Worldwide Boy Gladiators Part 13

Worldwide Boy Gladiators Part 13
By istari

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

Comments are welcome and can be directed to
[email protected]
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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 thirteen to fifteen year old 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.

XB-1 needs you! If you have ideas for suitable events and competitions for our young Boy Gladiators, submit them today to the email address noted at the beginning of this chapter. The producers can't promise that every idea will be used, but you will be given full credit if your event is selected.