening, only that he was out of the suit and out of that
horrible room. Suddenly he felt a breeze on his skin and knew he
was outside. He could hear birds and insects and the constant
distant sounds of the ocean.
Doctor Trench and two of the guards wheeled the naked boy to the
infirmary. As they took him inside he started shaking his head
slowly.
“Wanna . . . go . . . home . . . wanna . . . go . . . home . . .
“
A needle found a vein in his left arm a moment later and the boy
lost consciousness.
When Josh woke up several hours later he found himself on a
small boy-sized bed in the medical suite. He was held down by
padded medical restraints around his wrists and ankles. There
were IV’s in both arms, hooked to poles on either side of the
bed. He looked around the room for a moment, his eyes still
sensitive to the light. He could tell he wasn’t naked. There was
something soft around his waist, covering his butt and his penis
and testicles. It was definitely not his chastity belt. He raised
his head and gazed down the length of his body.
‘Oh, no!’
He was wearing a diaper. They’d put him in a diaper. It was
white, with blue and pink cartoon bunnies on it. Josh tried to
get his hands free to rip it off, but his struggles were useless
and the little bunnies just stared back at him mockingly.
“Well, I see you’re awake.” It was Karin, the oldest of Allison
Trench’s assistants. “What’s wrong?”
Josh’s addled brain could still think of about a hundred things
that were wrong with his life right now, but first and foremost
was that cloth diaper and those silly rabbits.
“I’m not a baby,” he protested meekly. He wanted to sound tough
and angry, but somehow he just sounded little and scared and,
well, like a baby.
“No one said you were, but you’re staying like that until
tomorrow morning at least, unless you want us to put the tube
back in your dick.”
Josh shook his head. “But I only have to wear this today?”
“That’s up to your trainer. She told me she thinks you look cute
this way. She’s thinking about keeping you diapered for a few
weeks, even during the competitions.”
“Oh, no . . .” the eleven-year-old whined.
“Now hush.” Karin held up a blue pacifier and forced it into the
boy’s mouth. Josh glared at her with tired, exhausted eyes,
ringed in dark circles. “Don’t you dare spit that out, little
boy.”
She ran her hand gently over the soft absorbent padding that
covered the pre-teen’s genitals. “Karin knows how to make baby
boys feel good.” She continued rubbing.
Josh felt his penis stiffen inside the diaper, the soft material
constraining it just tightly enough to keep it pinned against his
groin. After just a few minutes of this treatment the diapered
eleven-year-old was panting and gasping. He did spit out his
pacifier as his mouth gaped open.
“Ah . . . aaahhh . . . that’s really awesome, miss.” The boy
cooed and curled his toes. His muscles tightened and he shivered
as he had his orgasm. Karin remained by his side for another
twenty minutes and gave the boy three more dry cums before she
left him alone.
“Don’t you tell anyone,” she warned him sternly. She pushed the
pacifier between his teeth again and ran her fingers over the
boy’s bare chest. She patted the obvious large bulge at the front
of Josh’s diaper and laughed softly at how easily she had the
well-endowed little boy in her power. “Now go to sleep.”
Josh had no problem following that order. The last thing he saw
as he lay his head back were those stupid long-eared cartoon
bunnies looking back at him with their big cartoon eyes and pink
cartoon noses.