Worldwide Boy Gladiators Part 17

Worldwide Boy Gladiators Part 17
By istari

* * * * *
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]
* * * * *

Chapter 35:

Chris was the last boy to reach the first water station.

"How . . . how far behind am I . . . ma'am?" he asked as he slowed down to take his water from Hannah.

"Zero-Four went by here about two minutes ago," she told him without sympathy.

"Two minutes!" Chris ran his hands through his sweaty hair in panic. "Oh, shit, I've got to get moving!"

But the boy's aching feet could only carry him so far and so fast and he was already starting to fear that just finishing wasn't going to be enough to avoid being last. Panicking, Chris made his biggest mistake, running off as hard and as fast as he could, putting even more strain on his tired body and causing even more pain for his already bruised and tender feet.

"He's finished," Hannah observed after Chris had disappeared from view.

"Definitely. If he makes two more miles I'd be surprised."

With all the boys having passed their post, the two women left the clean up to the mules and mounted a four-wheeler to drive along the course. They each wanted to monitor their young charges' progress. They passed Chris a few seconds later. The thirteen-year-old had quickly given up his earlier pace and was limping along awkwardly on his battered soles. He wore a distraught look on his innocent young face and wiped tears from his eyes as he struggled to take another agonizing step.

Neither Hannah nor Michella could ever be called sympathetic when it came to their attitude toward the boy gladiators, but they also understood their sworn duty to keep the boys generally safe and free from lasting harm. Hannah made a quick call to Jason in the helicopter high overhead.

"I'm afraid your boy is about done, Jason," she informed him with a certain amount of wicked pleasure. "Better keep a close track on him."

Jason was, of course, disappointed, but not exactly surprised. It was a miracle the boy had gotten as far as he had. "Give him some space. Let him run himself out," he ordered, figuring Chris at least deserved the dignity of quitting on his own terms.

Hannah and Michella drove on ahead, leaving Chris in a cloud of dust to trudge along on his own. He'd actually covered seven hard miles on his bruised and aching feet, but now each new step was sending sharp waves of pain through his young legs. To make matters worse, the weight in the backpack seemed like it was getting heavier and heavier all the time. Looking up at the winding dirt course ahead of him, the boy spied a small grove of palm trees off to the right.

"Maybe if I rest for a bit I can still finish," he said to himself. He wanted to rest. More than anything. He reached the trees and stumbled to his knees, crawling the last few feet under their meager shade. The boy collapsed onto his side, his back against the tree. He didn't even have the strength to sit up, and with the heavily weighted backpack secured around his chest there probably no chance he'd be able to stand up again under his own power. He gazed up at the leafy palms swaying in the warm breeze. Right now, back home, he figured the air was probably starting to get cooler. He'd be back in school at this point, or messing around with his friends or finding some new way to torment his little brother. He really had no concept of time anymore, but his memories of his former life as a free boy were still very strong. Holding on to them was getting harder though. The thirteen-year-old boy was starting to think like a slave. He was used to being collared and chained. He was used to having his penis locked up in a chastity cage all the time and walking around with a plug in his butt. He was used to being given orders and following them without question, he was even getting used to the harsh punishments he and his fellow boy gladiators received for even the slightest lapse in discipline or failure. More and more his mind focused on these things, on his training, on the increasingly painful, humiliating and outrageous events he was forced to participate in, on just getting through each day without earning too many demerits.

He knew he'd be getting a ton of them for finishing this race dead last, or worse not finishing at all. He'd be the one spinning the punishment wheel Sunday morning. He was already sure of that, so what was the point in totally killing himself. He lay there, his eyes half closed, his left hand wandering aimlessly over the soft leather pouch that held his boyhood in a tight but not uncomfortable embrace. Better than the cock cage, that was for sure. The young teenager rubbed his penis through the supple leather, feeling it slowly harden. He knew he was breaking one of the biggest rules on the island, but it felt so good and he hadn't touched himself there in so long. He masturbated himself in this way for a few minutes, stopping only when he heard the sound of a four-wheeler approaching. He was filled with a momentary panic.

'Oh, god! If they find me lying here with a boner in my pouch I'm screwed!'

He tried to scramble over to the other side of the tree, hoping he might hide from the trainers as they passed by. Chris of course was unaware that the nanochip they'd implanted in his ball sack a few weeks earlier allowed them to track his whereabouts on the island within a matter of inches.

Chris curled up behind the tree, his cock still rock hard and tenting against the leather pouch. He heard the four-wheeler stop, then the sound of a trainer's boots on the hard-packed dirt trail.

"Come on out, Zero-Seven. It's no use hiding."

Chris recognized the soft voice of Alex Wright, Miles' trainer, and breathed a huge sigh of relief. Alex was by far the gentlest and kindliest of the trainers. All of the boys had started to confide in him their fears and anxieties, their likes and dislikes, and Alex, for his part was good enough to keep most things to himself. He was still stern and strict like all the rest, but he did not seem to take quite as much pure pleasure in tormenting the boys as his fellow trainers did. Chris decided it was best to just give himself up, erection and all, and so he crawled out miserably from behind the tree.

"We were worried about you when you stopped," Alex explained. "Stand up and come over here."

Chris tried to follow orders, but his lean young teenaged body was simply too exhausted from the endless parade of ordeals he'd been forced to endure over the last four days.

"Sir, I . . . I can't get up, sir . . ." he said, looking up at the trainer in shame.

Wright walked toward him, his electric prod held loosely in one hand.

"Please, sir," Chris begged, crawling backward like a trapped and wounded animal. "Don't shock me!" He tried again to get to his feet, and managed to at least right himself and get onto his knees. He stared at the trainer in terror. Fear of course made the boy's turgid erection that much stronger. It was outlined perfectly by the leather pouch. There was no hiding it. His only hope was that Wright hadn't actually seen him playing with it. He'd be punished for having an erection either way, but having one by accident or by nature was not met with nearly the repercussions of having one because you were fiddling with yourself.

Alex of course noticed the boy's erection, but he also noticed the complete hopeless exhaustion and mortal fear in the youngster's blue eyes.

"I'm not going to use this," he said, returning the prod to a loop on his belt. "And we'll just pretend your penis isn't hard at the moment. Deal."

Chris wiped his nose with the back of his hand and managed a shy grateful smile. Alex stepped closer, produced a key to the weighted backpack and carefully removed it. "Now can you get up?"

"I think so, sir," Chris replied. Wincing in pain and very wobbly and unsure on his blistered feet he finally managed to stand. "It's my feet, sir," the boy explained sadly, turning around and lifting them one at a time so the trainer could see them.

Alex Wright's response was to immediately grab the radio at his belt and call up to Jason Sanbourne in the helicopter.

"Jason. We've got a problem down here."

As predicted, the tallest, oldest boys began to run out of steam after about ten miles. They were still first to pass the second watering station, but their pace had slowed dramatically. David had dropped from first to third, having been passed by both Illya and Philippe. Josh and Danny were now only thirty seconds behind him, still running side by side and still taunting one another in their good-natured way. Seeing David so close ahead of them though, both boys felt a sudden rush of adrenaline and rushed ahead.

"Let's pass him, Dan," Josh said as his bare feet pounded the hard dirt path. His cock was half-hard at the moment, thanks to the constant stimulation of the plug in his butt. The eleven-year-old's attention though was obsessively focused on David who was struggling along just in front of them.

"Right with you, Joshie!" Daniel replied. And the two smaller boys let out a loud aggressive yell and streaked by the fourteen-year-old.

David was pissed and embarrassed, but there was not much he could do about it. He managed to catch up to them and match their pace for about a quarter mile, but finally he had to slow down to save his strength. He watched with a look of bitter defeat in his eyes as the two youngsters finally got away from him and disappeared over the next hill.

"I'm screwed," he said to himself as he trudged on. Things didn't get much better, as less than one mile later he was passed by Gabriel and little Miles. By now all the boys knew that Miles was a gifted runner, but it didn't make the humiliation any less biting. Being passed so effortlessly by the youngest gladiator was embarrassing, regardless of the circumstances.

Alex Wright drove the four-wheeler to the second watering station, where the island's medical team had set up a first-aid tent for the boy gladiators. Chris was riding on the back of the vehicle, his shackled wrists chained to hand-grips on either side, his legs crossed in front of him. As the vehicle bumped along the course, it naturally jarred the butt-plug deeper into the boy's rectum. This unintended assault on the thirteen-year-old's prostate produced yet another turgid erection within the tight confines of the leather pouch, but Christopher's attention was focused entirely on his battered feet, which were starting to go all numb and tingly. Chris didn't know what could possibly be wrong, but at least they weren't hurting so much anymore.

Alex unchained the boy, and helped him into the medical tent. There were three cots set up inside. Chris saw eleven-year-old Ian lying on one of them, his right ankle packed in ice. The boy had been moving a little too fast over a rough part of the course and ended up taking a rather nasty fall. He'd been running eighth at the time and was desperate to make up ground. Like Chris, his race was now over and he would face the consequences of failing to finish an event.

"Hey, Chris," the younger of the two Australian boys on the island said, waving his hand. Ian was a naturally friendly sort and saw no problems in being nice to a fellow competitor. He was also relieved and little less embarrassed to see that he was not the only boy who wouldn't be finishing, and the fact that it was Christopher Andrews who had joined him in the medical tent made it all the sweeter. He liked Chris a lot, all the boys did, but the thirteen-year-old American was almost always considered a favorite in every single athletic event, thus any time he made a mistake or finished poorly it gave the other boys a smug sense of satisfaction.

"Hi," Chris replied as Alex helped him onto the neighboring cot. The island's eldest trainer then departed, eager to get back on the course and keep an eye on Miles.

"Sorry about this, kid," he said to Chris as he left the tent. "There'll be other marathons. You'll get your chance."

Chris nodded and gave Alex a shy smile. Alexander Wright was so different from all the other trainers. He was almost kind. And he was as good as his word, not telling anyone that he'd caught the boy playing with himself. Chris breathed a huge sigh of relief for that. He remembered how his brother Josh had been punished just for accidentally touching his penis in the shower, and he most certainly did not want to find out what the punishment for masturbating might be. Thankfully his cock was now just a pleasant boyish bulge in the front of his leather pouch.

Doctor Trench started her examination of the boy's feet immediately. Chris winced and let out a little high-pitched wail as she poked and prodded his tender soles.

"Oh, don't be such a baby. Now lie still or I'll have you restrained."

"Yes, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am," Chris replied respectfully.

"Nothing's broken, which is good for you," she said. "You don't want to know what we do with lame gladiators."

"Shoot them, ma'am?" Chris asked with a wry and charming smile.

"No. They only do that to horses. You are considerably more valuable than a horse, as long as you stay healthy. You wouldn't want to end up being one of the mules, would you?"

The thirteen-year-old boy's eyes flashed with horror. He could not imagine anything worse. "No, ma'am," he said, shaking his head. They really couldn't do that to him. Could they? "But, I'm indentured, ma'am. I'm not really a slave."

"Not yet," Trench continued as she wrapped the boys' feet in soft gauze. "Apparently you didn't read the fine print in your contract before you and your parents signed it. Any failure to complete your indenture is considered a breach of contract, in which case, the company can choose to have you enslaved permanently. They might keep you on the island, or they might sell you to someone else."

Christopher's blue eyes widened and his breath quickened. "Do my mom and dad know about that?"

"They should, but I'm sure they don't. You'd better make sure they never have to find out."

While Chris and Ian lay quietly on their cots, sinking into deeper fear and misery about what was sure to be a last place performance for the week, the remaining boy gladiators continued the longest, hardest, most exhausting trial of their young lives. By this time, Miles and Gabriel were the only boys who were not struggling or stumbling. David, Philippe and Alexei had all but surrendered at this point and were barely keeping up a slow jog as they staggered over the remaining miles. Josh and Danny were presently in the lead, but even their young strong wrestler's legs were slowly starting to give out. The heavy backpacks strapped over their shoulders and around their chests were starting to have a noticeable effect, causing them to stumble and fight for their balance. Thirteen-year-old Illya, the tallest of the boys with the longest stride was close behind them, but since he was currently at the top of the overall standings he was making no real attempt to catch them. His brother Sergei had planned for him to finish somewhere in the middle of the pack so he could save his strength for the rest of the weekend's events. Since he weighed more than all the other boys, his backpack weighed more as well, but so far it had been more of a nuisance than anything else. As a gymnast, Illya's upper body was extraordinarily toned and muscular, his shoulders broad and strong. Carrying the extra weight, so far at least, had been no problem for him.

'So far, so good,' Illya thought to himself as he ran behind the two younger boys. At this point in his life, Illya seemed to find boys and girls equally attractive, and the constant sight of two young pairs of perfectly shaped boy-butts in front of him was causing the young teen's already man-sized penis to swell rather embarrassingly, and uncomfortably, inside its leather pouch. Sergei had intentionally put his younger brother into a pouch several sizes too small for him, one probably meant for Ian or Danny. Naturally this called even further attention to the impressive package between the thirteen-year-old Russian boy's legs.

As the tall well-built boy-gymnast ran down a gentle slope toward the final watering station, he was suddenly surprised to hear soft rapid footfalls behind him. He craned his neck back to see Miles and Gabriel coming up quickly on his heels. Just moments before, he would have sworn there was no one back there.

'Shit! Where did they come from?'

The two English boys were currently at a full out run, clearly their intention was to pass him and leave him behind as quickly as possible. Illya did the math, knowing that Danny and Josh were already ahead of him. If he ran harder, he could probably keep Miles and Gabe behind him and finish third, but he'd have to spend all of his energy to do it. Fifth place was right in the middle, exactly where Sergei had wanted him to finish. Illya generally lacked the cut-throat competitiveness of the other boys, but he was clever and understood that finishing first wasn't always worth the trouble. He slowed his pace, just enough so that he couldn't be accused of tanking it.

"He's slowing down, Gabe," Miles huffed excitedly as he ran beside his countryman. He'd been holding back now for the last several miles. He could feel the energy building in his sturdy legs, the need to take off and run at full speed. He was starting to feel that strange high he often got at these longer distances. He was just barely aware of the weights strapped to his back and they were not going to slow him down. He knew that he could leave Gabriel behind in an instant if he wanted to. He knew, right then and there that if he passed Illya, the race was as good as his.

"I'm gonna take him!" the ten-year-old shouted to Gabe, already inching ahead of the older English boy. "Keep up with me. If you can!"

Needless to say, twelve-year-old Gabe was shocked when little Miles sprinted away from him without any apparent effort at all. The realization that Miles had been playing all of them for suckers struck him suddenly, and far too late. He quickened his own pace, passed Illya and managed to stay on Miles' heels for another quarter mile or so, but it was really useless to keep running so hard. Gabriel was, probably, the most stubborn and reckless of the boys. He certainly had the heart and desire to run the littlest gladiator down, but he simply could not fight against the fatigue now creeping into his own legs. He slowed his stride and watched rather unhappily, and helplessly, as Miles moved away from him.

Miles went on, running at his full sprint now. Danny and Josh offered little resistance as he passed between them. "See you guys at the finish line!" he yelled, flashing a wave of his hand. This was, by far, the longest distance he'd ever run, but he was feeling great. He grabbed a bottle of water from the final check-point, barely slowing his pace. Overhead, he could hear and see the helicopter, the onboard camera focusing on him as he covered the last remaining distance all alone. Quite a few of the island's paying quests now lined the course, cheering him on and flashing pictures of him as he powered his lean four-foot frame toward the arena.

Moments later, his trainer, Alex Wright, rode up beside him on a four-wheeler, with one of Mike Brussard's cameramen onboard.

"Just keep running, Zero-One," Alex told him as he slowly backed off on the accelerator. "Pretend we're not here."

Miles obeyed his trainer on both counts, entered the packed and noisy arena, circled once around the course markers laid out on the competition floor, crossed the finish line (marked by Trevor in his sexy speedo waving a checkered flag emblazoned with the XB-1 logo) and staggered to an awkward stop, doubled over with his hands on his knees as the crowd went wild around him. Alex approached him and immediately released the locking clasps that kept the weighted backpack in place. Miles hoisted it over his head and flung it as far as his young arms could muster.

"Victory! Boy Zero-One," the public address announcer informed the assembled masses. They demanded a victory lap from the boy, and with minor prodding from his trainer, he gave them one. His legs ached, and he was mostly out of breath, but he was the first winner of the first boy-marathon on Gladiator Island. He pumped his little fists triumphantly at the audience and smiled into the cameras as they moved in for a close-up.

It was five full minutes before Josh and Danny stumbled into the arena side-by-side, made their single lap and finished neck and neck. A slow motion replay revealed that Danny had edged out Josh literally by a foot.

Gabriel finished fourth. Illya a respectable fifth. Alexei had somehow managed a sixth place finish in spite of himself. David and Philippe came in seventh and eighth, having foolishly expended all their adolescent energy over the first five miles. Ian and Chris, of course, did not finish at all, for which they would ultimately end up paying a very heavy price.

The crowd still wanted more of Miles, and so Alex hoisted the exhausted ten-year-old onto his shoulders and walked him slowly around the outer track of the arena, allowing all the spectators to praise his amazing effort.

The remaining boys were quickly shackled, chained together in a single file by their collars, and marched below with no fanfare whatsoever. The final image seen by the worldwide television audience was of tired sweaty young Miles riding proudly on his trainer's shoulders, waving at the crowd and flashing his adorable gap-toothed smile as flash bulbs went off all around him.

Half a world away, in Samuel Nguni's bedroom, the young South African was staring dumbfounded and disappointed at the screen. He looked over at Pieter rather sheepishly. The family's slave boy was wearing a wide grin on his freckled face.

"Well, I guess you were right," Sam said, getting up from the bed and turning off the HD set. "Good call, Piet."

"Thanks," the white boy replied. His small cock was still rock hard, held up against his groin by the belt around his waist. He looked down at his needy erection and then back to his young master who was sporting a raging hard-on of his own. Piet didn't say anything. He really couldn't.

Sam however got the message. "Oh, that. Yeah. Well, you know, I was just kidding, right."

"Wrong," Piet replied, rather too strongly for his own good. "We had a bet and you lost. Now you've gotta suck my dick. You said . . . or . . . or you're a liar."

"I can lie to you if I want," Sam said. "Whenever I want to. You're just a slave. It doesn't matter."

"But you said . . . "

"I think you'll suck my dick instead. That sounds a lot more fair."

"That's not fair at all!" Piet protested, crawling off the bed now with tears starting to form in his blue eyes.

"If you don't suck my dick, I'll have to cane your butt. Would you like that better?"

"No, master." Piet hated when Samuel did things like this. He was always going back on his word.

"Then get down on your knees and suck my dick, Piet. I'm so fucking horny right now. I feel like I'm going to explode." Samuel was not twelve years old yet, but he had a big thick cock between his legs and a seemingly endless need to use it.

Trying to ignore the frustration from his own hard and aching penis, Pieter knelt down obediently and took his master's cock into his mouth.

"Oh, yeah! That's it . . . suck me harder, Pieter . . . oooooooh . . . "

So keyed up from watching Worldwide Boy Gladiators, it took the eleven-and-one-half year old less than thirty seconds to have his orgasm, shooting a precocious amount of hot pre-teen spunk into Pieter's waiting and well-trained mouth. He pushed the naked white boy away, laughing at the dribbles of cum running down the boy's chin onto the floor.

"Clean that mess up," Sam ordered.

Pieter immediately got down on his hands and knees and licked up his master's boyish seed. His own small penis was still achingly, desperately erect and would remain so for quite a while longer. Pieter hadn't gotten to cum in quite a few weeks, and apparently he wouldn't be cumming tonight either.

Tired, and with his freshly spent penis flopping soft between his legs, Samuel crawled under his covers.

Piet dutifully turned out the lights and curled up on the floor at the foot of his master's bed. He had no blanket, no mattress, no pillow. The hard wooden floor was good enough for a lowly white slave boy.

The Boy Gladiators spent that Friday evening recovering from the marathon. They were all fed extra portions at dinner. Tonight even the brownish-grey food loaf that had become their standard evening meal seemed to taste good and satisfy their grumbling empty bellies. As a special treat they each got two sugar cookies for dessert. Moments later ten sugar-deprived boys were whooping and hollering and enjoying their first sugar rush since they'd arrived on the island. Even Chris and Ian, who were feeling rather glum about their performance, and their position on the newly updated scoreboard, managed to join in the boyish hi-jinks, momentarily forgetting the doom that certainly awaited them come Sunday.

Miles had attained instant celebrity status amongst the boys for his amazing performance in the race. Whispered rumors were already flying around the barracks that he would be getting a very special reward for winning. The marathon, the boys had learned, was considered a top-level event, a category given to the most athletically and mentally challenging contests devised for the boys to endure. Winning such an event would always entitle a boy to a valuable and memorable award, not to mention a ton of bonus points. The little ten year old strutted proudly around the barracks for the rest of the night, even being so bold as to strike up a conversation with the older boys, whom he normally avoided. The four young teenagers tolerated him for the evening.

As the last-place finishers, Chris and Ian were elected by the rest of the boys to do the sweeping and mopping chores. The two boys, Ian with his gimpy taped-up ankle and Chris with his sore bandaged feet, made a rather awkward and clumsy effort of it. Occasionally one of the other boys would point out that they'd missed a spot and the guards would make them do go back and do it again.

The young gladiators were all locked into their cells at exactly 11:30. As was always the case on the nights before and between competition days, they were ordered to go straight to sleep. Any boys found talking would be given demerits. Within their small cells, the boys whispered good-nights to their partners and quickly drifted off, too tired to even think about breaking the rules.

While Philippe snored softly, Miles lay awake, staring up at the concrete ceiling in the dim light that filtered in through the window. He clasped his hands behind his head and breathed in deeply. He wasn't exactly shocked that he'd won. Cross-country running was his sport after all. But the other boys, even the eleven-year-olds, were so much bigger than he was. Even for a ten-year-old he was unusually small. He figured he'd probably finish second or third behind one of the longer-legged boys. Coming in first felt real good. He closed his eyes, yawned, felt his little dick twitch momentarily to life within the tight warm confines of his chastity belt and soften again just as quickly. He ran his right hand across his stomach, already covered with sweat in the hot sweltering little cell. He tapped playfully at the metal plate that encased his boy-parts. He spread his muscular little ten-year-old legs a bit wider, making the plug in his butt a bit more comfortable, and finally dropped off to sleep on his back, breathing softly and dreaming of running free in the family garden back home.

The next morning, Saturday, Chris awoke to find that his feet actually felt pretty good. He swung his legs off his bunk and cautiously stood up. Alexei was still sleeping, flat on his back and breathing through his mouth. Chris smiled. He always had to wake Alexei up. This time though he spent a few minutes staring at the twelve-year-old Russian boy's lean wiry frame. Chris rested his blue eyes on Alexei's cock-cage, a smaller version of the one that imprisoned his own penis. Alexei's boy-cock was swollen, trying to get hard, pressing against the sharp unforgiving spikes. The twelve-year-old moaned, moved his legs in his sleep and rolled over onto his side. This, as Chris had found out the hard way, only caused more blood to rush into his imprisoned penis, making it swell even worse against the tiny metal spikes. Alexei cried out in his sleep and started to roll in the opposite direction, a move that would have caused him to fall off the narrow bunk entirely.

Chris quickly shook the boy awake, pretending that he hadn't spent the last few minutes admiring the younger boy's beautiful body and fantasizing about the things the two of them might do together if their dicks weren't always locked up. Chris quickly turned toward the window, not wanting the younger boy to notice the painful denied-erection currently throbbing away inside his chastity device.

"You are hard too, right?" Alexei asked, sitting on his bunk with his hairless legs spread wide apart. The boy adjusted his stainless steel cock cage in a vain attempt to get it more comfortable.

"Uh . . . yeah, I am," Chris replied, giving up and turning around. The two boys stood toe to toe staring in frustration at their locked-up genitals. They didn't have long to commiserate, as the door to their cell was swung open and the loud morning buzzer sounded, indicating the official start of another day for the indentured boys on Gladiator Island.

Chapter 36:

After the boys' morning routine was completed, in record time, the young gladiators were marched back to the arena for the start of the Saturday competitions. The stands were packed, as always, in anticipation of the day's events. Once their chains and chastity devices were removed, the boys made their usual lap around the edge of the arena, waving up playfully at the crowd as their young boy cocks waved back and forth and between their legs. Roger Bramley and Calvin Mayfair then led the boys through their morning exercises. Push ups, sit ups, stretches, deep-knee bends, jumping jacks, all conducted to loud rock music, all sending the nude boys' penises and testicles flopping and rolling and bouncing all around. By the end of their exertions every boy but Daniel was sporting some stage of erection, from the older boys with their big heavy half-hard dicks, to little Miles whose little wiener was sticking straight out as stiff as a nail. Daniel's genitals had continued to shrink. His testicles had retreated inside him and all that seemed to remain of his pathetic useless penis was his tightly circumcised cock-head, pink and small and sticking out of his hairless groin like a little button. He was the only one of the boys who wished he was still wearing his chastity belt so that no one could see what they'd done to him.

While the boys ran a few cool-down laps, the island's six mules entered and put up the set for the morning's event. Unlike the Gladiators, who were quickly becoming global celebrities in spite of their lowly indentured status, the six unfortunate boy slaves who served as mules received no applause, no accolades upon entering. Wearing only their gray smocks, their heads shaved and perpetually bowed, the quickly and quietly went to work and just a quickly departed.

There was a long steel bondage frame set up in the middle of the arena floor. Two thick strong posts on either side supporting a heavy overhead crossbar. There was enough space between the posts for five boys to stand side-by-side.

The four youngest boys were given their leather jock-straps and wriggled into them, quickly adjusting themselves as instructed, making sure they had nice round bulges beneath the supple leather. They were then made to stand on wooden crates beneath the crossbar. They all looked up fearfully as their arms were raised by their trainers and the shackles around their wrists were chained to iron rings hung from the overhead beam. Miles, Josh, Ian and Alexei all stood there wearing only their leather pouches, their currently half-hard penises outlined provocatively, their young arms now stretched above their heads.

Some debate was now being held as to which boy, Daniel or Gabriel, should occupy the final spot under the crossbar. Daniel was technically the fifth youngest and should have been up there with the other four junior gladiators, but since his testroxil treatments had rendered the twelve-year-old incapable of having an erection or an orgasm, he was disqualified from consideration. As the next youngest boy, Gabriel was ordered to step onto the last box and soon bound to the crossbar by his wrists like the four others.

One by one the boxes were then removed and the boys were left suspended by their wrists, their feet swinging freely, their cute little boy-toes just barely grazing the concrete floor. The sudden strain and fear of this new ordeal caused all five of them to spring instant and strong erections, all tightly constrained by their leather pouches.

They were allowed to hang there like pieces of meat while the five remaining boys were bent over a long wooden spanking bench and strapped in place.

"We need to warm these boys up first," Jason announced to the crowd as five of the trainers selected five wooden paddles to redden the boys' cute defenseless butts.

For the next twenty minutes, the four youngest boys, plus Gabriel, hung in misery, while the four oldest boys, plus Daniel were all given a harsh and severe paddling. The hanging boys gasped and moaned and struggled to catch their breath, their abdomens stretched taut, their ribs outlined clearly as they hung. The paddled boys shrieked and screamed and begged for mercy as the paddles rained down upon their round perfect globes of boyflesh. All of them, except of course for Daniel, sported dripping rock hard erections by the time their 'warm-up' had concluded.

Attention was now turned to the boys on the crossbar. "Let's make them more comfortable," Jason suggested, and the leather pouches were pulled off the boys' slim waists and down their dangling legs, leaving the five hairless lads hanging completely naked, their throbbing boyish boners on proud display. As always, the site of eleven-year-old Josh's precociously large penis, now fully hard, caused a series of 'ooohs' and 'aaahs' and other far more rude comments from the crowd. Miles' little ten-year-old dink also received a lot of vocal attention, mostly along the lines of 'Oh, look at that tiny little thing . . . he's so adorable.'

Miles wasn't particularly embarrassed. He was ten. He was supposed to have a small cute little penis and he did, so it didn't bother him much. He did blush a bit when he heard a woman in the front row shout out "He's so sweet, just like a cuddly little teddy bear."

Meanwhile the four teenaged boys, and twelve-year-old Daniel were released from the spanking bench and stood with tear-stained cheeks as their iron collars were removed and replaced with identical leather ones, all adorned with multiple rings. Their wrists were secured behind their backs. Chris, Illya, Philippe, and David were all put back into their chastity cages. This procedure drew excited whistles and cat-calls from the spectators. Daniel was not put into his chastity belt, since there was no possibility that the chemically castrated twelve-year-old would have an erection.

"Alright, boys," Jason addressed them as the crowd grew louder with anticipation. "Pick a partner and get down on your knees in front of him."

The five boys stared dumbfounded for a moment. They were allowed to make choices on their own so rarely these days that none of them were sure. Maybe this was some kind of mean trick . . .

"Get moving, boys," Jason yelled at them.

Chris was immediately torn between his brother Joshua and his partner Alexei. He was about to move in Alexei's direction when Illya knelt down in front of his fellow Russian Boy Gladiator. Chris moved his bandaged but no longer quite so aching feet as fast as he could and got down on his knees in front of his little brother.

"Hey, Chris," Josh gasped, still struggling to catch his breath as he hung there. His little chest was rising and falling rapidly and his whole body was glistening with sweat.

"Hi, Joshie,"

"How's your feet?"

"Ok, I guess. Doesn't do me much good now."

"I'm . . . glad you . . . picked me."

"You don't even know what they're gonna make us do to each other." Chris looked up into his younger brother's earnest and frightened eyes.

"I'm still glad," the eleven-year-old said. His penis was still painfully hard and now it was right under his big brother's nose. Chris stared at his little brother's not so little penis with its swollen pink cock-head . . . was that a little drop of pre-cum glistening on the little boy's piss-slit?

"Is that . . . ?" Chris asked.

Josh nodded his head proudly. He was a cummer now, just like the big boys. He couldn't produce much, but he could shoot all the same.

"Don't let it go to your head," Chris smirked. "You're still a little sprout around here, got it?"

Hanging from the crossbar, Josh wiggled his hips and swung himself forward, smacking his older brother's face with his ridiculously oversized erection, leaving a little trail of his clear eleven-year-old boy-juice on Christopher's cheek.

"You're gonna pay for that, dick-boy," Chris said with a grin, using Hannah's unimaginative but perfectly apt nickname for Josh.

The Andrews brothers latest sibling quarrel was interrupted when the trainers, working in pairs, fitted each of the hanging boys with a tight cock and ball harness, identical to the one Josh had been forced to wear back in the black room. Five hard pre-teen dicks instantly got even harder, all of them, even little Miles', turning a dark angry shade of purple. The boy-sized harnesses were meant to make a young lad's erection extraordinarily painful, extraordinarily large, and extraordinarily long-lasting. Josh had been kept hard and unable to cum for hours the last time he'd worn it. Now all five of the harnessed boys were moaning and groaning and staring down at their angry erections. Little Miles gaped wide-eyed, having never seen his harmless little penis so big and so thick, and it appeared to be swelling even larger and harder with each beat of his pulse. The harness had pulled his little balls forward too, and they were turning a similar shade of purple.

With the harnesses in place, the trainers now attached a pair of thick elastic cords to the older boys' collars and hooked these to small rings on their respective partners' harness. The cords were only four inches long and extremely taut. The boys on their knees were effectively bound to their partners' cocks, unable to pull back more than an inch or so. For Chris, this meant that Josh's five-and-one-half-inch boner was already half-way in his mouth. David, who was kneeling in front of Gabriel's thick five incher had a similar problem. Danny had ended up in front of Miles. He was able to pull his head back and his mouth completely off of the ten-year-old's not-quite three-inch erection, but just barely. The pressure from the cords forced him to move his head forward again and take the youngest boy's cocklet into his mouth. The realization that Miles now had more between his legs than he did was a sobering and depressing thought, but Danny knew there wasn't anything he could do about it.

"This is an endurance contest. The rules are simple," Jason explained to the audience. "The boys on their knees have no choice but to suck their partners' cocks, which, as you can see, are fully and painfully erect. The harnesses will ensure they stay that way, and also keep the boys from cumming for quite a while. The boy who goes the longest without causing his partner to orgasm is the winner. The first boy to have an orgasm, and his partner, will receive a special punishment right after the contest."

Hannah Dubose blew her whistle.

Jason turned to the boy gladiators. "Let the battle begin!"

The crowd fell silent, their collective eyes focused on the giant HD screens overhead as the film crews moved in and surrounded the ten boy gladiators. The trainers stood by as well with their shock-sticks at the ready, a natural precaution should one of the five cocksucking boys decide to cheat and not give it his all. Anthony, Ian's trainer, was handling the play-by-play for this one, walking up and down the line of five boys hanging by their wrists and the five boys on their knees in front of them.

"Boy Zero-One is a dry cummer," he explained as he stopped in front of Miles. Young Danny was dutifully sucking the youngest gladiator's presently rock-hard little penis. "It probably won't take him too long to have an orgasm. Let's see how much self-control this little man has." Miles moaned softly and was already swinging in his bonds. A ten-year-old boy's penis is exceptionally sensitive, and as Danny laved his tongue over Miles' pink swollen cock-head and up and down his cute three-inch shaft the little boy was sent into throes of unimaginable pleasure, so strong it quickly became agonizing.

Next along the line were the two Andrews brothers. Anthony swatted Josh hard on the ass. He kept his hand there for a moment, using his fingers to press on the end of the plug in the eleven-year-old's butt. Josh squealed in complaint as his immature but perpetually overstimulated prostate was assaulted yet again. "Zero-Two has the biggest cock we've ever seen on a boy this young. According to the most recent information from our medical department, he's just become capable of ejaculation. Let's see how long it takes his big brother to make him shoot. My bet is it won't be long."

It certainly seemed like a good assessment. Josh was groaning and gasping and wiggling his ten adorable little toes, pulling hard against the chains that held his wrists to the bar above his head.

"Ohmigosh, Chris . . . that feels totally awesome!"

Chris could only manage a muffled "mmmph, mmph" as his mouth was currently stuffed with his eleven-year-old brother's exceptionally large five-and-one-half-inch erection. He could feel and taste Josh's meager pre-teen production of pre-cum. Clean, fresh and just a little salty to the taste. Very different from what he'd tasted when he had a man's dick shoved into his mouth. Josh tasted, well, like a boy, as best as Chris could guess. Chris discovered that with a little extra suction he could draw Josh's foreskin back up over the tip of his penis, then with his lips push it all the way back again. That action caused Josh to shriek in pleasure and shake all over.

"Oh, shit! Chris. Do . . . do that . . . again . . . do it! Right now!"

Chris complied, strangely turned on by the idea of his little brother giving him orders. His teenaged cock was swelling madly inside its chastity cage and his frustrated balls were aching to shoot their thick load of thirteen-year-old cum. It was that ache, that desperate need to cum, and the knowledge that he would not be allowed to, that was so strangely erotic for him. Chris worked Josh's foreskin up and down several more times until a breathless and gasping Josh pleaded with him to stop.

"Ok . . . ok . . . ooohhh, you gotta stop now, Chris. I'm gonna cum if you keep doin that . . . don't wanna cum yet. Can't cum first . . . can't cum . . . "

Thankfully for Josh, Chris had become quite the skilled little cocksucker during this first month on the island. None of the other boys were nearly as skilled or practiced as he was. He quickly stopped what he was doing and allowed Josh's hard penis to throb on its own within his mouth for a few minutes, just occasionally sucking or rolling his tongue along the shaft to keep his little brother hard.

The tight harnesses on the younger boys' cocks and balls did manage to prevent all of them from cumming as fast as they otherwise might have. Their young penises got harder and harder, painfully so as they continued to engorge with blood. Chris could actually feel little veins protruding along the length of Josh's rigid boy-pole. The other cocksuckers had similar experiences and all five of the suckees soon had tears in their eyes from the agony of enduring enforced erections. The contest went on for almost thirty minutes as the younger boys edged closer and closer to having their orgasms. The sounds of their squeaks, squeals, moans, groans and cries, all heard over the public address system, and broadcast worldwide in digital quality, was exceptionally adorable and arousing.

Josh was so close it was pure anguish now. He wanted to cum so badly he no longer cared about possible consequences.

"Just let me cum, Chris. I'll deal with whatever punishment they give me."

'Give us,' Chris thought to himself as Josh's penis jerked and danced inside his mouth. 'No way I'm letting us both get punished.'

Christopher's skills kept Josh from cumming for another ten minutes and ultimately saved them both from punishment as next to them young Ian, being sucked by Philippe, shouted out a high-pitched squeal, curled his little toes, went completely rigid and had a powerful eleven-year-old orgasm, shooting a small amount of immature seed into the French boy's mouth.

"We have a loser!" Anthony announced, particularly pissed that it was his boy who'd gone out first. "Now we need to find a winner."

Philippe's collar was detached from Ian's cock and ball harness, but the two boys were forced to stay in their current position. Ian suspended by his wrists, his slim torso stretched out provocatively, his still erect penis on display for all to see, and Philippe, locked in his chastity cage, on his knees with his arms bound tightly behind him. Large penis gags were shoved into both boys' mouths and strapped in place behind their heads to keep them quiet while the remaining eight boys fought it out for first place.

Just a few moments later, Miles started to buck wildly in his chains, slamming his groin into Danny's face in rapid thrusts. All the trainers agreed this was certainly a dry orgasm and thus Miles and Danny were the second pair to be eliminated. Observing from his luxury box, William Durand called down to Jason. "Make the little bastard cum until all the other boys have their orgasms."

Jason relayed these instructions to Anthony who gleefully broke the news to Miles that they were going to force even more dry cums from his tired sweaty little body. "You don't stop cumming until they all stop cumming," he announced so the crowd could hear as well. Loud cheers went up. The crowd loved Miles, found him cuddly and adorable, but that did not mean they didn't enjoy watching him suffer. And there is not much suffering worse for a pre-pubescent boy than being forced to have one shattering dry orgasm after another in rapid succession. So, Danny kept on sucking and poor little Miles kept on cumming. He had three more dry cums in the ten minutes it took for Alexei to shoot his pent-up load of twelve-year-old sperm. Alexei was already well known for the prodigious amount of cum his young balls could produce and this latest ejaculation was no exception. Illya's lips and chin were dripping with the younger Russian's spunk when it was all over. Like Philippe and Ian, the two boys were disconnected, gagged and left right were they were.

It took another fifteen minutes for David to finally coax an orgasm from a desperate and horny Gabriel. The cock and ball harness seemed to have had a particularly noticeable effect on young Gabe, keeping him on the edge of a climax without being able to finish it off for almost a full hour now. When the twelve-year-old finally came it was explosive and unbearably painful, his rock hard cock swelling even harder in the harness, his young testicles feeling as though they'd been kicked. He was left hanging there crying and sobbing, his penis still grotesquely swollen as he and David were disconnected. This left Chris and Josh as the winners.

"We have a winner," Anthony announced. "Boy Zero-Two has held out the longest. Twenty bonus points for him and five for his big brother."

The crowd cheered. The elastic cords holding Christopher's collar to Joshua's cock and ball harness were removed and the two boys were allowed to separate. Josh still hadn't cum and his rigid penis was now sticking up toward his taut-stretched stomach. Secured by the harness, his eleven-year-old balls, already big for his age, were swollen and purple. His reward, for winning, was to have Hannah apply several ice cubes to his raging boner and balls and then immediately lock him back into his chastity belt. He stared at her with shocked and wounded eyes.

"No one said the winner was going to have an orgasm, Zero-Two," she laughed at him as she adjusted the metal plate that encased the youngster's genitals. "Enjoy your bonus points."

With a very horny and unsatisfied Josh locked away in his belt, Miles was finally allowed to stop having orgasms. Altogether the ten-year-old had suffered through seven dry cums in the full hour he'd now spent hanging from the crossbar. He was a drooling, sobbing incoherent mess when they let him down, his dick, still being kept hard by the harness was red and sore. Josh and Alexei had to help him stand while his cock and ball harness was removed. His little dink deflated immediately, back to his soft one and one-half inch length. He was rather a happy boy when Alexander strapped the chastity belt around his waist once again. He really didn't like wearing the belt, but he liked having his little pickle played with even less, so having it locked away out of sight was perfectly okay with him. He was really sore down there now and actually hoped the belt would stay on for a while.

While the other eight boys were marched below to the holding cage, Ian and Philippe remained in position, alone now in center of the arena with the crowd staring at them, eager to see what suffering lay in store for the two losers. Both boys shook in terror, and another hushed silence fell over the audience when Doctor Trench strode confidently up the ramp and across the arena floor. One of the older mules was obediently pushing a medical cart behind her, his ankles chained, his head bowed. Ian and Philippe both knew that if the doctor was involved their punishment was going to be particularly unpleasant.

"Our two losers will now be punished," Anthony announced to the crowd. "Their punishment will last for the rest of the day." Applause and murmurs of approval followed from the most sadistic members of the audience. "We will start with Boy Zero-Eight. Since his tongue got him into this mess, his tongue will pay the price."

Anthony and Roger held Philippe still while Doctor Trench prepared his punishment. From her medical cart she took two stainless steel metal rods, each about six-inches long. After dropping these into a sterilizing solution, she picked up a dental clamp and approached her first victim.

"Open his mouth."

Philippe wasn't given the chance to do it voluntarily. Roger gripped the boy's jaw and forced his mouth open. Doctor Trench closed the clamp around the end of Philippe's tongue and pulled it out of his mouth as far as it would go. The fourteen-year-old jerked and struggled, but the two trainers held him down on his knees. The weight and shape of the clamp made it impossible for the boy to pull his tongue back into his mouth.

As Philippe's eyes filled with tears, Trench took the two steel rods and positioned them above and below the boy's outstretched tongue. She then applied two smaller clamps to either end of the pair, turning them, essentially, into a vice, which she tightened slowly onto the boy's tongue. Philippe whimpered and made another futile effort to pull out of the grip of the two trainers.

Trench quickly scolded him. "If you keep struggling, I'll end up pulling your tongue right out of your head. Now be still! You're headed for more demerits, young man."

Philippe obeyed and stared up at the doctor as she tightened the vice gag further. The boy's tongue was now sandwiched firmly and painfully between the two steel rods. He quickly discovered that retracting it was going to be impossible. As long as those rods were in place, he could neither eat nor speak nor drink.

"mmmphh, ffpphhthhh, nnmph," were the only sounds the young teen could make as he stared at the grown-ups with sad weeping eyes.

"And now for the final touch," Trench said, selecting a small vial of liquid from the cart. "This contains a highly concentrated oil derived from the habenero pepper. Not the hottest in the world, but hot enough." She used a medical dropper to apply the smallest amount to Philippe's helpless out-stretched tongue.

"Let him go!" the doctor shouted as Philippe shrieked and broke free of the trainers' grasp. With his hands still bound behind him and unable to retract his tongue, the habenero oil remained on the tip, burning worse and worse with each passing second. The crowd applauded and laughed as the poor slender French boy bolted around the arena desperately trying to think of some way to cool off his flaming tongue. Normally a boy gladiator would not be allowed to run around this way, but Philippe presented such a comical sight, his slim hairless fourteen-year-old frame twitching and shaking, his desperate and futile attempts to get his arms free, and the look of shock, shame and dismay on his face, that they decided to just let him run wild around the arena. His trainer, an enigmatic young woman named Elaina, kept a close eye on him and a close hand on her shock stick should she need to bring the boy down.

While Philippe pranced around the arena floor, Doctor Trench prepared for Ian's somewhat more elaborate punishment.

"Should we take him down first, doc?" Roger Bramley asked, standing beside the hanging boy.

"That won't be necessary. Just keep him still."

Anthony explained Ian's punishment to the already delighted and excited crowd. "Boy Zero-Three couldn't control his little dick, so he's going to be taught a lesson for the rest of the day."

Doctor Trench began by removing the eleven-year-old's cock and ball harness. Ian winced and whimpered as he hung there. His penis was sore and swollen from being constantly erect for nearly a full hour, and his nuts weren't faring much better. "Oh, please, miss," he whined, "my willy hurts so much already. . . "

But the doctor simply ignored the boy's sad protest and took firm hold of his penis with her right hand, skinning back his foreskin in the process. From the nearby cart, she selected a four-inch long metal sound with small bulbous ends. By now all of the boys had endured the terror and humiliation of having sounds inserted into their penises during their regular visits to the medical suite, but having it done in front of a worldwide audience was a new low for Ian. He didn't need any coaching from the trainers to writhe and scream his little lungs out as the doctor expertly forced the shiny slender rod into his dick. She'd been performing these types of procedures on boys for years, ever since the passage of the International Child Slavery Act. Like many small-town pediatricians, her career took off in lucrative new directions when that law was passed. Over the years since, she'd developed her cold, methodical and highly efficient approach to slave-boy medicine. She logically thought of them as animals, and in many ways she now had more in common with veterinarians than physicians.

Ian was trying his best to be brave. Calvin Mayfair had his hands firmly around the boy's hips, holding him still as Doctor Trench continued the procedure. A small mesh cage was placed over the head of the eleven-year-old's penis. It was a common device, normally used to keep catheters in place, precisely modified by Trench to both anchor the sound and keep it from sliding out, and to keep the boy's foreskin fully retracted.

Looking down at his penis, Ian saw its sore little head encased in thin wire mesh with the bulbous end of the sound just visible at the tip. He gasped and sniffled. Calvin released his grip on his waist and gave him a quick smack on the butt.

"Good boy," he said. "Now for the fun part."

"I don't think it's gonna be all that fun," Ian replied, gazing down again at his impaled penis.

Doctor Trench smiled at Calvin's enthusiasm and Ian's reticence. She next attached a thin wire to the end of the sound using a small clamp. At her instruction, Anthony put Ian back into his chastity belt, taking care to feed the loose wire through the tiny urine hole at the bottom of the belt's metal genital plate. Ian winced as the belt was tightened around his waist and secured with padlocks. He again felt the uncomfortable tightness as the metal plate pressed against his boy-parts ensuring that his penis would not become erect.

The free end of the wire was now attached to a small handheld battery operated controller. The controller had a single sliding activator, currently in the off position. After making sure that everything was properly hooked up, Trench slid the activator to full power.

In that instant a small but sharp electrical current traveled through the wire and into the highly conductive metal sound. Ian was the first boy on the island to experience the agony of having his urethra shocked. The boy shrieked and jerked as he hung from his wrists, swinging his beautiful hairless legs in a wild display of pain-induced madness. The shock only lasted for a few seconds but it seemed like eternity as the current traveled into his penis. The mesh cage that encased his glans was also conductive and so the boy's ultra-sensitive cock-head, normally covered by his floppy foreskin, also received a good jolt.

"Oh, calm down, boy," Trench scolded him. "Honestly, you'd think we were cutting your dick off the way you're screaming. That was just a test to make sure everything is working. I'll turn it down, if you like."

"Pppp . . . ppplleease . . . miss . . . ttt . . .turn it . . . ddd . . . down . . ."

Trench smiled, thinking once again how much she enjoyed her job and how lucky she was to have gotten this high-profile position on Gladiator Island. She moved the slider to the half-way mark. Ian received another jolt, much less painful than the first, but still more than just a tickle.

"Is that better?" she asked the boy.

"I . . . I ggg . . .guess so, miss," Ian stammered. The second electrical shock, though mildly painful had also caused his penis to attempt to erect itself within the snug confines of his chastity belt. Trench could tell what was happening just by the look on the boy's face.

"It must be, if your little sausage is trying to get hard. Shame on you."

"Ssss . . . sorry, miss," Ian replied as another mild jolt shot into his piss-slit.

Satisfied that the setting was right for long-term use, Trench taped the controller box to Ian's right thigh, wrapping medical tape around the boy's leg to ensure it would not slip out. She took smaller pieces of tape and secured the wire in several places along the length of Ian's thigh. He would be competing with the device in place and she didn't want a loose wire snagging or pulling out of the electrified sound.

Anthony again addressed the audience. "Zero-Three is now wearing a special device inside his chastity belt. He will be receiving a mild electrical shock to his penis every three minutes for the rest of the day. If he earns any further demerits, the setting will be increased each time."

The spectators applauded this sensible and devious punishment.

"If any of you are interested in having a similar device custom-made for your slave boys, please see Doctor Trench before you conclude your stay with us."

With that, young Ian was finally taken down from the crossbar and marched along with Philippe down into the holding area beneath the arena floor. Just as he was about to disappear into the tunnel, the controller delivered another shock to the eleven-year-old's penis, causing him to jump and shout and do a cute little capering dance from foot to foot. Naturally the cameras caught the humorous scene and played it on the large overhead screen. The crowd laughed and applauded. For the wealthy visitors on Gladiator Island it had been a thoroughly entertaining morning, and they now slowly dispersed to get lunch at the island's top-notch eatery or enjoy an early afternoon on the private beach. Most of the island's guests had brought their slave boy or boys with them, and so a parade of well-dressed men and women filed out of the arena with their collared, chained, naked or scantily clad boys on leashes walking or crawling along behind them.

Many of the adults were busily checking the schedule for the day's remaining events. The evening competitions would feature a 'Tug of War' that set many imaginations wandering, and the week's finale was listed as the 'Best Whipped Ass' competition, in which ten lucky spectators would be selected to participate directly, provided, of course, they could pay a small additional fee.

To be continued . . .

Gladiators will be taking a brief hiatus while future chapters are prepared. Thanks to everyone who has sent me ideas and suggestions for future events and competitions. Stay tuned, more fun and madness from Gladiator Island will be coming soon.