Worldwide Boy Gladiators Part 10

Worldwide Boy Gladiators Part 10
By istari

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

Comments are welcome and can be directed to
istari_olias@yahoo.com
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Chapter 21:

At the airport the first five VIP's were disembarking from the privately chartered flight. Durand (with a currently naked Trevor in tow), Mitchell Harwell, Lara Tomlinsin and the show's director Mike Brussard were all in attendance to give them a proper welcome.

First off the plane was a middle-aged woman in an expensive business suit. Crawling behind her on his hands and knees was her eight-year-old human pet. The boy was naked except for a large silver collar with long sharp spikes running around the outside. He wore a large muzzle gag, strapped tightly around his head and locked in place with a heavy padlock. There was a leather leash attached to his collar, the other end of which was presently in his mistress's hand. His own hands were encased in metal pods, preventing him from using his fingers. His little penis was pierced with a thick steel ring, which was connected to a thin short two- inch chain that ran between his legs and attached to a second mounting ring that pierced his perineum, just behind his little ball sac. This arrangement ensured that the boy's tiny cocklet was held firmly down between his legs. The little boy was plugged as well. The end of the large metal plug in his butt was just visible if one stood behind him. It had a ring which was also linked by a chain to the boy's perineal piercing.

"Ophelia Winstrom," Durand announced to the others. "President of British Overseas Imports, and a member of parliament."

The others all nodded, suitably impressed.

"Welcome, Mrs. Winstrom," Durand said with a bow. "Your suite has been prepared."

"Excellent," the woman replied in a cultured voice. "A beautiful island you have."

"Will you be needing a cage for the boy?" the XB1 chief asked politely.

"That won't be necessary. Spike here simply sleeps on the floor." She tugged gently at the chain attached to the little boy's collar.

Durand clapped his hands and one of the mules came forward to take her bags and lead her off to her luxury suite, her naked boy-pet crawling along obediently behind her.

Three more highly influential guests stepped off the plane, two men and one woman, all of them still rather youthful and fashionably dressed. Gladiator Island was going to be the place to be seen by others, and it was clear these wealthy twenty-somethings wanted to impress. It was also clear by their easy demeanor that they all knew each other. They talked and laughed and stopped to bask in the warm tropical sun. Each had a boy with them. The lads were naked and all aged between nine and eleven years. They were collared in matching leather with silver studs, and large penis gags were stuffed into their mouths. The boys were not wearing chastity belts, but each of them had their hairless genitals adorned with a thick steel ring, which forced their cocks and balls to jut out prominently from their slender naked bodies. The ends of their neatly circumcised cocks were each pierced with a large golden ring. One of the eleven-year- olds sported quite a large penis, almost rivaling young Joshua's. The other two were perfectly average little boys with perfectly average little dinks. All three of them had erections at the moment. They walked rather gingerly behind their masters and mistress, each with a rather large vibrating butt-plug stuffed in his rectum.

"The Creightons," Durand announced to the others. "Brothers and sister. They own several private slave-processing centers in Great Britain and Germany. They helped us find young Harris and Shelton. Welcome, my friends," he said extending his hand to them.

They exchanged pleasantries for a few moments. "Keeping them hard, I see?" Durand observed, letting his eyes roam hungrily over the three pre-teen boys and their hard bobbing cocks.

"Yes," Bruce Creighton, the oldest sibling replied. "First boy to lose his boner gets punished. Of course they're not allowed to touch themselves, and they're never allowed to cum."

"Quite a deliciously wicked contest," Durand observed. "We're planning on having our young gladiators do something very similar."

"Excellent."

Two more mules were summoned, and between them the two fifteen-year-old boys carried away the Creightons' luggage.

The last passenger off the plane was a distinguished gentleman close in age to William Durand himself. He too had a boy, a youth of thirteen very small for his age. He was wearing shining black leather chastity shorts and had his arms bound behind him in a matching lace-up bondage sheath. He was gagged and collared and looked quite frightened and unhappy. The man made no small talk, and barely acknowledged his hosts. The youngest of the mules took his single bag and escorted him to his suite.

"Who was that?" Mike Brussard asked.

"The gentleman has asked that his name not be given out freely, Mike. Sorry," Durand replied. "Suffice it to say he could buy this entire island and our ten gladiators and still have several billion to spare."

Back in the barracks, the boys had been returned after spending the entire afternoon exercising, stretching their lean limbs and running laps around the hippodrome. The five oldest boys had also spent more time harnessed and chained to the chariots, pulling them around without drivers but with heavy lead weights to provide proper strain and training for their developing young muscles. The gladiators were tired, but the day had been mild compared to what they had quickly become accustomed to.

They were allowed to use the bathroom and showered again. Then, for the first time in nearly two weeks they were given clothes to wear. The metal boxes which contained their shoes and their slave uniforms were brought in and unlocked by the trainers. Once again Chris found himself in the short sleeveless gray tunic which left his taut mid-section bare, the tight white shorts, which clearly showed the outlines of his metal chastity cage, and the white athletic shoes on his feet. It felt weird to be wearing clothes again. He'd gotten used to being naked all time. These particular clothes however hardly made him happy. They were intended to be humiliating and they certainly were. All the other boys were similarly dressed.

"We have special guests on the island tonight, boys," Jason told them after they'd lined up, hands on heads. "They will be watching the first day of competition tomorrow, but they'll be meeting you up close and personal this evening. XB1 is hosting a reception for them and you boys are going to be serving the food and drinks. You will not speak unless you are spoken to directly. You will be polite. Our guests are free to examine your bodies and touch you in any way they wish. Your chastity devices will be removed once the reception starts. You are absolutely forbidden to cum, no matter how often your dicks are played with."

Nervous glances passed between the boys. All of them had been milked at the start of the week, but boys are boys and they were all desperate to have a good cum, even the pre- pubescent ones were eager for their dry orgasms.

"I'm gonna shoot all over the place if someone touches my dick, even for just like two seconds, even with this plug thing stuck inside it," Chris whispered to Philippe who stood next to him. The fourteen-year-old French teen nodded somberly. His cock was already aching for release.

Two more flights landed in the late afternoon, bringing more visitors to the island. By the time the sun went down there were twenty-five individuals gathered for the reception in the main arena. The remaining spectators would arrive early in the morning, but the special VIPs would be given considerably more access to the island and the boys.

The floor of the arena was set up with several tables, luxurious couches, arm-chairs and numerous serving stations for the use and enjoyment of the guests who had filtered in at their leisure and were now mingling freely. Down below, the boys all stood with their shorts around their ankles as their chastity devices were removed. Chris' penis plug was removed too, just for this special occasion, ending the young boy's worries about what might happen if he accidentally had an orgasm with the thing still in his dick. Their butt-plugs remained in place.

"Pull your pants up," they were told. They did so immediately.

The tight white shorts revealed strong boyish erections. Even ten-year-old Miles and the normally flaccid Daniel were sporting eager little boners in their pants.

"Remember, boys," Jason warned them sternly. "You are not allowed to cum. If you think you're going to, you have to announce it to everyone. 'I'm cumming' is what we want you to say. You'll get punished either way, but if you don't say it, your punishment will be even worse. When you get up to the arena, grab a tray of food and take it around to our guests. When it is empty, come back to the main table. They can touch you any place on your body. If they want you to take your shorts off, you will. The only part of you that's off limits is your butts. You're all plugged and you'll all stay that way. They have to pay extra if they want to fuck you."

All the boys were quiet and a little scarred. The thought of all these strangers touching them made the young slaves very nervous.

"Get upstairs and grab a tray. You will be polite and obedient at all times!"

The ten boys ran up the set of stairs marked 'BOYS' and came out onto the floor of the arena. The assembled guests all stopped and applauded their arrival, almost all of them staring hungrily at the scantily-clad slave boys.

With his six-inch boner still straining in his shorts, Chris picked up a tray of appetizers and began to work through the crowd. Josh, with his oversized penis currently very hard, stuck close to his older brother and followed him around. It wasn't long before the hands of the guests began to casually find their way to the boys' butts, and legs and abdomens.

"What's this?" one woman asked playfully as she squeezed eleven-year-old Joshua's penis through his shorts.

"That's my penis, ma'am," the boy answered innocently.

The woman smiled indulgently. "Of course it is, you silly boy. But why is it so hard? Boys' penises aren't supposed to be hard, are they?"

"No, ma'am."

"You're being naughty then."

"Y . . . yes, ma'am, I guess, ma'am."

She gave him several hard swats to his backside. "Next time you come round, I expect that thing to be soft."

"Yes, ma'am," Josh said blushing and scurrying away as fast as he could, once again finding his brother.

"She touched my dick," Josh whispered to Chris. It still hadn't quite sunk in that his private parts were now and for the next five years going to be quite public.

"Yeah, she touched mine too," Chris replied. "Let's fill up our trays."

As the reception continued, the boys found themselves more and more the center of attention. Those of the guests who kept slave boys of their own had brought them along, but they were largely ignored in favor of the ten fresh young newly indentured athletic boys who tomorrow would be competing against one another in a variety of difficult and painful contests. Ophelia Winstrom had brought her eight- year-old boy-pet Spike with her, but had left him chained to one of the many iron rings in the low walls that surrounded the arena floor. The three nameless boys belonging to the Creighton siblings were similarly tethered, all of them once again sporting throbbing erections.

The gladiators themselves continued to offer food and drink, wearing considerably less than they had when the evening had started. All of them had by now lost their shoes and were walking around nude from the waist down. Illya, Josh, David and Daniel had also lost their short gray tunics leaving them completely naked with only their iron slave collars around their necks.

Chris was currently having his hard cock fondled by two men as he held a tray of champagne flutes in his trembling hands. The thirteen-year-old was biting his lip. He was so horny after being kept in chastity for so long that even the humiliation of being used like this did nothing to stifle his raging young teen hormones. It felt so good having his penis stroked. His cock was drooling pre-cum now. It had been leaking for most of the evening, but the two gay partners were presently and expertly milking a constant stream of clear fluid from the young boy's eager six-inch boner. One of the men then took Chris' balls firmly in his hand and gave them a good squeeze.

"Oohhh," the boy moaned, nearly dropping his serving tray.

"Little fuck likes that," the man said to his counterpart who was still slowly, teasingly jerking the boy off.

Chris knew he was about to lose it. There was nothing he could do to stop it. He felt his balls drawing up in the man's hands. His cock got even harder. The thirteen-year-old knew he was going to cum. He let out a soft wail and gasped as his orgasm hit him.

"I'm cumming!" he said weakly, remembering just in time the orders Jason had given them. No sooner had the words escaped his lips than his cock erupted in powerful jets of pent-up boy-cum. "Oh, mmmmm," he sighed, licking his lips and staring dreamily at the two men who had made him feel so good.

"Rather enjoying yourself, aren't you boy?"

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

"You will be. Now get down there and lick up your mess, you filthy little slave."

By now Chris had already preformed this embarrassing task on numerous occasions. Not that repetition really made things any easier. He set the tray aside and dropped to his hands and knees, lapping up his spent seed as the two men stood over him. Chris suddenly felt a booted foot pressing against the end of the plug in his butt, pushing it a little further inside him. He let out a high-pitched groan, which seemed to please his tormentors. He was not allowed to get up and resume his serving duties until the two men had inspected the floor. The boy's own cum was on his lips and running down his chin, but he was not allowed to wipe it off.

"Let everyone see what a shameless little slut you are," they told him as they sent him on his way. Chris would end up cumming two more times before the reception ended. And he certainly wasn't alone. Seven of the boy gladiators were capable of some sort of ejaculation and all of them had done so at least once. Even Daniel had managed to squirt out a few drops of clear fluid. For their part, the three youngest boys, Josh, Ian, and Miles had all experienced numerous shattering dry orgasms throughout the evening, and had been walking around with stiff boy-cocks ever since their chastity belts were removed. Eleven-year-old Ian was actually capable of ejaculating a meager amount of clear seminal fluid from his four-inch long boner, but he was quickly recharged and ready for another one. The older lads would experience brief periods when their dicks went soft, but the skilled hands of the grown-ups at this gathering had kept them in a state of near constant arousal.

The sounds of ten young voices shouting out an alluring chorus of "I'm cumming!" had become quite common.

"Before you all return to your suites," William Durand announced to his special guests as the party winded down, "I believe you would all enjoy helping us punish these ten naughty boys for having orgasms."

Eager murmurs of agreement filled the arena. The ten boy gladiators, all of them now with soft flaccid cocks and worried expressions stood silently in the center of the arena floor, wondering just what punishments were awaiting them.

An odd-looking machine was rolled in by three of the trainers. It had a sturdy metal frame with a thick padded bar in the very center. Leather restraints were attached to the corners of the frame. Mounted to one side was an adjustable robotic arm with a rather frightening and very large metal paddle at the end. There was a separate console with various controls and a large number of wires for attachment to the frame and to the body of the boy who would be occupying it.

"Gentlemen, and Ladies," Durand said with a smile, "let me introduce you to the BoySpank 350-C, the latest in automated discipline for misbehaving slave boys. This particular model is sized for young men aged ten to sixteen. This evening marks its debut performance."

It was a contraption meant to inflict pain, a lot of it, with no hope of escape or mercy until the pre-programmed routine had run its course. None of the boy slaves had experienced or even seen a real spanking machine before, and they all stared at it in dumbstruck horror.

"Now, let's give these boys some nice crimson behinds, shall we?" Durand asked to the delighted applause of his guests.

Ten-year-old Miles was the first boy to be strapped to the frame of the spanking machine. Once his wrists and ankles were secured and his abdomen pressed against the support bar, the upper frame of the machine slowly bent downwards, bending Miles with it. When it finally reached its locked position, the boy was bent double, his little butt displayed in its most vulnerable position. Between his widely spread legs, his tiny ball sack could be seen, two little immature marbles dangling inside it. His barely two-inch cocklet was hard again, pointing towards his stomach.

"The machine can be programmed based on the boy's age, weight, and the desired level of punishment. There are a variety of disciplinary implements that can be attached to the arm. The paddle is the default and comes as standard equipment from the factory."

The factory which happened to be a fully owned subsidiary of Extreme Action Broadcasting. Several years ago, Durand had decided to diversify the business and get into the ever- growing market for the production and sale of disciplinary and behavior modification devices for boy slaves, public and private. The new spanking machine was sure to be a big seller worldwide. He continued his overview of the machine's abilities.

"The robotic arm is fully articulated and can aim and deliver correction to several areas of the boy's body. His behind, the backs of his thighs, his shoulders. There is a special flagellating attachment for striking the boy's perineum and his ball sack, although as you can see Zero- One's little balls present a rather small target. We'll be demonstrating that feature on one of the older boys. That not withstanding, Zero-One here had six orgasms tonight, so I believe a rather severe reminder is in order."

The assembled guests all murmured their enthusiastic agreement.

Durand worked the controls himself. There was a mechanical buzzing sound, and then the robotic arm with the ominous paddle swung into motion with surprising speed. There was a loud 'crack' as the paddle landed squarely on the ten-year- old's behind.

Miles screamed and his entire body shook. The violence of the blow would have knocked him off his feet if he hadn't been bound to the frame. The BoySpank 350 went through a cycle of fifteen rapid strokes, pausing just enough to allow the full force of the blow to sink in before the next one fell. Miles continued to shout and writhe against the frame, each stroke eliciting a new round of pathetic shrieks from the little boy. When the arm pulled back to its resting position, the boy's butt was a dark red and copious tears were streaming from his eyes. All the other boys looked on in quiet trembling dread, knowing they would each be getting a turn as a victim of the merciless machine.

Chris, David and Illya had ejaculated three times each, and so they were made to wait until last to receive their punishments. As the youngest of this unfortunate trio, Chris was the first to be strapped to the frame. Once his wrists and ankles were secured, and the support bar adjusted to the level of his waist, the machine quickly bent him over. In this humiliating position his plugged rear-end was embarrassingly exposed. Doubled over as he was, the boy could see his cock and balls dangling between his legs. His dick was half-hard, much to his dismay.

'Not again!' he thought. 'Why does it keep doing that?'

"As you can see," William Durand was speaking to his guests, "Zero-Seven has rather large testicles for a boy his age." By now everyone was well aware of young Christopher's more than adequate endowment, and all of the guests had personally held those particular jewels in their hands at some point during the evening. "No doubt this explains his shameful behavior this evening. He'll be receiving addition correction with the flagellating attachment . . . after the standard punishment is administered."

Chris didn't know what flagellating meant, but he knew from Durand's previous explanations that he was going to have his balls hit. Having watched seven other boys reduced to shrieking tears by the machine, he was suddenly gripped with fear. He tensed and squirmed in his bonds, but the metal frame held him motionless and helpless. "Please, sir, don't hit my balls!" he begged. "I'll be good from now on, I swear!"

"Boy, you've just added to your punishment by speaking without permission. The only sounds we should hear from you for next few minutes are the sounds of you crying."

Durand programmed the machine, changing the parameters to account for the thirteen-year-old's height, weight and general stage of physical development. "Zero-Seven has been assigned a level five correction cycle. He will be receiving fifty strokes on his behind, followed by ten strokes with the flagellator, five of which will be administered to his testicles."

'Oohs' and 'aaahs', and nods of eager approval went around the room, all that is except from the nine boy gladiators who were standing with their hands clasped obediently behind their heads, looking on in muted terror. Seven of them already had flaming crimson backsides to show for their unauthorized orgasms. David and Illya watched with particular dread on their young faces. They knew they would be receiving identical punishments to the one Chris was about to endure.

The machine emitted a short buzzing sound, indicating it was ready to deliver the programmed punishment to the misbehaving slave boy. Durand pressed the flashing start button, and as the gathered VIPs had witnessed previously, the robotic arm swung gracefully into motion. Bound to the frame and bent over with his head down towards the floor, Chris could not see the arm moving and positioning itself, nor could he hear it, since its smooth motions were virtually silent. What he did hear was a sudden whoosh as the paddle mounted on the end of the arm cut rapidly through the air. Two sounds then occurred almost simultaneously. First was the sound of the expertly crafted aluminum paddle making contact with the thirteen-year-old boy's rear end. The second, which followed about a half-second later, was the thirteen-year-old boy's voice screeching in agony.

It took five minutes for the machine to complete the first stage of the program. By the end, Chris was sobbing and mucous was running from his nose. His adolescent voice was nearly hoarse from screaming, but he still managed to let out a few weak cries and whimpers as the final strokes were delivered to his now flaming behind, which was already bruised and turning a deep shade of purple.

Watching with enthusiastic eyes, Ophelia Winstrom pulled her naked eight-year-old boy-pet Spike closer on his leash. "You be a good little pup, or I'll be purchasing one of these machines for you."

The little boy's brown eyes watered and he nodded his head rapidly to indicate he would be on his best behavior. Spike had remained on his hands and knees all evening. In fact no one, since Lady Winstrom's arrival, had seen the boy standing on his feet. He went on all fours, his hands locked in a pair of metal mitts, wherever his mistress led him, his little cock held permanently down between his legs by the golden chastity ring which was attached with a thin chain to the end of his butt-plug. No one could recall hearing him speak either. But as the boy was strictly forbidden to walk and talk, and had not done either in almost two years, it should have been no surprise.

"And now for the final ten strokes," Durand announced. Jason himself changed the attachments at the end of the robotic arm and signaled that all was ready. He stopped and whispered briefly into Chris' right ear.

"This is really going to hurt, Chris," he said, perhaps hinting at a tiny bit of sympathy. "Don't try to be brave. Just scream. That's what everyone wants to hear."

Chris didn't think he had much screaming left in him, but the buzzing of the machine followed instantly by the sound of the leather straps of the flagellator flying through the air and landing directly on his dangling hairless scrotum proved him wrong. His voice broke and cracked and he let out a high-pitched wail.

The straps made an ominous, and terrifying sound as they swished through the air. The second stroke landed on the boy's smooth and perfectly hairless perineum, causing the young teen's cock to swell a bit, in spite of the pain in his balls. The machine continued delivering alternating strokes with the small leather whip, one to set the boy's testicles swinging and make him cry out in agony, the other a few seconds latter, with less force, applied to that sensitive area of skin between the boy's anus and scrotum.

Chris' brain was on fire at this point. His balls ached so bad, and yet every time that damn whip hit him in that other spot (he had already forgotten what Durand had called it. At thirteen, his knowledge of his anatomy pretty much ended at his dick and balls.) his penis got a little bit harder. By the end he had a full erection throbbing between his legs for everyone to see.

"Apparently he hasn't quite learned his lesson yet," one of the Creighton siblings laughed, referring to the thirteen- year-old's erection. His own eleven-year-old slave boy was presently on his knees sucking on his master's cock, his soft little dick hanging ignored and rather useless between his thin legs. This particular lad had won the contest among the sibling's three slave boys to see who could keep his dick hard the longest. His reward, of course, was a harsh whipping for having an erection in the first place.

The machine buzzed again and the metal frame righted itself, moving a teary eyed and humiliated Chris into a standing position. Jason released him from the restraints and gave him the same instruction the other boys had received.

"No rubbing your butt. Hands behind your head." Jason then worked the boy back into his chastity device, forcing the metal cage over the thirteen-year-old's semi-erect penis. The biting of the metal spikes quickly softened the misbehaving teenaged dick. Chris noticed he was the only boy currently being forced to wear the device. As further humiliation, Jason put the silver penis plug back into the thirteen-year-old's dick, right there in front of everybody. Chris' ears went red with embarrassment. Josh moved next to him, his soft almost four-inch long penis swinging freely between his legs. He giggled quietly and nudged his older brother in the ribs.

"Looks like you messed up bad, bro," the eleven-year-old said.

"Yeah," Chris whispered, remembering that they weren't supposed to talk without permission. "My balls felt like they were gonna explode."

"That would suck!"

"Totally."

The two brothers stayed close together and watched as Illya and finally David received their punishments. David, as the oldest boy, was given the harshest sentence. Seventy-five strokes of the paddle and fifteen with the flagellator, all delivered to his balls. He collapsed on the floor the instant he was released, clutching his hands between his legs and crying like a little boy.

With that the reception came to a close and the VIPs all returned to their luxurious suites. The young gladiators were marched back to their barracks, Chris and Illya helping poor David who was still in too much pain to walk on his own. The mules in their gray tunics and naked from the waist down were brought in to clean up the arena, the young slave boy laborers silently and obediently going about their arduous tasks, always with distant blank looks on their sad young faces. The first day of competition was now less than twelve hours away.

Chapter 22:

None of the boys slept much that night. All of them were nervous about the start of the competitions. They had no idea what they'd be forced to do, only that a large audience would be watching them do it and that they'd be doing it mostly naked. Locked in their cells, the boys sat up on their bunks or stood at the barred windows looking outside. A late night thunderstorm rolled through as they talked to their partners or tried to relax.

It wouldn't be inaccurate to say the boys were excited. Scared, certainly, but excited. This was, after all, why they had been brought here. After tomorrow, they would officially be Boy Gladiators, and TV stars on top of it.

Josh leaned back against the wall and ran his hands absent- mindedly over the metal plate that covered his genitals. There was no possible way he could even begin to pleasure himself. He could barely feel the pressure of his hand through the perfectly shaped and tightly fitted metal, and he really wasn't even aware he was doing it.

"Stop playing with yourself," David laughed from his bunk.

"Not funny, David," Josh snipped back. He crossed his legs and rested his hands on his thighs.

"Hey, I'm in the same mess, mate."

"Yeah, but at least you can still see yours. This thing makes me feel like I don't have nothin' down there, you know."

David stared at him with a certain look of jealously in his eyes. "You've got plenty down there, kid, don't worry."

Josh giggled and the two boys gradually steered their conversation away from their imprisoned genitals and back to the upcoming contests. They were trying to work out strategies for the team events.

"What if we end up against each other?" Josh asked.

"Then I've got to beat you, Josh," David answered without hesitation. "I'll look out for you as long as it ain't gonna cost me points. If it does, you're on your own, got it."

"Yeah," Josh replied, a little dejected, but not exactly upset. "I guess that's fair. I'll try to beat you too, if I get a chance."

"Good. We're here to win. That's what I'm planning on doing."

Josh smiled. He was happy David was his partner. Having the oldest boy as his teammate gave him definite advantages. He thought about Chris. He'd be competing against him, every time, all the time. That made him feel a little sad, but he already knew Chris wasn't going to show him any mercy, so he vowed he wouldn't either. The problem was Chris always beat him at everything. Josh spent the next few hours thinking hard about ways he might defeat his brother. He didn't end up with much to show for his efforts.

In the other four cells, similar strategic discussions were going on, each pair of boys talking quietly and trying to guess which events they'd be forced to participate in tomorrow. During their first two weeks on the island, they'd all practiced a variety of competitions under the watchful eyes of their trainers, but none of them had any clue what the morning would bring.

Finally, with about two hours to go before dawn, the last of the boys managed to fall asleep. The night guards checked on them, quietly opening the cell doors and inspecting the slaves with a flashlight. Ten naked boys lay on their bunks, curled up on their sides or flat on their backs or on their stomachs with their cute bare rear ends on display. None of them awakened and their cell doors were slowly closed again.

Bathroom, showers and breakfast were all hurried affairs the next morning. The boys were still eating when their trainers arrived.

"Five minutes!" the adults shouted at the boys. "Toes on the line!"

The boys scarfed down their powdered eggs and stuffed the last pieces of toast into their mouths. All of them were standing with their toes on the red line painted on the floor, just in front of the scoreboard. They no longer needed to be told to assume the proper position. Ten young boys stood in just their chastity devices, legs spread and hands clasped behind their heads. They were collared, shackled and chained together at their necks, this time all ten of them in a single-file line. It marked the first time the boy gladiators had been bound this way. It would become the standard for their entry into the arena on days when a live audience would be watching.

The boys were marched out of the barracks and made to run toward the arena. Miles, Josh and Ian, the three youngest and shortest boys were at the back of the line and stumbled often as the older boys up front dragged them forward.

Outside the morning was bright and already warm. The air was still today and the boys were already sweaty when they reached the holding area beneath the arena floor. They could hear the noise of the crowd above. The live televised debut of Worldwide Boy Gladiators would be airing that night, but the official competition would be starting in a few minutes, recorded on tape-delay for later viewing and immediately available as a live download on the internet.

In the holding area, the trainers made the final preparations on their young charges. Their chastity devices were removed and immediately replaced with thick leather pouches held in place by wide belts around their slim waists. The pouches served to accentuate their boyish packages, particularly the more well-endowed boys, but the leather would do little to protect their precious genitals once the competition began, quite the opposite as they were designed to push the boys' balls forward.

The plugs in the boys' butts remained in place.

"When you are wearing your pouches," Jason explained, "you will not be punished if you have an accidental erection. You will be punished severely if you touch your genitals. Removal of your chastity devices does not give you boys permission play with yourselves. Are we clear on that point?"

"Yes, sir," the ten boys answered together.

"Alright. Things get a lot more interesting starting now. Get up there!"

Still chained together, the boys ran up the ramp and out onto the arena floor. Flash bulbs went off all around them. Loud cheers rose from the crowd, followed almost immediately by a shower of lewd and suggestive comments, some of which the boys could hear, most of which were lost in the cacophony of five hundred eager spectators.

The arena, which had looked big enough when it was empty, now seemed enormous to the ten scantily-clad boys. They marched to the very center of the floor, as they'd been trained to do and saluted the audience. Standing perfectly straight, knees pressed together, heads up, eyes forward.

"We who are about to compete salute you!" they shouted in unison, their varied boyish voices reciting the first of the lines they'd been forced to memorize over the past week. "We suffer for you! We fight for your enjoyment! Our pain is your pleasure! We are Boy Gladiators!"

All of them had thought these lines ridiculously corny when they were first made to say them. Not one of them had gotten through it the first time without breaking up laughing. However, now, standing in the arena, with the wild ravenous eyes and merciless shouts of the audience all around them, the words suddenly had a very real meaning.

The trainers next appeared from their separate entrance and removed the chains that bound the ten young gladiators together. The boys were then each introduced, not just to the live audience, but to billions of viewers all over the world. They were called by number only and stepped forward one by one.

Under Mike Brussard's direction, the camera teams moved in to get close-up shots of each boy as his number, age and vital statistics were announced over the public address system.

"There's Josh," Lindsay Andrews said as she and Matt sat in the family room watching the premiere of the show on Gladiators.com, the official web-site. "Oh my god, they shaved his head . . . "

The boys' father nodded. "But he looks good, Lin. Strong little guy, isn't he? He'll be a winner." Matthew chose not to mention that he'd noticed how full the boy's leather pouch was, and how large the contents hidden beneath it appeared to be. 'Chip off the old block,' he thought smugly, proud of his youngest son's exceptionally large genitals.

Lindsay stared at him. She had never been entirely happy at her husband's relaxed attitude about the fact that they had essentially sold both of their sons into slavery. "I don't want to think about what will happen to him if he loses." Her reaction when Chris was introduced was a little more subdued. She didn't worry quite so much about her teenaged son. And he had signed up willingly.

Matthew was impressed at his oldest son's appearance. He looked brave and determined. Matthew also chose not to mention that he'd placed some rather large bets on Chris' performance over the next few weeks. His wife simply would not understand. Some things were best left unspoken.

The boys had all been introduced, their pictures and stats, all in flashy graphics up on the big view screen and ultimately on televisions all across the world. William Durand, from his luxury box in the first row, stood up and officially welcomed the crowd. Young Trevor was chained to his master's chair and would be forced to stand for the entire event. He was wearing a bright blue speedo today, and his hair had been freshly trimmed and styled, long locks flowing down his smooth slender neck and resting upon his shoulders. He was, more than anything, a status symbol, and Durand wanted everyone to get a good look at him.

After a few brief words of welcome, Durand opened the competition. "We will start Worldwide Boy Gladiators with a traditional sport practiced by the gladiators of ancient times. Favored among the Greeks and Romans for keeping young boys fit and disciplined."

The trainers all approached their boys and proceeded to rub oil over their skin until the ten lads were glistening in the bright lights. The gentle rubbing and massaging had another side effect as most of the boys now sported nice hard erections constrained within their leather pouches. The cameras were quick to notice this and roars of approval went up from the crowd as the images were flashed onto the big screen.

"Looks like both our boys our enjoying themselves, Lin," Matthew Andrews said, noting the large and obvious swellings between his sons' legs.

"They most certainly are not!" the boys' mother snapped back. "Honestly, Matt, sometimes I wonder why I married you. Those are your sons, and you're talking about them like they're animals or . . . "

"Or slaves, Lin. That's what they are. For now. Sit back and enjoy the show. Let's watch our boys kick ass."

Wrestling, was, of course, the sport to which William Durand inferred. The boys were randomly paired by the computer in the control booth and immediately all ten of them were grappling their opponents, or trying to. It was difficult to get any kind of grip with their bare bodies slick from the oils. Three pins were required for a match victory, and each boy was allowed to lose two matches before being eliminated.

Not surprisingly, the three most experienced wrestlers, Daniel, Alexei and Josh, quickly made their skills and agility apparent. Josh got three pins against eleven-year- old Ian in less than fifteen minutes. He and Ian had to wait until the others were finished before they found out who they'd be wrestling next. Both of them were led to the five- foot high wall that surrounded the arena and chained by their collars to iron rings embedded there for just this purpose.

Daniel struggled at first against Illya, who though not the oldest was the tallest and heaviest of the boys, a foot taller than twelve-year-old Danny and almost twenty pounds heavier. If Illya had chosen to, he probably could have simply sat on the younger boy's chest and held him down, but the young Russian had an inconvenient sense of fairness that wouldn't allow him to do it, not to mention a trainer who was also his older brother who would have surely beaten him senseless. Danny won his first match and pumped his fist excitedly, drawing great fanfare from the audience.

Alexei dispatched Gabriel Shelton with relative ease in a battle of two twelve-year-olds.

Round by round the matches continued. Miles, Ian, Philippe and David were the first four to be eliminated. They would spend the rest of the competition chained to the arena wall, looking on and enduring the jeers and lewd comments of the spectators immediately above them. Poor David had beer spilled over his head, or more likely poured. It burned his eyes, but it tasted rather good as it dribbled past his lips.

The matches continued until four boys were left. Josh, Alexei, Chris and Danny. Christopher was rather pleased with himself, being the only non-wrestler to make it this far. The three younger boys, all with more wrestling medals than they could count nudged him playfully in congratulations, each of them also secretly hoping he'd be their next opponent. He had the advantage of size and strength, but compared to the three young sinewy grapplers he was clumsy and slow.

"Single elimination begins now," the voice of the announcer rang out over the crowd. "Boy Zero-Two is undefeated. He gets the honor of choosing his next opponent."

Josh didn't have to think about it for even a second. He pointed at his older brother. Chris sneered at him.

"You had help last time, little brother," the young teenager said, full of energy and testosterone. "You are so going down!"

"Bite me, Chris!"

The brothers didn't even wait for the whistle to blow or their trainers to get in position to referee the match. They had to be pulled apart and made to wait until the show came back from a commercial break before they could settle things. Like most serious athletes, the two boys achieved a certain high from competition, and standing around waiting to kick your brother's butt was strictly no fun.

"Come on, come ooonn," Josh whined, wondering when Hannah would release her strong grip on his shoulders. Finally the director signaled they were back on the air. Hannah set her little gladiator loose with a swift smack on his rump.

Josh and Chris rushed toward each other, and locked arms. Chris was big enough to man-handle (or boy-handle) his brother rather easily under normal circumstances, but the eleven-year-old was so charged up, and still so slippery from the oil, that Chris wasn't able to get a solid grasp on the four-and-one-half foot tall boy. Josh dropped low and wrapped his arms around Chris' legs. With a swift move, he knocked the young teen off balance. Chris landed hard on his butt and let out a loud curse. No way he was letting his little brother beat him. Narrowly escaping a pin, Chris kicked out from under Josh's body and got his hands around the smaller boy's narrow waist. He had the leverage he needed now and quickly flipped Josh onto his back.

Jason and Hannah both agreed it was a pin and blew their whistles. The Andrews brothers were quickly on their feet again. It took three pins to win. Josh was pissed. The boys grappled again, grunting and groaning and struggling with each other. They didn't say a word.

Alexei and Daniel meanwhile were putting on an equally hard- fought match. The cheering of the crowds grew louder as the pins began to mount.

"Pin," the announcer called out as Daniel put Alexei on the ground for the third time. "Match to Zero-Five."

Daniel jumped up and pumped his fist at the crowd, enjoying the thrill of victory and the applause of the audience. For a moment he completely forgot that he was standing there in an iron slave collar, wearing only a rather less-than-modest leather pouch over his genitals.

"Pin," the announcer called again a scant second later. The crowd fell hushed and waited the results. "Match to Zero- Two."

More loud calls of approval from the spectators as Josh rose victorious and stood straddling over his brother's middle.

"Gotcha again, big brother," he said with a smug look on his young face.

Chris was mad about losing, but he knew there was nothing he could do about it. He crawled out from under his gloating brother and presented himself to Jason to be chained to the wall with the other boys who'd already been eliminated.

Josh and Daniel now stood toe to toe, ready to fight it out. Another commercial break gave their trainers a few minutes to water them and spray some antiseptic on their skinned knees and elbows. Once the show resumed, the two boys were marched to the center of the arena. There the leather pouches were removed. They would be fighting the final match stark naked.

As a consequence of their exertions and excitement, both Josh and Daniel sported firm erections. Josh, with nearly six inches of hard cock jutting out from his small eleven- year-old body, and twelve-year-old Daniel, with his small barely three-inch boner calling attention to itself by throbbing insistently as he stood there. Daniel had as yet not been told that the drugs they were making him take would very shortly put a permanent end to his erections. Already he was suspicious that his pathetic little dick was getting even smaller, but he'd convinced himself he was just being paranoid.

Leather straps were wrapped tight and buckled around their respective genitals, ensuring both boys maintained their erections for the duration of the match. The crowd roared its approval and flash bulbs went off everywhere. Josh's almost comically large penis was a particular hit with the audience.

The two boys went at it immediately as the cameras moved in to get the closest shots possible without interfering with the match. Neither Josh nor Daniel were even aware of the cameramen hovering around them, covering their battle from all angles. Evenly matched, their contest went back and forth for nearly fifteen minutes. Rolling around on the ground together, their hard penises were being subjected to constant stimulation.

'Oh no! Not now!' Josh felt an orgasm building and promptly had one, gasping and thrashing around madly as his cock surged with a powerful dry cum. His moment of ecstasy cost him dearly, as Daniel quickly pinned the younger boy's shoulders.

The cameras, of course, captured every second of Josh's climax and replayed it in slow motion. The crowd shouted and cheered, all thrilled to witness a young boy experiencing a shattering dry orgasm, watching him thrust his hips desperately for a release that was still impossible for the pre-pubescent boy to achieve. Best of all, or worst of all for Josh, the he maintained a stiffy even after his wild gyrations had ceased.

"You gotta learn to control that thing," Daniel smirked as Josh struggled back to his feet.

"Shut up and wrestle, limp dick!" Josh snapped back, charging forward and wrapping his arms around Danny's middle.

In the end it was Josh who was victorious. He managed to avoid any further dry cums, even though his penis remained rock hard the entire time. Danny was, probably, the better wrestler, but Josh, starting the day in last place, was far more motivated. He pinned the young red-head for the third time, but was too exhausted to do much celebrating. All totaled he had wrestled eight of the boys and beaten them all. He rolled off of Danny and lay there on his back, panting and sore, his erection pointing up toward his belly button.

"Victory!" the announcer called. "Boy Zero-Two."

The crowd applauded.

Hannah quickly approached and stood over the prone boy. "Get your little ass up. Acknowledge the crowd and give the camera a big smile. Come on."

Josh got to his feet and bowed to the crowd as he'd been trained. He flashed the required smile to the cameraman.

"Jerk yourself off until you have another cum," his trainer told him.

Josh just stared at her. It was bad enough having one by accident in front of everyone, and all those cameras. No way he was going to stand by himself in the center of the arena and yank on his sausage.

"I don't want to," he mumbled under his breath.

"Don't ruin a good thing, boy," Hannah warned him sternly. "I'll give you one more chance to do as you're told."

The threat in her voice told him she meant business. Reluctantly, Josh wrapped his hand around his dick and started pumping for all he was worth. To the continued cheers and chants of the crowd, Josh brought himself to a second dry cum, this one even stronger than the first.

The rest of the boys were unchained from the wall and marched back to the center of the arena floor. They were told to remove the leather pouches that covered their boyhood. The boys stepped out them quickly and now all ten of them were naked, their cocks and balls on display to a worldwide audience for the first, but certainly not the last time. On the overhead scoreboard, the points for the first event were rewarded. Josh looked up hopefully, only to be greatly disappointed to find himself still in last place. He'd closed the gap with Gabriel who was now only thirty points ahead of him, but his name was still on the bottom.

'I'm never going to catch up,' the eleven-year-old thought glumly.

As Josh was trying to figure out how he could win and still be dead last, the next event was announced.

"And now our boy gladiators will participate in their first test of endurance," the announcer said. A hush of anticipation fell over the crowd. "Weight training."

A single cart was wheeled in by one of the mules. On it were ten leather straps and a large number of round lead weights of various sizes. The weights were, of course, meant for the boys' balls, and the training would involve seeing which boy could take the most weight and still remain on his feet, all while they were forced to run laps around the edge of the arena floor.

The boys looked at each other nervously, and more than a few of them absent-mindedly clasped their hands over their scrotums and the tender nuggets inside them. Demerits for touching themselves were quickly rewarded. Poor Josh lost five of the ten points he'd just gained on Gabriel.

Viewers around the world saw the leather ball stretchers being strapped in place around each boy's scrotum, tugging their balls downward. They watched as each boy's wrists were chained behind his back, then pulled sharply and painfully upward and connected by another chain to a ring at the back of the boy's collar. It was, essentially, the classic reverse prayer position. The pain in the boy's arms and shoulders would be every bit as terrible as the pain he would soon be feeling in his balls. Just as the first of the weights were about to be attached, the show's fancy logo filled the screen.

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Images of the BoySpank 350 in use were run during the entirety of this particular commercial, quite a few of them taken from the reception party on the island the night before, others where filmed in a studio using 'volunteer' boys, some slaves, some free. Boys were shown walking in public with their parents, wearing only the punishment thongs, their crimson and in some cases dark purple behinds on display for all to see.

When the show returned, the boys were all standing with their legs spread wide apart as their trainers hung the first of the lead weights from their balls. They would each start with half a pound, and additional weight would be added after each lap around the arena. Ten-year-old Miles, whose balls hadn't really even dropped yet, thought it terribly unfair that he had to have the same weights as the older boys. His trainer was Alex Wright, the oldest of the trainers and generally the most gentle, an appropriate choice for looking after the smallest gladiator. He gave the little boy a smack on the butt as he worked to tighten the leather strap a bit more, forcing the ten-year-old's tiny nuts down into his soft pink sack.

"Don't want these little things going back up there, do we?" he asked in a warm English accent.

"I guess not, sir," Miles replied doubtfully, not entirely sure he liked having his balls tugged on.

Once all the boys had the first of the weights dangling from their ball bags, the contest began. It wasn't really a race. The boys were expected to keep a jogging pace, but no one was going to get points for finishing the lap first. The trainers did stand ready with their electric prods to give any lagging boys a quick jolt.

Half a pound wasn't all that bad, even for the boys with the smallest balls. On the first lap it was the pain from having their arms bound back behind them, and the humiliation of running around with a weight swinging from your nuts that gave them the most trouble. The boys pretty much stayed together and finished the first lap as a group. The crowd applauded, not for the boys, but because they knew more weights were now going to be added.

Again the boys lined up and spread their legs to receive another half-pound weight. They now had a full pound pulling on their balls. The difference was surprising. All of the boys gasped and groaned when their trainers released the weights and let them fall between their legs. With their arms bound behind them, they were utterly helpless to do anything about it. They wiggled their hips and moaned, quickly discovering that any movement only caused the weights to swing and pull even harder.

Off they went again, this time with grimaced expressions on their innocent young faces. Keeping the required pace was difficult and all of them received a not-too-gentle reminder from the prods. The crowd was growing more raucous as the boys completed their second lap.

The third weight to be added was a full pound. Two pounds now hung from each boy's balls, and the stretching of their scrotums, even on the younger boys, was becoming noticeable. Their testicles had turned a dark shade of red, and close inspection would reveal tiny little purple veins beginning to show through the soft hairless skin of their swinging ball bags.

As he ran around the arena, Chris felt like his balls were all the way down to his knees. In fact they had been stretched a good inch lower than they normally hung, and the weights continued to pull them downward. The thirteen-year- old wondered just how much he could take, and just how low his balls could be made to hang.

Two pounds proved to be the limit for six of the boys, all of whom staggered and dropped to their knees before completing the lap. With their hands bound tightly behind them, there was no relief from the pain. They were left there kneeling on the floor of the arena as the four remaining boys stood bravely waiting for the next addition of weight to their sore and swollen testicles.

Chris, Illya, David and Philippe, the four oldest boys, watched silently as the smaller weights were removed and a pair of two pound weights were connected to the ball- stretchers around their scrotums. They would be carrying four pounds of weight for this lap. Just standing with the large lead spheres dangling between their legs was an exercise in agony. It quickly became obvious to the young teens that running was going to be nearly impossible.

"Move those gorgeous legs, boys!" Jason yelled. The brandishing of the electric prods was enough to motivate them. They moved off together, starting the next lap. The boys hobbled and winced and moaned out loud as every step set the weights, and their balls, swinging. The pain, which had started as a dull ache was getting progressively worse. Not exactly like getting kicked down there, but close enough. All of them were sweating and panting as they worked their way around the arena. Unable to clutch their aching nuts, the boys struggled forward. The best any of them could manage was an awkward double-time trot. David was the first to stop, lean his body against the wall and slide down to the ground, breathing a huge sigh of relief as the weights stopped tugging on his sack.

Chris managed a few more steps before he decided to give up. He didn't want to, but he couldn't get his legs to work. At least the two remaining boys were older than he was. Losing to a younger boy had already become an unspoken stigma among the gladiators. The thirteen-year-old stopped and stared up at the crowd. "Keep moving you little animal," one of the nearest spectators yelled down at him. Several others picked up on it and showered the young teenager with jeers.

Chris wanted to yell back at them, but he didn't dare. He would have flashed them all the finger, but of course his hands were bound behind his back. The only defiance he could manage was sticking his tongue out at them, which of course seemed rather childish in retrospect, but what else could a boy do?

'What a bunch of sickos,' he thought. Then, following David's lead, he rested his shoulders against the wall and slowly went down to his knees. He watched as Illya and Philippe struggled on.

The French and Russian boys were side by side. Both of them were suffering, but neither of them were going to give in first. As they shuffled toward the finish line, they started nudging each other, trying to knock their opponent off balance. They both understood that if they both finished this lap, even more weight would be added to their balls. They pushed at each other and tried to trip each other's feet. Illya, though younger, was taller and heavier and eventually is size and superior strength won out. He slammed into the French boy as hard as he could. Both boys shouted in agony as the four-pound weights yanked hard on their balls. Philippe stumbled and fell forward, hands bound behind him, hitting his shoulder hard on the arena floor. He cried out, but mostly in anger. His shoulder was bruised, but nothing was broken. He managed to get back to his knees, but he didn't have the strength to stand up and endure the weights again.

Illya felt bad about knocking the other boy out of the contest, but no one was getting points for being nice. He crossed the finish line. The only boy still on his feet. The crowd erupted as the announcer broke in.

"Victory to Boy Zero-Eight!"

Thirteen-year-old Illya stood there, his already man-sized six-inch cock hanging limp between his legs, his balls stretched painfully downward. The cheers were for him, but he could only think about the pain and how much he wanted those weights taken off. His brother and trainer, Sergei approached him and gave him a good-natured smack on the cheek.

"Good job, little brother."

"Please take them off, Sergei. Please. My balls hurt."

Sergei did remove the four-pound lead ball, but replaced it with two of the smaller one-pound weights. "I think we'll keep some weight on these for a while," he said. Illya gave him a wounded look, but he'd already learned that Sergei was not about to show him any mercy just because they were brothers. In fact, the opposite seemed to be true, much to his confusion and dismay. He used to love his big brother. Now he was really starting to hate him.

With Illya's victory in the very first endurance contest, the opening events came to a close and the first live worldwide broadcast came to an end. The schedule for the rest of the day was shown on the scoreboard and the crowd broke up. The boys were all marched below, the weights removed (except for Illya) and their arms released from their painful bondage. For the rest of the day, the boys would rotate through various events at venues across the island. The finale would be the very first chariot race, held under the lights that evening and televised to a prime- time audience.