Worldwide Boy Gladiators Part 7
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 15:

For the first few seconds, the boys all stood around staring at each other with puzzled expressions on their faces. In the less than forty-eight hours since they'd been taken from their homes, the ten young gladiators had already become accustomed to having every moment of their lives regimented, disciplined and controlled. Now suddenly they were being set loose . . . upon each other. None of them quite had any idea what they should do.

Finally it was Josh who decided he'd better do something. He didn't want to get more demerits from his trainer for standing around. He scurried away from the other boys and picked up one of the maces. It was simply a shorter version of the pummels they'd already used on each other, with a leather-wrapped hand-grip at one end and mean looking rubber sphere at the other. The sphere had a bunch of rounded metal spikes all around it. It wouldn't cut into a boy's skin, but it would bruise him real bad. Josh liked the weight of it and its length. It was much easier for him to handle than the long pummel sticks. He swung it back and forth and then stopped, one hand on his hip, his head cocked in an adorable fashion.

"Why's everybody standing around?" he asked. "Let's do this!"

Not wanting to be outdone by his little brother, Chris grabbed one of the pummels, which he'd been quite good at against Alexei. The other boys quickly followed, each picking a weapon for themselves. Eleven-year-old Ian showed some unfortunate indecision and ended up with one of the two nets, as all the other items were gone by the time he found his courage.

"What the hell am I supposed to do with this?" he shouted to the others.

The first thing he had to do was duck and run away as Josh tried to clobber him with his mace. The second thing he did was realize that his net had little lead weights attached to it. He swung it at Josh and wrapped it around his fellow eleven-year-old's knees. The third thing he did was pull as hard as he could.

Josh hit the ground hard, his legs still tangled in the net.

"Cool!" Ian declared, suddenly finding his choice of weaponry not so bad. Josh wiggled and rolled and managed to get himself free an instant later, but Ian and his tricky net would prove a continuing menace to all the boys.

Even though they'd been together on the island for less than forty-eight hours, an unspoken hierarchy was already developing amongst the boys. They were all terrific athletes, all with gorgeous trim young bodies, and all of above average intelligence, but they seemed to have an instinctive understanding of who among them were going to turn out to be the strongest and who were, at least potentially, the weakest. Among the five oldest boys, Chris and David were seen to be the toughest competition, certainly the two swimmers were already viewing each other that way. With the younger boys, Josh (in spite of all his demerits) and Gabriel were viewed by their age-mates as the biggest threats. As a diver, all be it one of almost-Olympic caliber, young Philippe was largely dismissed by the others, as was Illya, who in spite of his man-sized cock was, after all, a gymnast, which most of the boys considered a girly sport. None of the boys took ten-year-old Miles very seriously at all.

It came as no surprise then that David, Chris, Josh and Gabriel were targeted early and often by the other six boys, and mostly in that particular order. There was no real coordination at first, just a silent understanding that those four boys needed to be taken out fast if the other six hoped to stand a chance of being the last one on his feet. As the melee continued though, it was clear that Josh had made some sort of private boyish pact with Ian and Miles, giving him two much needed allies against the older boys. The three pre-teens quietly agreed not to attack each other but instead spend their energies together going after their larger, stronger opponents, all the while defending each other.

Thirteen-year-old Illya was the first boy they dispatched. Ian tripping him with his net, Josh and Miles pounding him senseless with their pummels, until he was pleading with them to stop. But all the boys knew by now that nothing stopped on Gladiator Island until it suited those in charge. Illya was nicely covered in angry bruises when a loud voice boomed out once again from above.

"Boy Zero-Eight. You are eliminated! Leave the arena and go below."

Sore and exhausted, and rather scared about what punishment might befall him for the being the first one eliminated, Illya dragged himself to his feet and marched as bravely as he could to the holding room beneath the arena floor. There he was stripped of his knee and elbow pads. His chains were again attached to the shackles around his wrists and ankles. A ball-gag was shoved into his mouth and strapped tightly around his head. Boys did not speak in this particular room. He was then marched to the whipping post, his arms fastened above his head and given ten hard lashes across his back for failure. With silent tears streaming down his cheeks, the boy was then unceremoniously put into one of the holding cages. His trainer, who also happened to be his older brother, chained the thirteen-year-old's collar to the bars and locked the door.

On the arena floor, the chaos continued. Gabe and Philippe were trading blows with pummels, each determined to bring the other boy down. There was only a one-inch difference in their height despite almost two years between them. The fourteen-year-old Philippe however outweighed twelve-year- old Gabe by more than ten pounds. Diving had made the French teen lithe and agile, with superior balance and coordination. It was only young Gabe's fierce brawling spirit that allowed him to stand toe to toe with the older boy. They were so focused on each other that neither boy took notice when the young trio of Ian, Josh and Miles closed in around them. Miles picked up two of the rubber balls that had so far been ignored by everyone else. With a wicked grin he flung the first one at Philippe's chest, the second at Gabriel's legs.

"Ouch! Dammit!" Gabriel shouted as the ball smacked against his thigh. He dropped his pummel in surprise and scurried away from the ambush.

Left momentarily breathless by the sneak attack, young Philippe stood there defenseless, mouth agape, trying to figure out what just happened. Ian's net was around his slim waist a split second later. Next thing the teenaged boy knew he was on his back with three pre-teens on top of him, beating him with clenched fists.

Gabriel knew he needed allies and he needed them fast. He ran round to where Chris and David where battling with the rubber maces. David's nose was bloody. Chris' lip had been split. The naked boys stood face to face, their feet spread wide apart, maces in hand, slowly circling each other, each waiting for the other to show a moment of weakness. Twelve- year-old Gabriel ran directly between them, raising his hands for a momentary truce.

"The little ones," he said between gaping breaths, "they're working together . . . "

The official voice boomed out again. "Boy Zero-Nine. You are eliminated! Leave the arena and go below."

The pack of pre-adolescents allowed a beaten and crying Philippe to get to his hands and knees. They forced him to crawl all the way to the stairs, taunting and kicking him. The fact that Philippe was his partner did nothing to spur even a moment of mercy from little Miles. He figured they would all be brutal to him whenever he was down, so he might as well get in as many licks as he could now.

"Take that, you cheese-eating surrender monkey!" Miles shouted as he mercilessly kicked the one boy on the island who might actually be interested in looking out for him. That sort of thinking however was a little beyond the capacity of a naked ten-year-old thrust into a wild and winner-take-all battle of strength and courage.

Chris and David meanwhile had taken notice of Gabriel's warning. The relentless little pack had turned its attention to Alexei, who was currently running away as fast he could.

"Those little shits!" Chris said.

David nodded his agreement. The thought of losing to Chris, or Illya or even Philippe was unpleasant enough, the thought of losing to one of the little ones was absolutely intolerable. "They are totally dead. Right now."

"Do we team up, guys?" Gabriel asked, seeing a lot of advantages in making friends with these two older boys.

Chris and David nodded, both privately thinking they would knock Gabriel into next week as soon as they'd taken care of the little squirts.

"Josh is mine!" Chris shouted as the three remaining eldest boys rushed over to where young Alexei was being dragged feet-first by Josh and Ian to the open stairway.

David set his sights on Ian, his fellow Aussie. Gabriel retrieved his pummel along the way and figured he would have no troubling giving Miles a good thrashing with it.

Mike Brussard looked out from behind the camera. "Here they come," he said to his crew through his headset. "This is going to be good. Make sure you get close-ups. I want to see their faces."

The film crew had set up their cameras during the afternoon. There were two on the arena floor itself, and four more at various locations around the stands, plus a large boom- mounted unit hovering over the center of the action, allowing for tight close-ups of any action the director demanded. "Get me sound in there," Brussard ordered as the two groups of boys collided. "Now! I want to hear their voices."

'Sure hope the boss is watching this,' he thought privately.

William Durand was indeed watching, from the comfort of his study on his private estate at the north end of the island. The XB1 chief was very happy with what he was seeing. He would be even happier next week, when those currently empty stands were filled to capacity with enthusiastic, wealthy and influential spectators. Every seat had already been sold for the first live broadcast, and the VIP list was impressive indeed. Three heads of state, various industrial and media barons, and more than a few mainstream celebrities would all be in the audience. There was a time, just barely a decade ago, when such highly placed individuals would never dare to be seen at such a spectacle, their interest in the subject matter a secretive and furtive one. All that had changed with the passage of the Child Slavery Act. That simple little global treaty had truly been the catalyst of a dramatic social and cultural revolution, and it had made all of XB1's most successful programs possible. Boy Gladiators was no exception, and as he watched the melee unfold, Durand was now more certain than ever that he had an enormous hit on his hands.

He sat back in his lounge chair, enjoying the sight of these handsome young boys on the screen. The head of the planet's largest media empire laced his fingers as he always did in his thoughtful, introspective moments. He gazed over at the clock on the wall. It was just past seven-thirty. He smiled privately when he heard the soft patter of bare feet on the hardwood floor.

"You are two minutes late, Trevor," he said, turning in his chair.

A boy of fourteen waited in the doorway, his head bowed, a tray of coffee resting in his slender arms. William Durand's personal houseboy was naked except for a black leather slave collar around his neck and a black thong tied around his waist. This was his regular uniform for working around the house. He stood about five feet two inches tall, close in height to the oldest of the gladiators, but he had a thin, delicate build with slim narrow hips. His skin was pearl- white and utterly flawless. His hair was a dark auburn, worn shoulder length. His body otherwise was completely hairless. Curiously, there was no burgeoning teenaged bulge beneath the skimpy black thong.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said in a high unbroken voice that could have belonged to an eleven-year-old.

"You will be if you do not get over here this instant."

Durand's voice was stern, but the threat was largely empty and the boy seemed to know it. Still he hurried over as fast as he could with the tray in his arms. He was a graceful young creature. Not a drop of the steaming coffee was spilled. He placed the tray on the table beside his master's chair and dutifully poured the first cup.

"Thank you, Trevor," Durand said, gently patting the boy on his bare thigh.

"Is this the new show, sir?" Trevor asked, risking a brief glance at the screen. He was, generally, not allowed to watch television, but he already knew quite a bit about Worldwide Boy Gladiators, being a smart and attentive slave and never being far from his master's side.

"Not exactly," Durand replied, "but it will look a lot like this."

The young teenager again glanced at the screen. The boys all wore collars just like he did, so that meant they were all slaves. All of them were also very cute. Trevor got that funny tingly feeling between his legs. It was not like other boys had, he knew that. But it was pleasant, if not just a little maddening. He took a deep breath and cast his eyes at his feet.

"You're not still upset that I wouldn't let you compete, are you?" Durand asked.

The boy blushed, embarrassed that his feelings were always so transparent to his master. "I guess. Kinda. I mean, I'm strong . . . and real fast. I could beat most of those boys. I know I could."

"I never said you couldn't, dear one," William said, fondly tussling the boy's hair. "But if you were damaged, I simply could not bear it."

The fourteen-year-old watched the boy gladiators thoughtfully, feeling just a twinge of jealousy. He observed that all of them had their boy-parts locked away in chastity devices. The belts around the waists of the youngest boys were immediately familiar to him. "Some of them are wearing belts just like the one I used to wear," he said.

"Yes they are," Durand replied. "Do you remember when I put you in the chastity belt? It was your first night with me."

The boy nodded. "Yes, master."

"Your little penis was so hard, I almost couldn't get it on you." He ran his hand gently over the front of the boy's thong, feeling the tiny virtually non-existent genitals between the fourteen-year-old's legs. Trevor let out a soft gasp and stepped closer, enjoying the feeling whenever his master touched him there. "Aren't you glad we made your penis and your balls nice and small, so you don't have to worry about that anymore?"

"Yes, master," Trevor replied, not entirely sure just how grateful he should be. His master had owned him since he was ten years old. He had started the injections when Trevor was eleven. By the time of his thirteenth birthday, those things between his legs, his little boy-parts, had shrunken away to almost nothing. His tightly circumcised penis was barely an inch long. His testicles were not much bigger than marbles and were held close to his body by his tight smooth scrotum. He never had erections. In fact, Trevor's penis had not been hard in more than three years. He still received the shots each week, ensuring that his genitals remained small and dormant. The procedure itself didn't hurt. The most painful part was the shots themselves, administered directly to his penis and testicles.

Castration was, of course, commonly practiced on young boy slaves. The breeding of slaves, rather intentionally or accidentally was still illegal, and so it was a natural precaution elected by many owners of unfortunate young male slaves. The shrinking or nullification of a boy's sex organs, however, was something of a rarity. And although it was becoming a trendy fashion in the highest social circles, it still maintained a certain air of decadent novelty. William Durand was among to first to have such a boy, proudly parading young Trevor about at parties and gatherings.

For the most part, Trevor really didn't know what he'd lost. He was still pre-pubescent when the process began. He did know he wasn't like other boys anymore, but he had only a vague notion of what that really meant. He'd never met any other boys like him, though his master assured him there were others all over the world.

"You'll never need to wear a chastity belt again, Trevor," Durand said. "As long as you get your injections each week." He caressed the fourteen-year-old's cute little behind and pressed firmly on the plug in the boy's butt. Trevor of course still had his prostate, and at fourteen, it was overactive and highly sensitive. He'd been plugged constantly ever since he was twelve. He could still leak that mysterious clear fluid, in rather large amounts in fact. A wet spot quickly developed on the boy's thong as his master continued to stimulate that special place deep inside him. Trevor rolled his head back and licked his lips, moaning softly.

"This is all you need, isn't it, boy?" Durand asked.

"Yes, master," Trevor replied softly.

"Run along now. Finish your chores, then we'll go for a swim."

Trevor's eyes lit up. "Yes, sir!" and he hurried off to complete his daily regimen of cleaning and scrubbing. The house here on the island was huge. Much bigger than his master's penthouse back in the city. It took a full day just to do the vacuuming. But the beautiful beach and blue waters made it all worthwhile.

On the floor of the arena, boys were continuing to drop. Gabriel had made quick work of little Miles, knocking him briefly unconscious with an accidental blow to the back of his head. Two of the film crew quickly dragged the little ten-year-old away so the other boys wouldn't trample him. Ian, much to David's amazement and surprise was putting up a good fight, having discarded his net in favor of a mace. David's nose was still bleeding from his as yet unfinished battle with Chris. He had to remember to breathe through his mouth, which was proving quite distracting. Ian managed to land a sharp blow to the older boy's hip, then followed it with another one square against the fourteen-year-old's chest. David turned away trying to regain his footing, only to be hit again, this time between the shoulders. That last one knocked the wind out of him and he fell to the ground, clutching his chest and trying to catch his breath.

David probably could have recovered, given a few seconds, but judgement in the arena was quick and final.

"Boy One-Zero. You are eliminated! Leave the arena and go below."

David was pissed, but there was nothing he could do about it. Still barely able to breathe, he staggered to his feet and left the floor. That left Ian and Gabriel, and Chris and Josh, who were still fighting each other. Chris knew there was a good chance the three younger boys would all gang up on him, so he decided he'd better even the odds.

"Let's take those guys out together, Josh," he said, even as he blocked his brother's latest blow.

"Why should I help you?" the eleven-year-old asked suspiciously, as the two boys stood toe to toe, "so you can just beat me later."

"You might beat me," Chris suggested.

"I never beat you, at anything," Josh snapped back. "No deal! Come on guys!" Josh shouted to Ian and Gabe. "Let's get him!"

And they did. Pound for pound, Chris was probably the strongest of the boys, but the athletic thirteen-year-old was no match for the three pre-teens whose only goal at the moment was to knock him off his feet. They circled around him, all three of them with their pummels ready to strike.

Chris managed to keep his legs under him for about five minutes, but there was no way one boy could fend off three. The pack of pre-teens was prodding him, taunting him, toying with him, wearing him out. Finally they charged, hitting him front and back, high and low with their pummel sticks. Chris knew he was beat, but he wasn't going down alone. He flung his pummel wildly with his left hand and landed a sharp blow to the backs of Gabriel's knees. Chris hit the ground hard and Gabriel fell on top of him. In that same instant, a very clever Josh turned on Ian and landed a barrage of blows to the Australian boy's chest and stomach. Ian was knocked off balance and tripped backwards over Chris and Gabe, leaving a pile of three boys on the ground, their smooth lean limbs wiggling and struggling.

"Boys Zero-Seven, Zero-Six and Zero-Three. You are eliminated! Leave the arena and go below."

Bruised and tired, and rather shocked at how quickly their strategies had unraveled, the three boys disentangled themselves and slowly walked away. Josh was left standing there alone in the center of the arena floor. It took him a few seconds to realize what that meant.

"I won! Oh, yeah. Who's the bad ass? It's me, it's me, oh yeah. I won!" Josh shouted, pumping his fist and doing a little dance.

A high prepubescent voice echoed across the empty space. "No, you didn't."

Josh looked around in surprise. Daniel O'Hanlon stepped out of the shadows of the trainer's entrance, pummel in hand.

"No fair!" the eleven-year-old yelled. "You cheated. You haven't fought anyone."

"They never said we had to fight everybody," Daniel said, walking forward and swinging his pummel lazily. "They said we had to be the last boy standing. And I'm gonna be the last one . . . 'cause you're goin' down!"

"Don't think so."

Josh was cocky, but he was also just about worn out. It was only as they stood face to face staring each other down that Josh realized how much smaller he was than his opponent. The only advantage in size he had over Daniel was his unusually large penis, which while quickly becoming somewhat legendary among the boys would hardly help him win this contest. Any wrestler knows how critical height and weight can be, and Josh knew he was in trouble. He figured his only chance was to take Daniel by surprise. He lunged forward, intending to drive the blunt end of the pummel into the other boy's stomach.

Daniel however had learned a lot from the humiliating beating Gabriel had given him earlier in the day. He blocked Josh's blow and kicked the eleven-year-old's legs out from under him.

"Shit!" Josh shouted as he fell back on his butt. He jumped up right away, not wanting to be called out, but Daniel was ready for him, charging forward and tackling him. With the pummels cast aside, the two boys wrestled for the victory and those precious bonus points. They were both in their element. Wrestling was as natural for these two boys as breathing. Josh was quicker, but Daniel was stronger and more experienced. After ten minutes of grappling, accompanied by boyish grunts and groans, the twelve-year- old's advantages began to show. Josh had Daniel on his back. He was thinking he would pin him any second. Unfortunately for him, he'd underestimated the strength in Daniel's legs. The older boy was able to arch his body upward, lock his arm around Josh's neck and roll them both over, reversing their positions.

"Dammit!" Josh growled.

Daniel pinned him a second later, and kept him down by pressing his right knee into Josh's chest.

"Boy Zero-Two. You are eliminated. Boy Zero-Five. You are the champion. Twenty bonus points."

Now it was Daniel who did a capering little dance, leaving Josh lying there angry and confused about how he'd let this sure victory get away.

Chapter 16:

Beneath the arena, the eight boy gladiators who had been eliminated were standing quietly in the cages, their iron collars chained to the bars, their silence ensured by the fact that all of them were wearing ball-gags. They had, by now, all received the requisite ten lashes for their failure to achieve victory. Their young bare backs bore the angry welts of their trainers' whips. As several of the boys were eliminated simultaneously, they had to stand at attention, hands behind their heads, while one boy at a time was punished at the whipping post. The boys already in the cages cringed as the whips cracked through the air and kissed, not so gently, the soft youthful flesh.

Chris was the last to be hung from the post. He had to watch as first twelve-year-old Gabriel and then eleven-year-old Ian where flogged by their trainers. Ian's trainer, Anthony, was particularly brutal, choosing a flogger with metal tips. After only ten lashes, the young Australian boy's back was bloodied. Doctor Trench was summoned and swiftly treated Ian's wounds, not too gently. Chris feared he'd get the same or worse from Jason, but as he hung from the post, his wrists chained above him, he felt Jason move close and heard him whisper into his ear.

"Scream like I'm really giving it to you, Zero-Seven," Jason said.

The thirteen-year-old understood and turned his head enough to flash his trainer a kick, private smile. The whipping was still very real, and it still hurt a lot, but it wasn't that big a deal after all the other torment the boy had already endured today. Nonetheless, he shouted his little head off, making it look good for Jason, and making sure he worked up some tears for the cameras. He was then taken down and marched over to one of the cages, already filled with four other boys.

The cages were small, forcing the boys to press their sweaty naked hairless bodies together. Given such circumstances, it should not be surprising that most of the boys were experiencing at least some degree of sexual arousal. They squirmed about uncomfortably as their sweet young penises tried to erect themselves within the tight confines of their chastity devices. This movement only served to further stimulate and frustrate them. Soon the boys were all wincing from the spikes biting into their youthful boyhood. Their distress was currently being ignored however, as the trainers were all engaged in a heated argument thanks to young Daniel, who had just been declared the champion.

"The little bastard cheated!" Hannah Dubose stated angrily. She planned on handling Josh with harsh discipline and would demand strict obedience from him, but she was also his trainer. His successes were her successes, and his failures would reflect badly on her. If he was truly cheated of a hard-earned victory, she had the right and duty to protest on her young gladiator's behalf.

"No, my dear, he most certainly did not," Calvin Mayfair replied. "The only instruction the boys were given was to be the last one standing. No other rules were set."

"Oh, come on," Michella, David's trainer and Hannah's girlfriend joined the debate. "That's bullshit, Cal, and you know it. This isn't the Olympics. These boys are here to fight."

"Zero-Five did fight," Jason Sanborne interjected calmly. "And he won." As head trainer it would ultimately be his decision if Daniel O'Hanlon's victory would stand.

"You're not siding with him," Hannah pointed derisively at Calvin, "are you?"

Jason smiled. "Each of these boys was recruited for three main reasons. First, they are all incredibly cute and have terrific little bodies. Second, they are all champion athletes. And third," he paused to make his point, "they are all highly intelligent, far above average. Brains are going to prove just as important as strength and skill as the competition goes on. I agree it was a sneaky shitty little move on Zero-Five's part. It was also absolutely brilliant. Kid had a strategy and he made it work. That's the kind of stuff that's pure gold in the ratings. Zero-Five is the winner. End of discussion."

Hannah glared at him but said nothing. She grabbed the chain that normally bound Josh and David together then turned toward the tunnel marked 'Trainers'. Angrily she marched up the ramp and out onto the arena floor. Calvin, quite wisely, took off after her.

Daniel was still doing his victory dance. Josh was lying on his back with his knees drawn up, staring blankly at the roof of the arena high above, still trying to catch his breath. He was so mad at Daniel. He was sure the older boy had cheated. But at the moment he was even madder at himself for getting pinned. That almost never happened when he wrestled. He'd lost maybe three matches his whole life, and none over the last two years. Daniel was good, very good, but Josh didn't think the Canadian boy was necessarily better, just a little bit bigger, and there were ways to get around that. He definitely wanted a rematch.

"I'll get you next time, Danny," he shouted.

"Not likely," the twelve-year-old with the auburn hair replied, still feeling rather full of himself.

Danny was the first to see the two trainers coming up the ramp. He quickly stopped his theatrics and stood at attention, clasping his hands behind his head. He whispered a quick warning to Josh. The eleven-year-old scrambled to his feet and assumed the same position. The two boys stood there together, their handsome nude bodies sweaty and dirty, Daniel's boyhood locked into the tightly constraining cock cage, Josh's hidden behind the thick triangular metal plate of his chastity belt. For the first time since the melee had begun, Josh was once again aware of the plug in his butt and the tightness of the metal plate that completely covered and confined his genitals. During the action, he'd gotten so caught up in the fight that it was easy to forget he was wearing a chastity belt designed to keep prepubescent boys like him from touching themselves or having even the slightest hint of an erection. He wiggled his hips for a moment in a vain attempt to make it more comfortable. Daniel was apparently experiencing the same problem, staring down at the metal cage that encased his small penis and flicking the little padlock with his fingers. There was no way it was coming off.

"Where do your hands belong, Zero-Five?" Calvin asked him as he came to a stop in front of the five-foot tall boy.

"Behind my head, sir. Sorry, sir," the boy replied, quickly returning his hands to their proper position.

"You are never to touch that," his trainer admonished him, harshly jiggling the metal cage and its small hairless contents. Daniel suddenly was not feeling quite so big as he had just a few minutes ago. In fact he was once again feeling quite small. When he'd first gotten to the island and stood there naked with all the other boys, it was easy for him to see that except for little ten-year-old Miles, he was the boy with the smallest dick. So far at least none of the boys had made fun of him. Gabriel, his partner, had teased him about it, but in a friendly and sympathetic kind of way. He was actually sort of glad all of them had to wear the chastity devices, because his penis didn't look that much smaller inside the cage.

"You did a good job though," Calvin said, giving him a congratulatory slap on the back. "Clever boy. Now get your ass below."

Under standing orders to run everywhere he was told to go, Daniel took off toward the boy's entrance and scurried down the ramp. Calvin jogged leisurely behind him.

Hannah attached the chain to Josh's collar. "No rewards for finishing second, boy," she told him sternly. "Now move." And she dragged the eleven-year-old boy behind her by his chain.

The other boys were already being taken out of the cages and chained to their partners when Hannah got Josh to the bottom of the ramp. Josh was haplessly trying to explain how he'd ended up losing the very first contest on Gladiator Island. Michella marched David over and the heavy two-foot chain was again connected between their collars. Josh noticed that David had a black ball-gag in his mouth. He also noticed the ten livid red stripes across the fourteen-year-old's back. Josh took a quick frightened glance at the whipping post and shivered.

"No, you're not going there," Hannah told him, smacking his bare butt. "You did finish second."

The eleven-year-old breathed a big sigh of relief.

"Not a word, boys," Jason Sanborne ordered as those who were presently wearing gags had them removed by their trainers. All the boys stood silently as the shorter chains were locked to the iron shackles that were now a permanent fixture around their wrists and ankles. All of the boys hated being chained, but it was starting to become routine for them. They were slaves, the property of XB1, and all of them were beginning to understand just exactly what that meant.

With the ten boy gladiators once again secured in their chains, the trainers lined them up in pairs and marched them out of the arena. It was eight-thirty in the evening, unbeknownst to the boys of course, and the tropical late summer sun was still brightening the sky. A band of dark clouds could be seen off against the horizon, promising more rain at night. There was a strong breeze coming in from the ocean. It felt good to the sweaty naked boys after exerting themselves in the stifling arena. None of the boys knew what might be happening next. A general standing rule on the island was that the boy gladiators be kept in the dark as much as possible as to which events would be held each day. Most of them were eager to return to the barracks, but their next and final stop on this their first full day on Gladiator Island was the swimming pool. Their chains were quickly removed. Jason Sanborne called the boys together in a group. The trainers stood behind them.

"A good first day, boys," Sanborne praised them. "It's only going to get harder from here. But for tonight, we all agree you've earned some fun. Free swim. One hour. Hit the water!"

Tired as they were, the boys all cheered, patting each other on the back, budding rivalries momentarily forgotten. Freed of their chains, but still collared and in shackles, they eagerly made their way into the pool, Chris, David and Philippe diving confidently into their favorite element, the other boys slipping in fearlessly. Only ten-year-old Miles was left behind, standing with his cute little toes at the edge of the water, looking on sadly as the other boys splashed and played. Chris, remembering his instructions from Mr. Durand swam over after a few minutes and smiled up at him from the cool blue water.

"Sucks you can't swim," the thirteen-year-old said in a friendly way. "Guess I'm supposed to teach you."

"Yeah," Miles answered, not at all certain he really wanted to learn.

"Well, first thing we gotta do is get you in the water."

"It's too deep, Chris."

"It isn't way over at that end," Chris replied, bringing a lean sun-bronzed arm out of the water and pointing to the far end of the pool. "Run down there and I'll meet you, k?"

"Okay. You ain't gonna let me drownd, right?"

"You won't drown. Even my numb-nuts brother can float." Chris shouted that last statement to make sure Josh heard him.

"Hey!" Josh shouted back, highly insulted.

Miles laughed. He liked Chris. And he knew if he didn't learn to swim, things would go really badly for him on the island. He hurried down to the shallow end of the pool and waited for his first lesson.

Jason Sanborne and Sergei Casparev stood at poolside, watching the ten naked boys splashing and horsing around in the water. The two trainers had remained at the pool to keep an eye on the young gladiators and make sure they behaved themselves. Jason looked over briefly at his counterpart and smiled privately. At just seventeen, Sergei was by far the youngest of the trainers. If he'd been only a few years younger he probably would have been one of the boy gladiators himself. Like his thirteen-year-old brother Illya, Sergei was an accomplished gymnast, having won his first junior medals by the age of twelve, and a silver at fourteen in the Olympics. The young man had given up his chances to compete in the next summer games, committing himself instead to being his little brother's trainer here on Gladiator Island for the duration of Illya's three-year indenture.

He was currently shirtless, affording Jason a good look at his lean muscular teenaged physique. The fact that he was Illya's brother was still something known only to Jason and William Durand, although all of the trainers had by now commented on how close a resemblance there was between the boy slave and his youthful trainer. Jason found both Illya and Sergei to be highly attractive, and he wondered if Sergei's cock rivaled his younger brother's in its impressive size and thickness. He also wondered privately if he might be able to find out for himself.

"Was coming here his idea, or yours?" Jason asked nonchalantly.

"Our father's, actually," Sergei answered in well-practiced English. "Illya did not want to do this at all."

"But your brother signed his indenture. All the boys did."

Sergei smiled and nodded. "He had to sign. Our father would have sold him permanently if he didn't."

Jason was a bit surprised at that. All of the boys' parents had willingly countersigned their sons' indentures, some more enthusiastically than others, but he hadn't expected that any of the boys' guardians had employed the threat of permanent enslavement to coerce a reluctant boy's signature. Unbeknownst to Jason, Illya was not the only boy who had signed the indenture under such unpleasant circumstances. The promise of money was simply too great, and the potential value at auction of handsome pre-teen and teenaged boys too high for many debt-ridden parents to ignore.

"So how did you end up involved in all this?" Jason probed further.

"I want Illya to win. I asked to be his trainer. Mr. Durand agreed."

"Is it difficult? Being your brother's trainer?" Jason had already noticed that Sergei had been particularly harsh with the whip, lashing his thirteen-year-old brother's back with no sign of remorse or mercy.

"Illya is a slave," the Russian teenager said thoughtfully. "He is no longer a person, so I do not think of him as my brother. It is my job to make sure he obeys and does his best. When he fails, he is punished, just like the others."

"I am going to have to tell the trainers that you boys are related," Jason explained. "Most of them already suspect."

"Is this a problem?"

"I don't see why it should be. You're certainly not going easy on him. But if there's a big argument over it, I may have to switch you with someone else. I don't care if the boys find out. They have no rights one way or another. It may be a good angle for the public though. We'll play it up if it seems to be drawing attention."

Sergei smiled. "Then I will make sure we draw attention."

"That shouldn't be too hard for either of you."

Jason spent the next hour dividing his attention between the ten naked boys and the half-naked Sergei, who seemed fully aware that he had caught the older man's eye. He himself was quite pleased with this turn of events. A special relationship with Jason Sanborne could only improve his standing amongst the more experienced trainers who all considered him little more than a boy himself. He made sure he showed himself off whenever the opportunity presented itself. With so much visual stimulus, Jason ended up with a raging erection in his shorts. Sergei was soon sporting one as well, as the unspoken sexual tension between the two trainers grew stronger.

The boys were returned to the barracks at precisely nine- thirty that night. They stood silently as their wrist and ankle shackles, and their iron collars were removed for the night. They were then assembled in front of the scoreboard and watched as the final bonuses and demerits for the day were figured in. Danny O'Hanlon, with his twenty points for winning the melee, vaulted easily into first place. Joshua Andrews, whose athletic skills could not make up for his smart mouth and misbehaving penis, was last.

"I'll catch up tomorrow, ma'am," he promised Hannah, who had just given his bare butt several hard smacks.

"You'd better," she told him sternly. "And you'd best learn to keep that thing soft." She pointed derisively at the triangular metal plate that encased the eleven-year-old's oversized genitals.

Josh blushed. Of course it was absolutely impossible for the boy to have an erection while wearing the chastity belt, but he was already worrying about the morning, when it would be removed for his shower. He just knew he was going to spring another boner, and when you are an eighty-pound eleven-year- old with a huge five and 1/4 inch erection, its impossible not to draw attention to yourself.

For twelve-year-old Daniel, the excitement of his victory was now replaced with humiliation as he was made to stand in front of all the other boys and have his chastity cage removed and the chastity belt of the younger boys put on in its place. He was blushing and close to tears when his trainer explained this unwelcome change to him, speaking loud enough that everyone in the barracks could hear.

"Since your penis is so small, I've decided that you'll wear the chastity belt from now on."

Danny's circumcised penis, just over two inches long, remained soft as Calvin unlocked the metal cage and slid the ring off the cute auburn-haired boy's genitals. Danny lowered his eyes to the floor and tried to pretend it didn't bother him, but he could hear the giggles and snickers from the others. He hadn't exactly made friends with his winning strategy in the melee. More than a few of the boys were actually happy to see him being humiliated.

The leather belt, with the thick metal triangular genital cover was strapped around Daniel's slim waist. The plate kept the twelve-year-old's penis curved downward between his legs, and pushed his balls upwards until they were nearly inside him. If anything it was more uncomfortable than the cock cage.

"I've also decided you need a larger butt-plug. Bend over and grab your ankles."

Daniel's eyes watered, but he didn't dare refuse. He bent over, showing his butt to everyone. His trainer pulled out the plug and roughly inserted his finger. The twelve-year- old moaned as the unwelcome intruder swirled around inside him and found that magic spot that made his whole body tingle. A few seconds later a considerably larger butt-plug was shoved inside him. Daniel screamed and begged Calvin to take it out.

"You'll get used to it," his trainer said without sympathy as he drew the leather strap over the boy's butt-crack and locked it and the belt in place with a pair of padlocks.

A very miserable Daniel was returned to his place in line.

"Two hours free time before lights out," Jason told the boys. "You will all go to the bathroom and you will all brush your teeth before bed. Showers are optional. No more than five minutes. Books and games are in the cabinet. You will keep your voices down and behave yourselves. If the guards have to punish you, you'll be given demerits in the morning. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," the boys all answered in unison, a pleasant mix of adolescent and pre-pubescent voices.

The trainers departed, leaving the boys in the charge of four uniformed guards for the remainder of the night. They were all so tired that Jason's admonition was hardly necessary. Each boy took advantage of the shower room, going in a single group and delighted to discover that the evening shower offered merely cool water rather than the frigid ice- cold agony of their required morning ritual. There was a little good-natured horseplay, but for the most part the boys just stood under the showers, washing the dirt and dust off their smooth glistening bodies, letting the water run over their shoulders and down their flanks. Each of the boys held out his hands to receive a squirt of disinfectant soap from the male guard who was supervising them.

"Make sure you wash your hair, boys," he told them, enjoying the sublime beauty of ten naked young teens and pre-teens. The chastity cages worn by the older boys jiggled back and forth as they eagerly worked the gooey blue gel over their skin. The guard was treated to a particularly alluring show as the boys raised their hands to their heads and scrubbed away the sweat and dirt.

With his body clean for the first time since the morning, Chris was surprised to see the scrapes and bruises he'd earned during the day. He had them on his arm and legs, and a few on his stomach and chest. The boy couldn't see the bruises on his face, but he could certainly feel them. He knew his back also now bore ten deep red welts from the whipping he'd been given. Strangely enough, Chris felt really proud of himself. Things were a lot harder than he'd ever imagined they would be, but he was still on his feet.

'Not bad,' he thought to himself, looking down at his trim hairless muscular young body.

The water was turned off after five minutes, much to the boys' collective disappointment. They weren't allowed to have towels, and so the boys were ordered to simply stand there on the tiles for another ten minutes until most of the water had dripped off their bodies. It wasn't all that bad, the cooling droplets felt good on their bare skin, it was mostly just humiliating, having to stand there dripping wet with the guards looking on.

Satisfied that they weren't going to flood the bathroom, the guards ordered the boys to urinate and then brush their teeth. The youngest boys, locked in their chastity belts, had to squat over the toilets. The six older boys, wearing the constricting genital cages, were allowed to stand over the communal urinal and relieve themselves. After the mess they'd made on their first night, they were strictly supervised by two of the guards. They were then given their toothbrushes and marched over to the sinks. Afterward the ten boys each had to stand with their mouths wide open while the guards inspected their teeth.

Once they were finally allowed to return to the common room, the boys broke up into small groups. Illya and Alexei quickly found the chess board and started playing. Chris discovered a science fiction book to his liking and sat down at the table to read it. Josh wandered over a few minutes later and took the stool next to him.

"Sorry I didn't team up with you, Chris," the eleven-year- old said after a few minutes of silence between them.

"I'll bet you are," Chris replied, not looking up from his book.

"You mad at me?"

"Kinda. I told mom I'd look out for you, so that's what I tried to do." Chris put his book down and looked at his little brother. "You sold me out. That was real shitty of you."

Josh looked shocked. He'd never thought he might hurt his brother's feelings. "I just wanted to win, Chris. If it'd ended up just you 'n me, you'da kicked my ass for sure."

"And you would've finished second, which you did anyway, right? At least I would have given you a fair chance."

"I just . . . I mean . . . I don't want everyone thinkin' I need my big brother to help me win stuff, you know . . . "

"I was never going to help you win, Josh," Chris said. "If it ever comes down to you and me, I'll do my best to kick your butt, got it."

"Got it," Josh replied. "We're still brothers, right?"

"We'll always be brothers, dickwad."

"You know what I mean . . . we're still friends . . . "

"Yeah," Chris said, lightly punching Josh's shoulder. "That doesn't mean you're not still a big pain in the ass."

Josh smiled. "Talk about a pain in the ass. This thing in my butt's driving me crazy." He wriggled around on the stool, only to feel the metal plug jab him again in that sensitive spot deep inside him. The boy's penis swelled uselessly inside his chastity belt, permanently forced downward by the tight impregnable genital cover. Josh sighed miserably. In a few minutes, his penis would soften completely again, but for the moment, everything felt very tight and very uncomfortable down there.

Chris could certainly sympathize. All the boys could. And yet, for Chris, there was something compelling about having a plug in his butt and a cage around his dick. Something he could not explain or understand. Of course he wanted to jerk off, frantically, desperately, like any other thirteen-year- old boy, but the fact that he was not allowed to, the fact that he could not even touch his own penis held a strange fascination for him. He wondered if some of the other boys were having these same confusing feelings. He was just working up the courage to ask Josh when the guards blew their whistles.

The boys cleaned up the common room in a noisily chaotic and boyishly inefficient manner and were then put into their cells for the night. Once the solid metal doors were slammed and locked, the boys found themselves in almost total darkness. Chris and Alexei bumped into each other several times as they unrolled their mattresses and got ready for bed. There was a strong breeze blowing in through the thickly screened and barred window. It was warm, but pleasant, with the scent of the ocean. The boys lay there on their backs, talking quietly for a while until they both nodded off.

Among the twenty rooms in William Durand's mansion, there was a small one in which Trevor slept. Durand's master suite and several of the guestrooms had closets larger than Trevor's space, but it was more than adequate for a boy slave. It had no windows. It had no door, since the fourteen-year-old had no rights to privacy. It was mostly unfurnished. In the center of the bare hardwood floor was the cage where Trevor slept. It was just big enough for the boy to crawl into on his hands and knees, turn around if needed, and curl up to sleep. Next to the sturdily built cage was the spanking bench where the boy received his morning and evening discipline.

Trevor was on his knees in front of his cage, his hands behind his back, his head bowed. He had been waiting obediently for his master for half an hour.

Durand paused for a moment in front of the open doorway, gazing at the lean, shapely form of the handsome boy inside waiting for him. He felt great affection for Trevor and was not hesitant to show it. However, he was also very strict, and firmly believed that boy slaves required constant discipline and correction.

"Get in position, Trevor," he said in a mild tone of voice.

The boy immediately put himself over the punishment bench, presenting his rear end to his master. The bench had attachments for restraining the boy's wrists and ankles, and a broad belt to strap the boy's torso tightly in place. Durand was in no hurry. He enjoyed this nightly ritual. Leather cuffs were buckled around the boy's wrists and ankles. These were then, one slender limb at a time, locked to the support legs of the bench. Trevor arched his back and stretched, testing his bonds. He then lay perfectly still as his master drew the leather strap over his middle and pulled it tight. A leather bit was then taken from its hanging place on the wall and secured around the boy's head.

"You were late with tea this evening," Durand announced. "And I am not completely happy with the state of your bathroom."

Trevor let out an apologetic "mmmph".

"Yes, dear one, I know you're sorry, but I must punish you. You get double tonight, the last ten with the paddle."

Trevor shuddered involuntarily but quickly composed himself. The boy knew if he made any sign of complaint or protest, it would only be worse. His routine nightly spanking always meant twenty hard swats with his master's bare hand. He'd be getting ten more on top of that, and then another ten with the paddle.

Durand ran his hand gently over the fourteen-year-old's little round butt. It was pearlescent, like fine porcelain, just like the rest of him. With a single finger he stroked the boy's perenium, just behind the spot where his tight scrotum held his tiny little balls. It was smooth and soft like velvet to his touch. Durand could feel a slight hardness there beneath the hairless skin, the only sign that the teenager was aroused. The fourteen-year-old could still become sexually excited, in his own unusual way, even though he had no sex organs to speak of aside from his overactive adolescent prostate. Trevor's small one-inch long penis remained completely and permanently flaccid between his legs. Durand continued to apply gentle pressure to the smooth erogenous flesh. Trevor moaned and purred in obvious pleasure.

"Naughty boy," Durand said in a low voice. He spanked Trevor with solid blows from his open hand, going slowly to allow the boy to feel each one. The sound of the man's hand connecting sharply with the boy's vulnerable flesh echoed in the tiny room. Trevor had learned to bear his master's discipline silently, but not without tears, which were falling in a constant stream by the time the tenth blow reigned down upon his rear end. He was sobbing quietly by the time the thirtieth landed on his now dark crimson-shaded butt.

Trevor watched with wide eyes as his master took the wooden paddle from its place on the wall. It was heavy, with a series of holes to maximize the force of impact. Trevor knew the paddle was normally reserved for only the worst of his offenses, such as breaking something or talking out of turn. He didn't understand why he'd been sentenced to ten strokes.

"You're wondering why you're getting the paddle, aren't you?" Durand asked, showing just a hint of sympathy in his voice for the boy's obvious confusion and fear.

The young teen nodded.

"You are not a little boy anymore, dear one. You are old enough to do your chores properly without being reminded, and you are certainly old enough to be on time. I don't think you will be late again after tonight, will you?"

Trevor vehemently shook his head 'no'.

Durand delivered the first blow. Trevor bucked against his bonds, pulling against the restraints around his wrists and ankles. The second blow caused him to scream into his bit, as did every blow thereafter. By the end, the boy's normally beautiful teenaged butt was a dark shade of purple. Trevor would not be sitting down for quite a while. Durand released him from the punishment bench.

"Into your cage," he said softly, offering the crying boy a brief comforting hug.

Trevor dropped to his hands and knees and crawled into the cage. He was actually rather happy when his master closed the door and turned the key in the lock. At least he wouldn't have to worry about his burning backside again until the morning.