Worldwide Boy Gladiators Part 6
By istari

copyright 2007 by istari, all rights reserved

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This story contains scenes depicting sexual acts and various other extreme humiliations involving minor males. This story is intended for adult audiences only, and is a work of complete and total fiction. If you should not be reading things like this, then don't.   Do not repost without permission of the author.

Comments are welcome and can be directed to [email protected]
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Chapter 13:

The film crew arrived just as David and Josh came in sight of the arena. The boys were still running as hard and as fast as they could. They made an appealing sight. David at fourteen, tall and slim, a classic swimmer's build, his hairless body tanned a golden-brown. Eleven-year-old Josh only four-and-a-half feet tall but all boyish muscle, his body perfectly toned by his years of wrestling since he was five. David's strides were long and graceful, Josh's quick and seemingly effortless. Only the grimaces of pain and exhaustion on their young faces indicated just what an ordeal their morning run had been.

Just as they reached the arena, Hannah blew her whistle. The boys stopped abruptly, almost tripping over their shackled feet. With his legs unable to hold him up, Joshua dropped to all fours, gasping and panting. David was bent at the waist, his hands gripping his knees. The heavy chain that bound the two boys together was swinging between them.

"Nice running, boys," Michella said, clicking her stopwatch for the final time. "We'll make sure you get more practice out there tomorrow."

Josh and David looked at each other in disbelief.

"I . . . can't . . . do it . . . again," Josh said to the older boy between gaping breaths.

"Don't think I can either," David admitted.

"Oh, you'll do it," Michella told him, "and you'll be three minutes faster, even if you have to carry Zero-Two on your back."

"He won't . . . won't have to carry me, ma'am," Josh said. He was still on his hands and knees and still trying to catch his breath.

Hannah knelt in front of him and grabbed a fistful of the boy's hair, forcing his head up to face her. "Look at me, kid. Do I have your attention?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Not bad. You're a strong little animal. That's good. But we need to work on your breathing. You were getting real sloppy those last few miles. That would have cost you if this had been a real race."

"I . . . I kept up with David . . . "Josh protested.

"Only because he kept slowing down for you. If he does that again, he'll be punished. And if I see you flailing around like that again tomorrow, you'll be punished, got it."

"Yes, ma'am. I am trying real hard, ma'am."

"I know. That's why I'm giving you a break. I'll teach you what you need to do. It's your job to learn it."

Josh smiled at her. Hannah couldn't help but smile back. The little kid was certainly charming and very cute, she had to give him that much.

"Get up. The director wants to talk to you."

Still chained by their collars, the boys stood up and saw the director coming toward them with a cameraman walking close behind.

"Look at me, boys, not the camera," Brussard said, giving David and Josh their first lesson in reality television. "Never look into the camera unless someone tells you to. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," David said in his crackling adolescent voice.

"Yes, sir," Josh repeated in his high boyish soprano.

"Good. I'll be interviewing you boys once the competition starts next week. And we'll be doing special interviews with you once or twice a month. The rules are simple and I want you to learn them right now. Only answer the questions I ask you. No saying 'hi' to your friends back home, or your moms. You'll be polite and respectful and you won't use any bad language when you're in front of the camera. You're all supposed to be good clean-cut boys, and I expect you to act like it. Little boys cursing like sailors would be bad for ratings. You can smile if you want, that's up to you. Understand so far?"

The boys nodded sharply.

"Now lets start with the little guy first. Give me your first name and your number."

Remembering not to look into the camera, Josh grinned and pointed at his bare chest. "I'm Josh. Boy Zero-Two."

"What does your number mean, Zero-Two?" the director asked.

"I'm the second youngest boy here, sir," Josh answered with easy confidence. "I'm eleven."

"And how old is your partner?"

"I'm fourteen, sir," David said. "I'm David. Boy One-Zero." The fourteen-year-old smirked a bit with pride. "That means I'm oldest."

"Where are you boys from?"

David naturally took charge of his younger partner and went first. "Brisbane, Australia," he answered, his youthful smile lighting his face as he thought of home.

"Me I'm from Bowie, Maryland. That's in the USA," Josh chimed in.

Michael Brussard grinned in satisfaction. These two boys were naturals in front of the camera. Great smiles and winning personalities. Hopefully the other eight would be just as charming. And these two were an adorable pair, their young bodies perfectly shaped and proportioned for their chosen sports. David long and lean, Josh small and muscular. Brussard knew without even checking the files that One-Zero had to be a swimmer, and his younger counterpart a wrestler. He stood back to admire their cute earnest faces and attractive athletic youthful builds.

"You must be Zero-Seven's brother," Brussard observed as his cameraman zoomed in for a close up on young Josh.

"Yes, sir," the eleven-year-old said with enthusiasm. "We both got letters! Chris wasn't so sure about it, you know, but I wanted to come here and be a gladiator and stuff," the boy said, conveniently forgetting that it was, in fact, his older brother who had talked him into doing it.

"So you're the brave one?"

Josh blushed, not wanting to be caught in a lie. "Uh . . . yeah, I guess so. I ain't scared, that's for sure. Hey, have you seen Chris today?"
Brussard nodded. "Sure have. He was pulling a chariot when I left him."
Joshua's eyes got big. "A chariot? Like with a horse and stuff."

"Chris was the horse," Brussard said with a wicked laugh.

"Wow!"

"You two will get your turn on the track before the day's out," the director explained, "I'll make sure I'm there to film it." He was already imagining how One-Zero would look harnessed and chained to the chariot while his energetic little partner stood on the cart in his helmet and gloves, reins in hand. David was the oldest boy gladiator, as evidenced by his rather thick bush of brown pubic hair, but he was by no means the biggest or strongest. His best events would be those involving pure speed and agility. He was definitely going to struggle pulling the chariot.

"Good luck, boys," Brussard said with a friendly wave as he and his cameraman returned to their four-wheeler and drove off toward the arena where hand-to-hand combat was on the agenda.

"Which boys are in the arena, boss?" his cameraman asked, gazing back at the two naked young gladiators he'd just had the joy of filming.

"Schedule says its Zero-Five and Zero-Six. They're both twelve so it should be an even match." He quickly checked his stat-sheet, updated just that morning. "Zero-five's a wrestler, so he'll have a slight advantage."

"He's the red-head, right?"

Brussard smiled. "Yep, that's him. Danny O'Hanlon. He stands out with that hair, doesn't he?"

"Sure does."

"You like red-heads, Jack?"

"Can't say I'm too particular. But I know a handsome boy when I see one."

"He's Canadian, you know," Brussard observed nonchalantly. "From Hamilton, as a matter of fact. I'm the one who picked him for this little production."

"I guess I know who you'll be rooting for then."

The director gave his partner a look of mock surprise. "I'm not permitted to display any bias one way or the other. Can't play favorites now, can we?"

On the floor of the arena, Daniel O'Hanlon was busy pinning his partner for the fourth time. Gabriel Shelton strained to break free, but aside from the unsportsman-like option of forcing his knee into Danny's balls, he knew he was stuck again. The lights blared down upon two muscular young boys as they writhed about, and they seemed dwarfed by the cavernous empty stands that surrounded them. The twelve- year-olds had been freed of their chains and shackles. Only their iron slave collars remained around their slender necks. Their chastity devices had been removed as well, allowing their genitals to bounce around freely as they grappled and struggled against one another.

Both boys were circumcised, but young Gabriel's penis was considerably larger than Daniel's, longer and substantially thicker and decorated with a sparse light dusting of pubic hair. Red-headed Daniel was still completely bare, and his penis could only be described as tiny for a boy his age. The two twelve-year-olds both sported nice plump balls hanging low in soft pink hairless sacks, thanks to the heat and their intense physical exertion.

Gabriel was also, at the moment, fully erect, although Daniel didn't seem to notice.

"Got you again, Gabe," he said cheerfully as he sat on the struggling English lad's chest. "You really suck at this, don't you?"

"I ain't never wrestled before," young Shelton said in his defense. He was smiling, but there was a fierce look in his eyes. He hated losing. "Wait'll I get you on the pitch, then we'll see who sucks."

"Hah! I don't think soccer's on the list, ay, but I'd beat you at that too!"

"Balls you would! Now let me up."

Danny jumped up and stood over his slightly older partner, straddling the boy's middle. It was only then that he noticed Gabriel's turgid erection. He laughed and pointed down at it.

"Hey, your dick's hard. Didn't know you loved me so much!"

"Why are you staring at it?" Gabriel smirked, sitting up on his elbows. "You wanna suck it or something?"

"No way!" Daniel shouted, even as he was secretly wondering what that would be like. He felt his own little dick twitching just from thinking about it.

The boys' attention was quickly diverted from their misbehaving dicks when their trainers blew their whistles. Gabriel had been assigned to Roger Bramley, a former star for Manchester and probably young Gabe's biggest idol. The twelve-year-old was at once thrilled and terrified to have the big powerful forward as his trainer. Daniel was the charge of Calvin Mayfair, an Olympic decathlete who had already started Daniel on a strict and exhaustive regimen of physical training designed to further tone the twelve-year- old's already trim tight little body. Calvin required Daniel to run everywhere they went. This meant that Gabe and Danny were the only pair of boys who were not routinely chained together.

Having already learned the hard way to respond instantly to their trainers' whistles, the boys stood next to each other at attention, eyes forward, feet apart, hands behind their heads. Roger clapped Gabriel on his behind.

"I guess we know you're not a wrestler, don't we?" he asked with a stern expression.

"Yes, sir," the boy answered, somewhat embarrassed at losing to his partner.

"Let's see if you do any better with the pummel."

Calvin handed each boy a four-foot long rod with a round rubber ball at each end. Danny and Gabe held them out in front of their bodies. The rods were made of a flexible composite and were very lightweight. The twelve-year-olds would have no problem handling them.

"You two are almost the same size, so you've got the same size rods," Bramley explained.

"I think my rod is bigger, sir," Gabriel said with a sly grin. Daniel jabbed his pummel into Gabe's side.

"Very funny, Zero-Six," Bramley replied. "I wouldn't be too proud of that little thing if I were you. And it's still halfway hard. Get it down and behave yourself."

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

Beside a very contrite and still semi-erect Gabriel, young Daniel was giggling happily. Served Gabe right for making fun of him.

"What are we supposed to do with these things, sir?" Gabe asked.

"Use your imaginations," Roger said. "First boy who hits the ground is the loser. There's only one place on your bodies that's off limits."

The boys didn't need any further explanation on that one. Daniel wasted no time, taking a broad swing at Gabriel's chest. Gabe blocked the blow and quickly landed one of his own on Daniel's thigh.

"Ouch!"

Danny quickly discovered that the hard rubber balls at the ends of the rod carried quite a painful sting.

Gabriel, a little taller and a little stronger than his younger partner smiled at him. "I think I'm going to like this . . . a lot!" Two more quick harsh blows were delivered with all of Gabriel's twelve-year-old strength, one on Danny's shoulder, the other catching him in the side.

"Dammit!" the young redhead cursed, trying to retaliate but always being blocked.

The boys had been going at it for about fifteen minutes when Brussard arrived with his cameraman. Danny was certainly getting the worst of it, already covered in bruises, dropping his pummel twice and having to scramble away as Gabriel chased him around the arena, shouting wildly and swinging his own rod like an ancient Saxon warrior.

"Now that's what I call boy gladiators," Brussard said.

Chris groaned with every step as he pulled the chariot behind him. Alexei had already driven him through the first fifteen laps when their trainers demanded ten more. It was hot and sticky. Sweat dripped from his hair into his eyes. The bit in his mouth made it hard to swallow correctly and so a steady stream of drool and spittle was trailing down onto his chest. The thirteen-year-old had tried to control it at first, but discovered it was impossible. The bit kept him from closing his mouth, so he just dug his teeth into it and let nature take its course. His naked body was filthy. He didn't think he would have kicked up so much dust and dirt with just his bare feet and two wheels behind him, but from the waist down he was covered in a fine coating of yellow grit and dirt. The track ahead was hazy with airborne dust, and as he breathed more of it in, his nose started running. He was miserable. He was a mess. He was also surprisingly fast and a lot stronger than he ever thought he was.

He'd done well on the first fifteen laps, keeping his legs moving at a fast pace. The plug in his butt made it very humiliating and very uncomfortable, but he was starting to get used to it. He was still having a hard time getting used to the plug's effect on his penis though. It was leaking more now than it had before he was milked. Even as he pulled the chariot with Alexei yanking on the reins, Chris had been thinking about his dick and the chastity cage presently locked around it.

Alexei used the button just once during the first fifteen laps, shouting at Chris to speed up and run harder. Now, on the second set of laps, Chris was really starting to get tired and Alexei was getting more and more demanding.

"Come on, Chris," he yelled from the chariot, snapping the reins urgently, "we have five more to go. Run or I'll zap you!"

'What's this 'we' shit?' the thirteen-year-old thought to himself. Just a little pissed, he jerked forward sharply, trying to knock Alexei off his platform.

"Hey!" the twelve-year-old shouted at him, tugging at Christopher's reins. "You did that on purpose." Alexei wasted no time pressing the button and holding it down.

Chris shrieked as the electric current shot through the belt and into his body. He peed himself and took off at a frantic pace, as if he could somehow outrun the electricity. Pleased with the results and rather enjoying his control over the older, larger boy, Alexei administered one shock after another until Chris was tearing around the track shouting and screaming and crying hysterically. Alexei held on with all his twelve-year-old might, shifting his weight to keep the chariot from rolling over.

"Yessss! Keep running, Chris!" Alexei shouted, having a great time as the dare-devil pilot of this boy-powered vehicle.

"Fuck you, Alexei!" Chris growled back, but of course his intended words were nothing more than unintelligible grunts thanks to the bit strapped firmly in place around his head.

The end result of all this was that the boys' second set of laps was actually faster than their first. Chris actually couldn't stop running when Jason finally called them back to the pavilion. Alexei had to pull hard on the reins and knock Chris off his feet for a moment.

"I think you can stop now," the young Russian said.

Chris moaned, dragged himself up off the dirt track and slowly pulled the chariot under the pavilion roof. The shade felt so good. He stood there bewildered and exhausted as Alexei hopped off the two-wheeled cart and received congratulations from their trainers. They left Chris chained to the chariot, the bit still strapped in place, while they went over everything that Alexei did right and the many things he did wrong.

"But we were fast, right?" the boy asked hopefully.

"Very," Natasha said. "Thanks mostly to your pony," she pointed at the harnessed boy. "He is very strong. If you can learn to drive him better, you'll be even faster. But you did a good job. No demerits for you."

Alexei beamed. He'd already lost points for his erection that morning, and he'd earned still more demerits for his behavior in the infirmary, so it was a small victory to know he hadn't fallen any further behind.

"It's your job to get him unharnessed," Jason told him. "Start with the belt, then the chains. You can figure out the rest. You're still in charge of him until we leave the track. When the competition starts next week those stands will be full. They won't stop watching you just because your race is over. You'll keep him in his bit and harness between races. You can tether him to one of those posts." Jason pointed to six wooden posts just outside the pavilion where the pony-boys would be kept until their next race. "For now just take everything off him."

Alexei followed Jason's instructions, removing the leather belt around Chris' waist and releasing the chains from his harness. Chris knew he should have been really mad at Alexei for using that button on him so much, but he was so tired he really didn't care. He also felt strangely proud of how fast he'd run. Everything seemed so confused. He was an indentured slave. He'd signed the paper himself. Why did he ever do such a crazy stupid thing? And his parents had gone along with it. He was thousands of miles away from home. In fact he didn't even really know where Gladiator Island was. No one had told him. No one would. He was wearing an iron collar around his neck and that horrible cage around his dick. In another week, people all over the world would be seeing him naked, doing all sorts of dangerous and painful things. If he messed up, he'd be punished, and he already had a taste of how rough that would be. It was all terrible, a boy's worst nightmare, but somehow Chris was really excited about everything. It was going to be a big adventure. A chance to test himself and prove himself against all these other boys and against everything and anything Gladiator Island was going to put him through. "We are still friends, right?" Alexei asked quietly, starting to feel a little ashamed about how he'd behaved.

"Da," Chris said, the only Russian word he'd managed to pick up so far. It felt good to be out of the harness and no longer chained to the chariot. He was amazed how heavy all that stuff had been and how quickly he'd learned to manage wearing it all. The thirteen-year-old stretched his arms over his head and arched his back. He was already sore and tired and it was still morning. His stomach was growling.

'Must be getting close to lunch time,' he thought, before remembering that he was only fed two times a day. His next meal was yet hours and hours away. He rubbed his belly with a forlorn look in his eyes.

"You better get used to feeling hungry, boy," Jason told him as he and Alexei were chained together once again. "Don't worry, you won't starve. It'll just feel like it most of the time."

"Thanks for telling me," Chris replied smartly.

Jason gave the young teen a sharp smack on his cute little naked butt. "Smart-ass. Let's go. You two are up next in the pool."

Chris might have been happy about that, but he'd already seen Illya and Ian with those weights around their waists, wrists and ankles. This was going to be a swim like none the boy had ever tried before. Somehow he didn't think he was going to be enjoying it all that much.

Chapter 14:

Daniel O'Hanlon was crawling on his hands and knees across the floor of the arena trying to get away from Gabriel. He'd long since abandoned any attempt at actually defending himself and decided that making Gabe chase him would at least give him a chance to catch his breath and maybe think up some new strategy. His nose and mouth were bloody, his right eye was blackened, and his smooth hairless body was covered with angry red marks that were already turning to dark deep bruises.

Gabriel had more than made up for his poor skills at wrestling. He was only three inches taller than Daniel, but he was a lot stronger and completely tireless. He was used to running full speed across a football pitch for ninety minutes at a time. The twelve-year-old wasn't even winded, and aside from a dark bruise on his thigh where Danny had landed his first and only hit, there was not a mark on the boy's lean athletic frame.

"Just quit, Danny," Gabe said as he landed his pummel across the backs of the young red-head's thighs. "They won't let me stop hitting you until you give up."

Daniel crawled away again. He knew Gabe was right, but he wasn't ready to admit it. He couldn't understand how he'd ended up in this mess. When the two of them wrestled, Gabe hadn't shown any quickness or agility at all, he was slow and clumsy and all arms and legs. Daniel couldn't possibly imagine it might have just been from the fact that his partner had never actually wrestled before. He'd never heard of such a thing. After all, wrestling was his life. Didn't every one know how to do it? Based on that innocent boyish thinking, it came as a great shock to him when Gabriel proved so handy with the pummel stick. In the few seconds it took him to learn that important lesson, he was already on his heels.

On the other end of the stick, Gabriel was quite pleased with himself. He'd done so badly at the wrestling bit, he really needed to show his trainer and everyone else that he was every bit the boy gladiator his partner was. He was the only football player here. There were three wrestlers, three swimmers, a diver, a gymnast, and little Miles, his fellow Englishman, was a terrific young runner. Gabriel was the only boy who played an exclusively team sport, and the only one who didn't have boxes full of trophies with his name engraved on them. He'd been feeling a little self-conscious about it. At least this was one thing he'd be good at: beating the crap out of the other boys.

He hit Daniel again, this time in the ribs. The blow knocked the twelve-year-old wrestler on his side. Daniel didn't try to get away. He was done and he knew it.

"Okay, okay! I give," he said.

Gabriel used his foot and rolled Daniel over onto his back. He rested one of the round ends of the pummel on the Canadian boy's chest and stood there triumphantly.

"You win, Gabe," Daniel said, wiping blood from his nose.

Their trainers were quickly beside them. Up until now they had simply watched and let the boys fight, offering shouts of encouragement and little else.

"Fine job, Zero-Six," Roger said. "Five bonus points for a good fight."

"And as for you," Calvin frowned, staring down at his vanquished and bloodied boy, "get on your knees." Daniel instantly complied and knelt there in front of the two trainers and the victorious boy. He bowed his head ashamed, expecting to be given demerits for getting his ass kicked so badly.

"You lost, but you didn't exactly quit," Calvin proclaimed. "No demerits for you, but here in the arena, boys who lose do get punished."

"Yes, sir," Daniel muttered softly.

Calvin turned his eyes to Gabriel who was still holding the rod. "Give his balls a good shot, Zero-Six."

"What, sir?"

"You heard me. He has to pay the price for losing."

"But he lost when we wrestled," Daniel said, glaring at Gabriel, his voice suddenly very high. He was looking up at them with fear in his eyes. This was totally unfair.

"Zero-Six is not my responsibility," Calvin said, smacking Danny on the back of the head. "You are. And you get punished every time you lose."

Gabriel wasn't sure what to do. Danny was right. He'd lost and lost bad when the two of them wrestled, but nothing happened to him. He looked at his own trainer, not sure if he should defend his partner or not.

"I've got something else in mind for you, Zero-Six," Roger Bramley said sternly. "Now do as you're told . . . or I'll give your balls a good whack."

Young Gabriel looked down at his fellow twelve-year-old. Daniel did have a very small cock, but his balls were fairly average for a boy his age, two grape-sized orbs dangling vulnerably in a soft hairless bag. They would certainly be an easy target. "I'm real sorry, Danny," Gabriel said.

"I think I'm the one who's gonna be sorry," Daniel replied.

"How . . . how hard should I hit him, sir?" Gabriel asked his trainer.

"Just give the pummel a good swing, kid."

"OK."

Gabriel moved so he was standing to one side. In this position it would be a lot like swinging a cricket bat, a game he was quite familiar with but not very good at. Danny's eyes were locked on him the whole time.

"Here we go . . ."

He swung easily and lightly. The end of the pummel did make contact with Danny's dangling sack, but it was barely a tap, just enough to set the twelve-year-old's balls swinging between his legs. Danny still screamed his little red head off, simply out of fear.

"That wasn't good enough, Zero-Six," Calvin said with almost cold detachment, "and you can stop screaming, boy, he barely touched you. Do it again."

"Yes, sir," Gabe said softly. There was no way either of them were getting out of this, so he might as well just do it. Danny looked at him and his expression told him his partner was thinking the same thing.

"Just hit 'em, Gabe. I can take it. I'm a gladiator, right?"

Gabriel held the end of the pummel against Danny's balls. Danny's chest was rising and falling in rapid nervous breaths, the muscles in his tight lean torso all clenching. He bit his lip and closed his eyes. Gabriel bit his lip too and drew the pummel back. He hesitated for a few seconds. As a football player from Liverpool he'd certainly been in his share of scraps, and he'd kicked and been kicked by more boys than he could count, but this was different. He'd already beaten Danny, beaten him good. Having to do this while the other boy just stayed there on his knees didn't seem right.

But he also wasn't about to get demerits for disobeying his trainer. He wasn't here to be nice. He was here to win.

He swung the pummel hard this time and smashed it into his fellow twelve-year-old's defenseless dangling balls.

Danny's brown eyes shot open. His mouth dropped, but at first he made no sound. A split second later he found his voice and shrieked in agony. The boy's high-pitched scream echoed around the empty arena. Daniel grabbed his balls and curled himself up on the arena floor, clutching his hands desperately between his legs. He fought the urge to cry. It was the last thing he wanted to do, especially in front of his trainer. Calvin knelt down beside him and whispered something into his ear, running his hand softly through the boy's red hair. Daniel slowly got back to his knees and then stood up, still holding his hands between his legs. His eyes were wet, but he hadn't cried.

"What's next?" he asked, trying to pretend he didn't care how much it hurt.

"The chariot," his trainer answered. "You'll get a chance to get even once you two are on the track."

Roger blew his whistle and the two twelve-year-olds quickly stood at attention, hands behind their heads, legs spread wide apart. Their trainers put the boys back into their chastity devices and locked them in place. Daniel protested quietly.

"But my balls still hurt, sir," he said as Calvin snapped the padlock closed.

"Let me see them," his trainer replied, kneeling down and resting Daniel's testicles in the palm of his hand. The boy's scrotum was an angry shade of red, but that seemed to be the extent of the damage. Calvin gently rolled the twelve-year-old's balls between his fingers. Daniel gasped and hissed and stood up on his toes, but it really wasn't all that bad. "They're going to be hurting a lot from now on, Zero-Five, so you might as well get used to it. It won't kill you. Just keep taking deep breaths like I told you. They'll feel better soon."
They were already feeling better actually. Daniel had simply hoped he might get out of wearing the chastity device for a little bit longer. No such luck. The redheaded boy was ordered to run to the hippodrome and wait for them.

"You can run with him this time, Zero-Six," Roger Bramley said. "You two are on your honor. Go straight there and don't mess around."

The two boys stood side by side and smiled at each other. A few brief moments of freedom without anyone shouting at them or telling them what to do.

"Race ya?" Gabriel challenged.

Daniel nodded slowly. "On three."

Gabriel dug his feet in, ready for a fast start. "Set."

"One . . . two . . . " Danny abruptly took off in a flash. "Three!" he shouted behind him as he ran out of the arena on his shapely well-toned legs.

"You are so dead, cheater!" Gabriel hissed as he stumbled to catch up.

Roger and Calvin smiled at their two spirited young gladiators. Neither of them were the biggest, or the fastest, or the strongest, but they were both smart, and both fierce and fearless competitors. With discipline and training, they would both hold their own quite well.

As the two men walked leisurely toward the hippodrome they shared notes on the boys' performances. "Did you notice that Daniel did not have a single erection while the chastity cage was off?" Roger observed.

"I did," Calvin responded, somewhat curious about that himself. "He wasn't hard this morning either. In fact he was the only one."

"Gabriel was stiff the whole time they were wrestling. Did you see the way that boy's cock was leaking? Little hornball."

"Young Danny doesn't seem to get horny at all. He told me last night that he doesn't masturbate."

"And you believed him?" Roger laughed incredulously.

"Actually I did. I think he's just a very late bloomer. He is still completely pre-pubescent as far as I know. And his penis is rather small."

"Maybe you should put him in a chastity belt like the younger boys wear. The cock cage does seem a bit big for him."

"That would be very humiliating for him . . . being grouped with the little ones."

"And how is that a bad thing? These boys are meant to be humiliated as much as possible. I love the idea."

Calvin smiled wickedly. "So do I. I'll make the switch tonight in the barracks so everyone can see it."

In the medical suite, Philippe Dulac was on his hands and knees, sobbing miserably as the machine coaxed yet another thick glob of sperm from his aching frustrated fourteen- year-old penis. The French boy did not have as much between his legs as the other young teens in the group, a soft three inches that blossomed to a nice gently curved five-inch erection. It was a delicate and beautifully shaped appendage whose growth had simply not caught up with the rest of him. His balls were another matter entirely. Large, plump and heavy, the biggest among all the boys and currently the source of young Philippe's anguished groans as they dangled low between his legs, being methodically and cruelly drained by the relentless machine.

The teenaged boy's cock was strapped into the milking sheath, and the largest of the vibrating plugs was stuffed firmly up his butt. At first he'd rather enjoyed it. The machine had induced a powerful erection in the boy, and just like Chris before him, he'd assumed he would soon be having an amazing mind-blowing orgasm. The realization that he could not and would not cum, that the machine would not let him, dawned on him very slowly. Naturally none of the boys had ever experienced a milking, or even understood what it was until they were forced to endure it. Philippe was learning this lesson now, much to his extreme distress and misery.

"Ah, god," he said in fractured English, "why can't I . . . aaggh . . . oh no, not again . . . "

Yet another batch of the teenaged boy's pure white seed had just spilled from his now only semi-erect penis and was being relentlessly sucked down the clear plastic tube. The vibrating plug in his anus slowed just enough to allow the boy's fluid to flow out of his dick without inducing a spontaneous ejaculation. Just a few seconds later it was pulsing again, rapidly and strongly, stimulating the boy's already overactive adolescent prostate.

"Please, miss," he moaned to Karin who was standing beside him, "please make it stop. I can't have another one . . . I can't . . . "

His French-accented English was so endearing. Karin was actually quite taken with the handsome youngster. He had a winning smile, dark soulful eyes that made him seem almost exotic, and of course a lean and coltish young body. He was now completely smooth, his once soft wispy bush of pubic hair washed away forever. It was the only hair he'd ever had on his slender five-foot-four-inch frame.

"We have to keep going, Zero-Nine," Karin said tenderly. "We have to get all that nasty sperm out of you. Won't that feel better," she continued, gently caressing the boy's balls, "when these things are nice and empty the way they should be."

"Yes, miss," Philippe agreed rather half-heartedly.

On the table next to Philippe, ten-year-old Miles Harris was also on his hands and knees, attached to the boy-milking machine in the same manner. His experience however was proving to be quite different and, if possible, far more agonizing.

The machine had a special setting for pre-pubescent boys who could not yet ejaculate. Unlike Philippe who was not being permitted to have even a single orgasm, young Miles was being forced to have one shattering dry orgasm after another, often in such rapid succession that it was impossible to distinguish when the last one ended and the next one began. The tiny metal sheath that encased the naked ten-year-old's penis was barely two inches long. The vibrating plug in his cute little butt was the smallest one available but more than large enough to stimulate the boy's immature prostate.

Miles had never actually considered the fact that something could be put in his butt. In his sexually innocent ten-year- old mind things only came out of that particular hole. He naturally had no knowledge of that tiny gland inside his body and how easily it could be used to make him have these powerful dizzying things called orgasms. The first one he'd had while on that table was the first one he'd ever had in his whole life. He was amazed and terrified the first time it happened, he screamed and shouted and started to cry, certain something had gone terribly wrong deep inside his little body. But then, after the fear passed, and a quick reassuring lesson in boy's anatomy from Doctor Trench, he began to enjoy them, at least at first. It is generally known that the dry orgasm experienced by pre-pubescent boys is uniquely agonizing in spite of its immense pleasure. When the pre-pubertal boy is forced to have several of them in a short period of time, it can easily become torturous for him.

That was what young Miles was experiencing at the moment. Pleasure so intense, so blinding, so mind-numbing, so without release and without relief that it was actually terrible. Miles Harris was being methodically tortured by his own orgasms. His young body was trying desperately to climax, but his testicles were still dormant, his little penis would pulse and throb and strain, he would gasp and pant and every muscle in his body would clench uncontrollably, and then it would start all over again. And so he cried and wailed and sobbed, unable to understand how something could feel so amazingly good and so horribly bad at the same time.

"How many orgasms has Zero-One had in the last hour, Anna?" Doctor Trench asked as the boy let out another series of frantic hysterical squeals and squeaks.

"It's hard to tell for sure, doctor," the young aide replied. "I'd say at least twelve. Is that high?"

"If we were stimulating him by hand, yes. But for a ten- year-old on this particular machine, not at all. Actually the exact number is probably closer to twenty at the moment. Several of them have occurred too rapidly to distinguish them."

Anna stared at the little naked ten-year-old in amazement. Twenty orgasms. How was this kid even still conscious?

"Check his pulse-rate, please," the doctor instructed. "We don't want his little heart to give out. It is actually possible to kill a pre-pubescent boy on this machine."

"Really?"

"There are two documented cases that I know of. Both of the boys were slaves of course, both under the age of eleven. We may be entering dangerous territory with him."

Anna made a quick check of Miles' pulse, placing her finger over the inside of the boy's wrist. Miles stared at her with glazed eyes. "It's racing, doctor. And his breathing is starting to get erratic."

"Lower the settings on the machine, dear," Trench instructed. "Bring him down slowly."

The ten-year-old couldn't see the adjustments being made, but he felt their results almost immediately. The pulsating of the metal sheath around his penis finally stopped. His cute little two-inch boner, which he'd had for the last hour, at last began to deflate. The vibrating thing in his butt was also going slower. Miles took a deep breath and then let out a sigh of relief. Anna reached under him and released the straps that held the sheath in place. Venturing a curious look at the boy-parts between his legs, Miles saw that his little pickle was once again soft and slender. Only now it was very red and very sore. And his balls, which normally were drawn up close to his body, were currently dangling in his soft little sack, two tiny almonds in a thin fleshy bag.

"Take a deep breath, cutie," Anna told him as she began to pull the vibrating plug from the ten-year-old boy's butt.

Miles gasped sharply and let out a little squeak of protest. It hurt almost as much coming out as it had going in.

Keeping the boy on his hands and knees, Anna put the chastity belt back on him, making sure his little penis was properly constrained inside the metal plate so he could not have any erections. She pulled the belt snug around his slim waist, pulled the strap up under his legs and over his adorable little butt-crack and then attached the two padlocks. The ten-year-old's genitals were once again locked away, neither to be seen nor touched by their unfortunate little owner.

At the other table, Karin and the doctor where finishing up with Philippe, removing the vibrating prostate probe and locking him into his chastity cage. The fourteen-year-old was busy rubbing the tears from his eyes. He was humiliated and ashamed of himself for crying, but he was certainly not the first teenaged boy to break down in tears on the milking machine, and he was not going to be the last.

"Alright," the doctor said to her enthusiastic young aides, "that's four boys down, six to go. Let's get these two plugged and drugged and on their way."

By the time the boys were returned to the barracks for their evening meal, all of them had experienced their first visit to the infirmary and their first hour on the milking machine. Each of the teams had completed the marathon course, taken their laps at the hippodrome, survived a grueling challenge at the pool (except for young Miles who had yet to have his first swimming lesson), and beaten their partners senseless in the main arena. They were tired, bruised, sore, dirty and generally miserable, yet the barracks was a lively place as they sat at the long table and ate their dinner.

Every one of the boys had a butt plug inside him, causing each of them to squirm uncomfortably on their seats. None of them were too happy about having those things stuffed in their rear ends. For Miles and Josh, who could not yet ejaculate, and Daniel and Ian, who were as yet producing only tiny amounts of clear semen, the plugs were mostly just a humiliating nuisance, a painful reminder of their new status as slaves. They perhaps felt a mild arousal from the constant stimulation of their still immature prostates, but mostly they just felt full and embarrassed.

It was quite different for the older boys. The plugs in their butts, combined with the chastity devices locked around their now perfectly hairless genitals, resulted in six very leaky boy-cocks and six very frustrated young teens. Milking the boys had done very little to relieve their intense adolescent sexual needs.

When they'd all first returned to the barracks, the less developed boys took a certain amount of delight in teasing and taunting the older ones about the loss of their pubic hair. David, Philippe, Chris, Alexei, Gabe, and even little eleven-year-old Ian, had all woken up that morning with hair around their dicks. Now it was gone, leaving their young bodies completely hairless. Its absence was particularly striking on the two fourteen-year-olds who'd arrived on the island each with a fairly thick patch between their slender shapely legs. Josh took particular interest in pointing out Christopher's smooth bare pubis. He'd been at first exceedingly curious and then exceedingly jealous when Chris sprouted his first sparse hairs down there, back when he was twelve. Chris for his part had made a rather big deal of it, teasing his brother for still being a little kid while, he, clearly, was already a man. 'Men have hair,' he'd told Josh at the time, 'and boys don't. So what does that make me?'

'I dunno. An asshole with hair?'

Naturally Josh had spent the next half-hour running through the house with his brother chasing after him. Now, the two brothers were once again equal, at least in that particular department.

"Now you look just like me, Chris!" Josh had chirped happily when Chris, chained by his collar to twelve-year-old Alexei, was marched into the barracks.

"Shut up, squirt," Chris said. After the initial humiliation of having it removed, the boy was actually starting to enjoy how it felt to be smooth and hairless again. It seemed to make his cock and balls look bigger, and that was certainly a plus in the thirteen-year-old's estimation. But he wasn't about to let his little brother give him a hard time.

Of all the boys, only Illya Casparev was left out of the teasing. The thirteen-year-old had a huge dick, a long fat six-inch tube of boyflesh that swung comically between his legs when it wasn't locked away in the chastity cage, but he had yet to develop any pubic hair. So he was neither teased for having lost it, nor a teaser of those who did since he didn't have any to begin with. He sat quietly at the table, eating rapidly and darting his hazel eyes around the table.

Talk amongst the boys turned to the milking machine. Most of them gave an involuntary shiver at the mere thought of it.

"That totally sucked, mates," David said to the others. "I mean I wanted to cum so bad. I wished I could'a . . . " the handsome fourteen-year-old got nods of sympathy and whole- hearted agreement, from all that is but Miles and Josh. Their experiences on the machine had been quite the opposite.

"And I wished I could'a stopped cumming!" Josh exclaimed.

"Yeah," Miles added, not wanting the conversation to pass him by. Being the youngest and smallest in every way was not an easy thing to be, and he didn't want them forgetting he was there. "Doc said I must'a had like twenty-two organisms before she turned it off."

"Orgasms," Gabriel said, rolling his eyes and jabbing the ten-year-old in the ribs.

"That's what I said."

Josh gave Miles a look of camaraderie. He'd finished up with eighteen mind-bending dry orgasms by the time the machine shut down. He never even knew his body could be forced to do that, or that anything that felt so good could end up being so terrible. The eleven-year-old had decided that even if they took the belt off him right now, he would not dare touch his dick.

"I thought that thing was gonna suck my balls out through my cock," Chris said, getting a round of loud boyish laughter from everyone.

Some debate was held as to which event, so far, was the most difficult. Daniel, Josh, and Ian voted for swimming. Aside from Miles, who hadn't participated, they were the three smallest and lightest boys, so having to do all those laps with lead weights strapped around their arms, thighs and waists proved very unpleasant and just a little frightening. Naturally the five boys who had ended up pulling the chariots unanimously chose the hippodrome track as the worst. Alexei didn't like the marathon course very much, mostly because it was the last thing he and Chris had done and he was already exhausted before they even started. Miles voted for the marathon as well, since he was pretty much dragged from one side of the island to the other by Philippe.

"You promised you would keep up," the French boy said, feeling rather guilty about what a beating the little kid had taken during their afternoon run.

"I tried," the spirited ten-year-old replied in his own defense. Of course he'd taken his opportunity for revenge as he piloted the chariot and forced the older boy around the track. He rather enjoyed pushing the button and watching Philippe shriek and scramble forward, helplessly harnessed and chained to the cart.

The trainers returned just as the boys were wiping down the table and sweeping the floor. Keeping the barracks clean was their responsibility.

"Alright, boys," Jason Sanborne called, "line up. Toes on the black stripe." He pointed to a long black line painted on the floor.

The ten boy gladiators scurried about for a few seconds but quickly formed a straight line facing the large tally board at the front of the room, their cute little boyfeet precisely positioned on the black stripe. The naked boys took up their already well-practiced stance, clasping their hands behind their heads and spreading their feet wide apart. They stood silently waiting, their eyes forward.

The tally board had been there since the boys first entered the barracks the day before, but it had been blank. It was electronic, and now it was active, each boy's number and name in glowing letters. Some boys' names were in blue, some in were yellow, most were in red. Some boys had positive numbers after their names, some had negative numbers and some had a single letter 'E'.

"Look at the board, boys," Sanborne ordered. "These are your scores so far. Worldwide Boy Gladiators does not officially begin until next week, but we started keeping score the moment you were taken off the plane. Boys in blue have positive points."

Gabriel Shelton and Illya Casparev were the only two who fit that category at the moment. They both smiled.

"Boys in yellow are even as of right now."

That was Chris, Gabriel, and David, who all seemed relieved not to be on the bottom of the pack.

"Boys in red have negative points."

Josh, Miles, Alexei, Daniel and Philippe all saw their names in red. Josh, with a negative 15 points, was dead last, much to his dismay.

"Man, I'm last already and it ain't even a whole day yet." It was mostly because of the ten points he lost because of his erection that morning.

The other boys chuckled, but the scores were close. The boys in first place could find themselves in last without even trying.

"I'm going to give you boys some advice," Jason continued. "The only time you should worry about this scoreboard as at the end of the week. If you try to get bonus points, or try not to get penalties, you'll just mess up even more. Try your best. Somebody's going to be the loser each week. That's just a fact. Sooner or later it's going to be you. Now, pair up."

"Yes, sir!" the boys shouted in unison. They found their partners quickly and remained at attention while they were chained together. Their trainers marched them out of the barracks. Evening on the island was not unpleasant. The sun was still shining, but it had lost its sweltering midday strength. There was a breeze blowing in off the ocean. The boys all breathed in deeply. They were taken to the arena and down into the holding area. There the chains were removed and each boy was given a set of knee and elbow pads and a soft rubber mouth guard. The boys strapped the pads in place quickly, and then ran up the stairs through the boys' entrance and found themselves on the arena floor.

The lights were low. The trainers were nowhere to be seen, but scattered on the floor were pummels, nets, heavy rubber balls and maces, leather whips, ropes and chains. The boys all stood there in silence, not sure what was expected of them.

Suddenly the lights came up, bright and blazing, illuminating the arena floor. A voice boomed out from above. "Melee! Last boy standing gets twenty points! Show no mercy!"

To be continued ...