Worldwide Boy Gladiators Part 16

Worldwide Boy Gladiators Part 16
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 33:

Gabe and Danny, the winners of the first contest, were taken by their trainers under the shade of the pavilion to prepare them for their special role in the upcoming event. The eight remaining boys were temporarily placed in a holding cage while the mules scurried about setting up the next event. Chris recognized mule 1674 straining hard to keep up with the older stronger boys. He'd learned from Lance that 1674's steel chastity pod (which all mules were required to wear) would come off only to be exchanged for a slightly larger one as the boy grew. Chris had mixed feelings about the metal cage that normally imprisoned his thirteen-year-old penis. He hated it most of the time, of course, but he'd already discovered that NOT being able to touch himself was really rather arousing. He wondered what it must be like to have your dick locked in one of those pods forever. 1674 glanced over at him for a moment as the trainers closed the gladiators into the cage. As always there was a sad and distant expression in the boy's soft gray eyes. Chris risked a quick shy wave in the nameless boy's direction, but 1674 went on about his arduous labors with nearly robotic precision.

The holding cage was small, forcing the boys to press their sweaty nude bodies together in the sticky tropical heat. Still free of their various chastity devices, and with cock and ball harnesses inducing powerful boyish erections (for everyone but poor Daniel) it was not long before the boys began rubbing their turgid tools against each other's bodies. David and Philippe both ejaculated in less than a minute. Thankfully the trainers neither saw nor heard them in the throes of orgasmic ecstasy. Ian and Miles meanwhile were crammed in on either side of Chris and were rutting like little animals against the thirteen-year-old's legs.

"Knock it off, you little hornballs. Go hump your own legs," Chris hissed at them, not wanting to get caught, even as he sported a raging and dripping boner of his own, albeit a very sore and tender one. He went so far as to finger the silver plug in his piss-slit, but pulled his hand away immediately and just in time.

Ian and Miles never got a chance to finish pleasuring their pre-teen cocks. The cage was unlocked and the boys were marched back in a group onto the hippodrome track. Awaiting them were eight wooden benches, twenty feet long and about one foot wide. Along the length of each bench ten wooden prongs had been screwed in place by the mules, spaced evenly about two feet apart. The prongs increased in size, length, girth and thickness as they went down the bench. The first one being no bigger than one of the older boy's index fingers, the last ones being enormous bulbous invaders meant to force a boy open wide in the most excruciating manner imaginable.

The boys stared at the wooden benches and the wooden prongs with expressions of dread on their young faces. No explanations were needed as to what was about to happen. They were lined up in front of the benches according to their numbers.

"Attention!" Jason shouted at them. The boys immediately assumed the now well-practiced position. They stood there waiting silently while the noise from the crowd grew louder. A raucous cheer went up when Gabriel and Daniel ran out from under the shade of the pavilion. The two boys were dressed like miniature bondage masters, black latex jockstraps, chest harnesses with silver spikes, black leather boots up to their knees, and black gloves just like the ones the trainers themselves wore. Spiked leather collars completed their outfits. The boys both looked comically and adorably awkward, and obviously very unsure about their ability to carry out their assigned duties. Roger and Calvin handed them both a short flogger. Gabe and Danny were going to be the drivers of this event, whipping any boy who moved too slowly along the benches.

Michella took the microphone and provided a quick overview of the next event to the crowd, and the boys.

"We call it the Pole Vault. The rules are simple, boys," she said addressing them directly. "Each of you will sit down on the first peg. When the whistle blows, you will work your way down to the end of your bench. Your butt must make full contact with the bench to get credit for each peg. If you are penalized for cheating you will go back to the beginning and start over."

The boys nervously took up their positions in front of the benches. Their wrists were locked behind their backs. One by one each boy straddled his wooden bench, the first and smallest prong directly beneath him.

"Boys Zero-Five and Zero-Six will be helping to motivate any of you who decide to stop," Michella continued once she had David's wrists secured behind his back. "And, to make things more interesting, we've treated some of the pegs with pepper gel. Its clear, so don't bother looking. You'll know its there when the peg's up your butt! Each one of you has at least one peg with the gel on it, some of you have four or five. One of you has gel on all ten of them."

The boys all grumbled that it seemed really unfair that things weren't equal.

"Life's not fair, boys, especially for slaves, so get used to it."

Michella blew her whistle and the boys immediately squatted down over the first peg which was just three inches long a little less than one inch wide. A few seconds later, Illya, Ian, Chris, David and Philippe were all shrieking as the pepper gel set their innards on fire. None of the boys lingered long on the first peg, but the boys who'd just experienced the gel were up and scooting forward for the next one a little more desperately than the others.

The first peg really wasn't so bad, not much bigger than the countless fingers the boys had had shoved into their butts on a daily basis since their arrival on the island. The second peg down the line was the real start of this ordeal. Four inches and noticeably wider than the first, with a fat bulbous end mimicking the male organ. With their arms bound behind them, balance was tricky, and the boys had only the strength in their legs to lower themselves onto the waiting prongs. Miles had a hard time and stood back up with tears in his eyes. His butt was still sore from being fucked by Gabriel two nights earlier. Ironically it was Gabriel who now ran over to the ten-year-old's bench, straddled it in front of the crying boy and yelled into his face.

"Move it, sprout! Come on."

"I can't," Miles shouted back. "This is all your fault . . . your willie hurt me real bad . . . "

Gabe swung his flogger over Miles' shoulder. Gently, hoping the trainers wouldn't notice it.

"Do it for England then," the twelve-year-old shouted at him.

Miles, at ten, was almost self-righteously patriotic. The only boy among the Gladiators who seemed to have strong feelings about representing not only himself but his country. He looked up at his fellow Englishman and gritted his teeth. He bent his legs and forced himself down on the peg. It hurt and tore at his little hole. It also caused his tiny pricklet to stand straight out, as hard as it had ever been.

"Nice little bone ya got there," Gabriel said. Josh then caught his eye two benches over. He was up to the fourth peg already, and getting up for the fifth, but Gabe noticed that the eleven-year-old's butt never quite touched the bench. "Foul!" he shouted, rather delightedly, pointing to Josh who now stood frozen, squatting halfway over the fifth peg.

Danny, who had become Josh's natural rival, was quickly on the spot, lashing the younger boy's back with all his pent up rage and humiliation. He had the smallest dick of the boys, except for Miles and he didn't really count, and now they were giving him drugs to make it even smaller. He'd never have an erection again for the rest of his years on the island. He was ashamed and embarrassed and tired of everyone laughing at him or pointing to his tiny boy-parts and snickering. Seeing eleven-year-old Josh's big oversized dick flopping between his legs was the final straw. He unleashed a barrage on poor Josh's back.

"No cheating, Josh. Get back to the beginning, ay, and start over!" he yelled.

Wanting to avoid further blows, Josh darted up and ran back to the starting end of the bench. He was pissed now too, but it served him right and he knew it. He'd cheated on the last two pegs, not sitting down all the way and hoping he could get away with it. But no boy ever gets away with much on Gladiator Island. Now he was four pegs behind, but he quickly discovered that his butt-hole was so loose and open now that vaulting the first three pegs was easy. His penis was rock hard and bouncing up and down as he hurried to catch up. He was starting to get that tingly feeling again as the prongs rubbed against that special place inside him. So far he'd lucked out. None of his pegs yet had any of the pepper gel on them. He was actually getting close to having an orgasm when he again returned to the fifth peg. This one was a lot bigger and he went down on it slowly. The pressure inside him was so amazingly intense now that he couldn't help himself. Remembering the standing order for boy gladiators, he shouted, "I'm cumming!" just as a thin trickle of clear semen dribbled from his eleven-year-old but nearly man-sized penis. He shivered and trembled on the peg as his orgasm swept over him and a few more weak squirts of clear fluid shot out of his dick.

The trainers hadn't set any rules about cumming during this event, and Josh's orgasm would not cost him points, though it did cost him time. The crowd of course was absolutely delighted. A replay of Josh's climax was played in slow motion on the big screen. Josh looked up just in time to see the huge image of himself with his big stupid oversized dick squirting and bouncing. With his ears red from humiliation he pulled himself off the peg and scooted forward to the next one.

It was slow going. Even with Gabe and Danny providing incentive with their floggers. The eight boys on the benches struggled to make progress. Poor Philippe had reached the fifth peg and was beginning to suspect that his was the bench with pepper gel on each of those evil looking prongs. All five of them had had it so far. His butt was on fire and he had lost all of his brave fourteen-year-old composure and was screaming and crying like a little boy as he slowly sat down on the middle peg. His penis was no longer hard, just a sad shriveled teenaged sausage flopping between his straining legs.

"Stop your bawling, Frenchie," Danny shouted at him, lashing him hard with the whip. "You're halfway there. Move it!"

Much to his own surprise, the very sore and very tired Chris was currently in first place. He'd been fucked so many times by Bruce and Lance, and Jason for that matter, that his hole was quite loose. He had no problem taking the wooden prongs up his butt, all of them so far had been smaller than Bruce's gigantic cock. Fortunately only that very first peg had the gel on it. He was sitting on the sixth peg now and ready for the seventh. His penis was half hard and dripping. If he could have reached around to stroke it, he would have. Using his muscular thighs he pulled himself up, scurried forward and sat down on the seventh prong. This one was a lot fatter than the last one and he felt his body resisting for the first time.

'Come on, come on,' he thought to himself as he clenched his eyes and wrinkled his cute little nose. He forced himself down and immediately let out a high-pitched wail. This prong had gel on it, a lot of it. The burning was almost unbearable on the young teen's already well-fucked and ravaged boy-hole. He cursed and shouted and jumped up off the prong like a rabbit. Painful enough to be sure, but not so painful as what happened next.

"Foul! Foul!" It was Gabriel rushing over with his flogger in hand. To Christopher's eyes the boy looked rather ridiculous in his leather bondage-master outfit.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Chris hissed back at him, poised over the seventh prong.

"You didn't sit down all the way."

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

"Did too."

"Look, man, I saw you! And I say who sat down and who didn't. That's my job. You did not sit down." The twelve-year-old was about to deliver a blow to the older boy's back, but the glare he got from Chris made him hesitate. "Well . . . okay, but you've gotta go back and start over."

"What! No fuckin' way I'm doin' that."

"Zero-Seven!" It was Jason's voice and it was angry. "Zero-Six is doing exactly what he's been told to do. And unless I am mistaken, you are supposed to obey any order you are given on this island. That's five demerits for disobeying him. If you sit there one second longer I'll give you twenty for disobeying me."

Dejected and angry and muttering under his breath, Chris got up and marched gingerly back to the starting end of the bench, the soles of his beaten feet making each step an unpleasant one. The crowd cheered, happy to see another boy forced to start over. The fact that it was the older brother of the first such victim only added to the wonderful sense of theater and drama. Chris plopped down on the first peg and glared at Gabriel again.

"Happy now?"

"Yes, I am," Gabriel said matter-of-factly, lashing his whip across Chris' thighs and walking away. Gabe wasn't necessarily a cruel kid, but he and Danny had been told to take this job seriously or they would face unpleasant consequences of their own. The twelve-year-old wasn't about to risk it. Twelve year old boys are best at looking out for themselves, and Gabriel Shelton was no exception to this general rule.

After several more minutes of boyish screams and shouts echoing out over the crowd, David Brown came to the tenth and final peg, sat down with an anguished wail, raised himself awkwardly off the bench and stood at the end of it wiping tears from his eyes.

"Victory. Boy One-Zero," the announcer called as Michella untied his hands. David was too humiliated and far too sore to have much enthusiasm for his win. The constant stimulation of his fourteen-year-old prostate had resulted in a constant stream of pre-cum dribbling out of his perpetually frustrated cock. He'd avoided the humiliation of having an orgasm while riding the wooden pegs, but his somewhat smallish penis was still rigid and straining and calling a great deal of attention to itself. The young teen stood there under the glaring afternoon sun, covered in a fine sheen of sweat, shifting his weight gingerly from foot to foot as the discomfort in his stretched and opened boy-hole slowly faded to a dull ache. His cock still throbbed helplessly in front of him. He caught himself moving his hands toward it and stopped just in time. He wanted to jerk off so badly.

The crowd cheered for him, but of course the event was not over until every boy had reached the end of his bench.

The last boy to finish was Chris. Being forced to start over had drained what little strength he had left. All the other boys were standing at the end of their benches. Chris was still on the sixth peg, unable to get his legs to work for him. The crowd started jeering at him, throwing their plastic cups of beer and wine at him. He bent over and covered his head. Danny and Gabe stood on either side of him, showering his back with lashes, but still the boy didn't move.

Jason Sanborne finally had to step in. Things were getting out of hand, even for Gladiator Island. He blew his whistle and ordered the two adorable junior bondage-masters to stand aside. He knelt beside Chris and heard the boy quietly sobbing.

"Can't finish, can you?"

"N . . . no, sir . . . I'm so tired, sir . . . I just can't do it . . ."

"Get up. You'll have to be given demerits for this. The other trainers will have a fit if I don't."

"I know," the young teen said glumly. "Can you . . . you know, help me get off this thing?"

Jason snaked his forearms under the boy's armpits and pulled him up off the wooden prong. Chris came off of it with a wet slurp. The crowd showered the thirteen-year-old loser with boos and cat-calls and demands that he be forcefully sat upon each prong until he reached the end. The majority of the trainers shared the crowd's opinion, and this placed Jason in a difficult position.

"If he doesn't finish, he gets fifty demerits," Roger Bramley demanded.

Jason wanted to argue. That was more than he thought the boy should receive, but the trainers had agreed from day one that any boy's failure to complete any official event was a major transgression and must be dealt with severely.

"Those are the rules, Jason," Hannah Dubose reminded him. "Let the boy decide."

Chris was still straddling the bench, held up by his trainer's arms. "What will it be, Zero-Seven?" Jason asked. "Fifty demerits, or Roger and I will put you down on each prong until we get to the end."

Chris' head was already spinning and it was hard to think fast. Fifty demerits was a lot. It would almost certainly guarantee that he'd finish last for the week. On the other hand, he really didn't like the alternative he'd just been given. The spectators were growing restless.

"Decide, boy, or we'll do both."

Chris blurted it out quickly. "I'll take the bench, sir."

Jason quickly gestured to Roger. Together the two men picked up the thirteen-year-old boy, grasping him around his waist and locking a firm grip on his thighs to keep his legs spread and his little hole open and defenseless. They went back to the beginning once again and over the next two minutes forced the poor boy down onto each successive prong, giving him only a few seconds to scream and wince until he was roughly pulled up, carried forward and pushed down onto the next one. The rest of the boys stood with their trainers, watching their fellow gladiator's humiliating ordeal. The crowd was ruthless, laughing and applauding and cheering every time Chris was forced to sit down on one of the pegs. After being lifted off the tenth and final wooden peg, Chris collapsed trembling onto the ground with Jason and Roger standing over him, kicking him gently but insistently.

"Get up!"

Chris dragged himself to his feet. Jason made a show of forcing the boy's half-hard cock into its chastity cage, resulting in painful yelps of protest from the horny and frustrated young teenager, which in turn resulted in several sharp smacks to his perfect teenaged butt. He then attached the chain to the young gladiator's collar and dragged him less than gently out of the venue. "Make it look good," Jason whispered to him. Chris however did not need to act as he stumbled along behind his trainer. He was a very happy boy when the noise of the crowd fell away behind him. He didn't know where Jason was taking him, and for the moment he was only glad to be out of the glare of the lights and cameras and the harsh wicked stares of the adults in the crowd.

Jason took Chris back to the barracks and marched the naked young teen directly to his cell.

"On your bunk. Get some rest. I'll come back for you later. We're running the first marathon tonight. You're going to be at the starting line with the rest of the boys, and you're going to finish, even if it takes you all night."

Chris nodded. He was tired and his young body ached all over, but he was no quitter. Chris stood at attention and remained perfectly still while his collar and shackles were removed, then, much to the boy's surprise, his chastity device was removed too.

"Boys your age need to have full erections once in a while," he explained. "You can have one while you sleep. You're on your honor, Chris," Jason warned him, holding the separate pieces of the metal cock cage in his hand. "If I found out you've played with yourself, this goes back on and it won't come off for a month."

Chris had already learned that Jason never bluffed. He swallowed hard and promised to be good, even as his long teenaged cock twitched half-way to life. Jason left the cell momentarily and returned with a pair of black gloves. He put them on the boy's obediently outstretched hands.

"These will help you keep your hands where they belong."

Chris examined the gloves and discovered that the palms and undersides of the fingers were covered with tiny sharp metal spikes, even sharper from the looks of them than the ones on his chastity cage. No way he'd be touching himself while he was wearing these things. Jason fondled the boy's balls for a moment, then gently pushed him toward his bunk. Chris lied down on his back and shut his eyes. He heard the door to his cell being closed and locked. His left hand almost instinctively went toward his semi-erect penis, but he quickly pulled it back. It felt good to have everything free down there, even if just for a few hours, but he didn't dare touch it. By now all the boys knew that there were cameras everywhere, watching them around the clock. Chris didn't know exactly where the camera was in his cell, but he knew it had to be there. He was too tired to really want to jerk off anyway. He stretched his lean frame and was sound asleep a few minutes later.

With the morning events over, the crowd disbursed and the boys were led away by their trainers to various practice venues. The day's main event, the junior marathon, would begin with the start of the prime-time broadcast that evening. Several of the boys were sent to the training facility to work with the weights and treadmills. Illya and Ian found themselves with their trainers in the round steeply banked oval of the island's just-completed velodrome, where all the sprint-distance cycling events would take place. David and Josh ended up in the medical suite where they were scheduled for their next appointment with the milking machine.

As the first boys to use the velodrome, Illya and Ian were introduced to the special bicycles the Boy Gladiators would be required to use. A small crowd of curious spectators were in the stands to watch this first trial run. The two boys stared open-mouthed as their trainers Sergei and Anthony rolled two of the bicycles over from the storage rack in the staging area of the oval track. The first thing both boys noticed was that the bikes looked very heavy. The second thing they noticed was that the bikes had long latex dildos in place of seats. The height of the dildo could be adjusted to fit the rider, not necessarily comfortably. The pedals also caught the young slaves attention. They were made of rubber but covered with small metal studs designed to provide maximum pain to a boy's tender feet without actually cutting into their soft flesh. The bicycles also came with leather restraint attachments on the handle bars so the boys could be properly secured to the wicked two-wheeled vehicles.

Illya and Ian shared a worried glance. Both of them had finished in the middle of the pack in the last event, and both of them had very sore butts from sitting down on those wooden pegs. Now these long black latex dildos would be impaling them as they rode around the track.

The boys had their chains and butt-plugs removed and they were led by their trainers to the bikes.

"Hop on, boys," Anthony said cheerfully. He took particular delight in his role and made sure young Ian was properly positioned over the dildo. In order to reach the pedals, the boy had to let the latex invader slip inside him. It was very big for an eleven-year-old boy's rear entrance, but gravity did most of the work. Ian shrieked as the dildo wormed its way into his rectum and he immediately felt his penis go hard, or at least attempt to, within the tight confines of his chastity belt.

Sergei thought it would be fun to give the small curious crowd of onlookers a nice view of his little brother's not so little penis, so he removed Illya's cock cage before putting the boy onto the bicycle. With the dildo working its way past the thirteen-year-old's prostate, the boy soon sported his full and rather amazing eight-inch boner. His hairless body made his penis seem even larger.

The boys straddled the dildos with their feet still on the ground while their wrists were bound to the handle bars with the leather straps.

"Alright, boys," Anthony shouted at them. "Get your feet on those pedals and start moving. We want you at full speed before the first turn. Sergei and I have decided this is an official race. Loser receives ten demerits. Winner gets his cock sucked by the loser. Ten laps."

Sergei blew his whistle and the two naked boys were off, moaning and groaning as the dildo snaked deeper into their bodies, applying more and more pressure on their young and already over-stimulated prostates. Ian could actually feel the globs of pre-cum oozing out of his penis as the natural pedaling motion moved him up and down on the dildo. Illya was leaking his clear fluid in an almost constant stream, but that wasn't a terribly unusual state of affairs for him by now.

The track was designed for sprint distances, so ten laps did not take all that long, even with the boys struggling against the impaling latex prongs in their butts and the painful studs on the pedals beneath their feet. It was a close race. Illya was naturally stronger and more powerful, but he was also considerably less graceful on his bike. Ian was simply the better rider, moving through the banked turns with ease. The small crowd cheered him on and he beat his older partner by the width of his front tire. Illya was visibly pissed about losing to the younger boy, but he'd managed to earn only a handful of demerits thus far so he wasn't terribly worried about his standings. Ian on the other hand was ecstatic. He was currently near the bottom and although the victory earned him no bonus points, at least the demerits went to someone else. Plus he was going to get his cock sucked.

The two boys were released from the bicycles and the assembled spectators were invited to come down onto the track where they formed a close circle around the boys. Ian and Illya first had to bend over and grab their ankles so their trainers could re-insert their butt-plugs. This done, everyone watched and took digital photos as Sergei put his younger brother's chastity cage back on. Ian giggled at his thirteen-year-old partner's misfortune. Meanwhile Ian's own pre-teen penis was sticking up in all its hard 3 and ½ inch glory eager for attention and ready for action.

"You know what to do, Zero-Eight," Sergei said. He took particular care never to call his little brother by his name when anyone else might be within earshot. By now it was no secret the two were related, but Sergei had to maintain a professional distance from his young charge. It really wasn't all that difficult. Sergei had been dominating Illya since they were both very young, and now at seventeen he was thoroughly enjoying having his thirteen-year-old brother firmly under his boot.

Illya dropped to his knees in front of Ian and took the smaller boy's cock into his mouth. Just like all the boys, Ian was still new to the joys of having his cock sucked, and at eleven-and-a-half he was also still quite new to cumming. He'd only started having wet orgasms in the last month or so, and it was still a mind-blowing sensation for the young boy. Ian gasped and moaned as Illya moved his lips up and down over his rock-hard penis. Unable to contain himself, he locked his hands around Illya's head and starting thrusting his hips in and out. Little high-pitched squeaks issued from his throat as he got closer and closer. It never takes a pre-teen boy long to reach orgasm and Ian was about to have one.

"Slow down, Zero-Eight," Sergei said, swatting his younger brother's ass with his prod. "Give the crowd a good show. If you let him cum right now, you'll be punished. Suck his balls for a while."

Illya let out a muffled grunt to indicate he understood.

"And don't you cum yet, Zero-Three," Anthony ordered his young charge, smacking the end of the plug in the eleven-year-old's butt.

A very disappointed Ian was left with a very hard and frustrated dick pointing up toward his belly. He cooed joyously though when he felt the older boy's warm mouth engulfing his barely ripe young balls. Illya rolled his tongue over the boy's smooth silken ball sack and sucked firmly on the kid's testicles.

"Oooohh, yeah . . . " Ian sighed, throwing his head back in delight. He didn't mind not cumming right away if this was his reward for holding back.

Illya performed a minor miracle by managing to keep the incredibly horny eleven-year-old from having an orgasm for nearly fifteen minutes. Finally Ian just couldn't stand it any longer.

"I'm cumming, mate!" he shouted to his partner, tensing his muscles, thrusting his hips forward, gasping breathlessly and squirting his meager supply of pre-teen boy-juice into Illya's mouth. "Oh, man, that was totally awesome!"

Ian's cock was still hard and glistening with spit and his own clear semen when Illya pulled back. The crowd applauded both boys, snapped more photographs and were each given an opportunity to stroke young Ian's cock, keeping him nice and hard for another twenty minutes. Illya meanwhile was helping the two trainers set up the racks for the bicycles and was then sent out with a broom to sweep the track clean. All the while his own penis was painfully engorged within the restrictive confines of its metal cage. Of all the boys on the island, it was Illya's misfortune to have, thus far, experienced the fewest orgasms. He was incredibly horny, and the humiliation of having his cock locked away in the cage while he knelt in front of a younger boy and sucked him off had made him only more desperate for his own release. Sergei knew his little brother was about to explode with sexual frustration, but that was his general plan for the care and treatment of his brother.

"You're going to have to let that boy cum sooner or later," Anthony observed. Illya's sadly swollen dick was obvious to anyone who gave his chastity cage a second glance.

"He can put that energy into the competitions," Sergei replied coldly. "That's what he's here for."

Anthony just smiled, no longer surprised at the young man's strict treatment of his little brother. Sergei had made it clear from the moment their relationship was revealed that he wasn't going to go soft on his brother, and so far he had more than lived up to his promise. Illya was a slave now and nothing more. A valuable one to be sure, but a slave nonetheless. Sergei had no problems at all in treating him like one.

In the sterile confines of the medical suite, David and Josh were on their hands and knees atop the milking tables, both sporting throbbing erections from the vibrating plugs lodged in their rectums. This milking would prove to be somewhat different from the first one they experienced, since this time a small audience of VIP guests was on-hand to witness their ordeal. It was bad enough for the boys being up on that table with their hard cocks and swollen balls swinging between their slender legs, but now with an eager crowd of spectators looking on, it was positively humiliating. The cameras were there too, and the boys' latest milking session would be broadcast on tape delay later that night.

Among the small gathering of visitors was well-dressed woman with her two young pre-teen sons. The little boys were dressed for the tropics, wearing thin white khaki shorts and loose fitting cotton shirts. They were both nicely tanned all the way down to their toes. Both of them were in flip-flops at the moment and their hair was still wet from the beach. Behind them, his head bowed submissively, was their fourteen-year-old houseboy. He was stark naked except for a thick heavy iron collar around his neck. His ankles were shackled and chained. His hairless genitals, average size for his age, were locked into a tight leather harness which forced them to stand out provocatively from his body. The boy's penis was soft, the end of his foreskin pierced with a large golden padlock. The younger of the two boys, barely eight years old, was playfully fondling the slave boy's ripe teenaged balls. The older boy however was utterly fascinated by the proceedings just beginning on the milking tables. He was staring at the dangling balls of the two naked boys, particularly on David's larger and low-hanging set. The front of his shorts was visibly tented, his little pricklet stiff and straight as a nail.

"That one has big balls, mother," he giggled excitedly. All of the adults smiled at him indulgently.

"He's welcome to inspect the boys more closely, Ms. Symington," Allison Trench said as she finished sliding Josh's half-hard penis into the milking tube. "By the looks of him, your slave boy is reaching the age where he'll require regular milkings. Your sons should know how it's done. Proper care and control of a slave boy's sexual organs is a skill every young master or mistress should learn."

"Oh, that would be lovely, doctor. Thank you."

Trench smiled. "Step closer . . . "

"Sean," the young boy replied.

"Step closer, Sean. We'll let the machine take care of Zero-Two here, but we'll milk One-Zero by hand today. Would you like to help me?"

"Oh, yes, please, doctor," the ten-year-old replied enthusiastically. He'd played with his slave's boy-parts before and even made the boy shoot his white stuff a few times, but this was going to be a special treat.

Doctor Trench helped the boy into position beside the milking table. "Just reach between his legs and wrap your hand around his penis."

Sean did as instructed. "His thingy is a lot bigger than Cameron's," he observed, craning his neck back to the family's houseboy. The Symington's had owned Cameron since he was ten, thus Sean had known him for nearly half of his life.

"Well dear, his penis is hard right now. Cameron's isn't. Is Cameron allowed to have erections?"

The boy shot her a puzzled look. Trench smiled and rephrased the question. "Do you let Cameron have boners once in a while?"

"He's not supposed to, ma'am," Sean replied respectfully, adjusting his own rigid little boy-pole with his free hand, "but he does whenever me or Ryan play with it." Sean wasn't particularly shy about admitting that he played with Cameron's boy-parts, or that he often had Cameron play with his. "It's ok, right. I mean that's what Cameron is for, right?" he asked shyly, suddenly worried that maybe he was doing something wrong.

"Cameron is there for whatever you want him for, dear," his mother interjected. Trench nodded her approval.

"Have your little brother get Cameron's penis nice and hard and we'll see how much bigger it gets."

Eight-year-old Ryan was happy to oblige, quickly and rather roughly stroking the older boy's penis to a firm five-inch erection.

"Well, I see One-Zero is a bit bigger than your boy. But it doesn't really matter."

All this time, Sean's hand was firmly wrapped around David's penis, slowly stroking it up and down. David was totally humiliated, having a younger boy handling him like a piece of meat.

"That's good, Sean," Trench praised the eager little lad. "Keep rubbing it up and down like that, very slowly." Karin meanwhile had helped snap a latex glove on Sean's other hand. Doctor Trench herself removed the vibrating plug in David's butt. "Put two of your fingers up there, sweetie," she instructed the little boy.

Sean wrinkled his nose and stared at her. "In his poop hole? I don't think so! That's gross."

"It has to be done, dear. That's why we put the glove on you. Just stick them right in there. Go ahead."

Sean looked back at his mother, who nodded that he should obey. His little brother was wearing that famous 'I dare you' expression on his cute round freckled face.

"Well, okay," the ten-year-old replied. "Here goes." He stuck his middle and index fingers into David's loose and waiting rectum. David moaned aloud as the two short digits entered him and immediately found his prostate.

"Do you feel a little bump in there?" the doctor asked Sean.

Sean rolled his fingers around inside David's butt, causing the older boy to moan even louder and large glob of pre-cum to dribble from the end of his dick.

"Yes, ma'am."

"That's called his prostate. All males have one. You have one. Ryan has one. Cameron has one. When something touches it, it makes boys feel very very funny inside."

"Funny good, or funny bad?" Sean asked.

"Good at first. But if you keep doing it to him, it won't feel so nice after a while. He needs to shoot his sperm, but we're not going to let him. We're going to get it out of him a little bit at a time. You should start doing this with Cameron. He should not be allowed to shot his boy-juice anymore."

"Okay, ma'am. What now?"

"Keep pushing on his little button and give his penis a single stroke every few seconds. Remember you don't want him to have an orgasm."

"That's when he shoots out his stuff, right?"

"Right. You're a smart boy, Sean. Keep going."

For the next half hour the crowd watched in delight as young Sean methodically milked David dry. David was a sobbing teary-eyed wreck when he finally achieved what amounted to a dry orgasm. On the table next to him, the machine was still taking its time with Josh, who had managed the second meager ejaculation of his young life early on but had been experiencing agonizing dry cums ever since. The entire scene had of course been filmed and would be airing later that evening as a teaser before the live broadcast of the main primetime event, the marathon.

The Symington's left the medical suite. There was just enough time for the boys to get a bath before dinner.

"Come on, Cameron," Sean said, attaching a leash to the older boy's collar and dragging him along behind. "I want to try that on you as soon as we get back to the room," he gestured back to David who was still sniffling on the table. "I'm not going to let you shoot your stuff ever again."

Cameron looked particularly terrified at that prospect.

Chapter 34:

It was a warm evening in the suburbs of Johannesburg. A strong dry breeze was blowing through the large windows in the Nguni family dining room. Young Samuel sat at the table with his parents and younger sister, talking of school and work and local neighborhood happenings. It was a perfectly normal family gathering one might find in any home, with the exception of the naked white slave boy standing quietly behind Sam's chair.

Pieter had his head bowed, as was required when he was serving in the dining room. He was wearing a rather nasty leather gag at the moment, special punishment for sneaking a piece of fruit from the sideboard two weeks earlier. He had an erection, which lately seemed to be happening a lot more often, but the belt kept his little three-inch prick from making too lewd a display. Traditionally, for the most part, the family simply ignored Pieter's erections, but now that he was entering puberty and his penis was starting to grow, this was becoming harder and harder to do.

"We really should put that boy in a proper chastity belt," Samuel's mother said as Pieter refilled her iced-tea.

"Or have him fixed," Mr. Nguni suggested. "It's a free service. I could take him to the processing center any time and have it done."

Pieter, though totally uneducated, knew exactly what 'fixing' a white boy meant in South Africa and he quickly gave Samuel a desperate pleading look. The two boys were master and slave, but, having grown up together, they were also friends. For the most part Samuel always looked out for him. Pieter's life was far better than most boys in his position.

"Piet is my slave," Samuel interjected strongly. "It's my decision." His mother stared at him in shock. Samuel was normally a quiet boy. "It is my decision, isn't it, dad?" Sam asked his father in a more respectful tone.

"Absolutely. Piet is your responsibility. But you really need to get his erections under control." Mr. Nguni made a disdainful gesture toward Pieter's errant penis. "Erections at the dinner table, and in front of your little sister. Intolerable."

"We'll find him a good chastity belt then," Samuel said thoughtfully. "How 'bout the kind they make the boys wear on Gladiators."

The whole family liked this idea and the clever mention of Worldwide Boy Gladiators was Sam's way of asking permission to stay up late to watch the live broadcast of the marathon. His mother, of course, was dead set against it, but his father, as always, proved considerably more lenient.

"It's the weekend, dear," he said to his wife. "Shaka doesn't have school tomorrow. If the boy wants to watch his show that's fine." He turned his dark thoughtful eyes to his only son. "As long as you are in bed the moment it is over, young man."

Samuel smiled widely and gave Pieter a surreptitious wink.

"You know," the boy continued, feeling emboldened by his two victories at the dinner table tonight, "I bet I'm stronger than most of those boys on the show. I bet I could beat them. What do you think, dad?"

"Well, they're all great athletes, Shaka, but then so are you. I'm sure you'd do well."

"I'd totally kick their white butts. Heck, I bet Piet could too."

Mom and dad chuckled, little sister giggled and stared at Pieter's hard penis with curious eyes. She wanted to touch it and see what it felt like, but Pieter was Sammy's slave and she was embarrassed to ask him if she could.

"I think Piet and I would make awesome gladiators," Sam continued.

Mr. Nguni gazed at his son for a moment. "You should check their web-site, Shaka. They're already recruiting new boys, for when the oldest ones leave. You could enter Pieter."

Sam's deep brown eyes blazed with excitement for a moment, then softened. "Nah. They don't take boys who are already slaves. They'd take me though."

"Oh, don't you dare, young man," his mother said, wagging her finger at him in disapproval. "I won't have any son of mine running around naked on some disease-infested island in the Caribbean. You see why I don't like that show," she turned to her husband. "Puts crazy ideas in that boy's head."

"Your mother is right, Shaka," Sam's father said sternly. "You need to focus on school."

"But they pay a lot of money, dad," Sam argued. "Roger and Desmond told me their going to pay the next round of boys like, well, five times as much as the first group got."

"We do not need money," his mother replied, somewhat defensively. "Certainly not from XB-1."

That was were the conversation ended, but, back in his room, while Pieter was tidying up, Shaka sat at his computer and pulled up the official Gladiators web-site. The schedule of events for the coming week was posted, as well as the latest standings, video feeds of recent competitions, short interviews with the boy gladiators themselves, bios and all kinds of other cool information. At the very bottom of the page there was a flashing banner with a rotating WBG logo.

'DO YOU HAVE WHAT IT TAKES?'

Sammy clicked it.

'Calling all boys aged eight to twelve. Are you a good athlete? Do you get good grades in school? Think you're tougher and stronger and smarter and faster than the boys on Gladiator Island? Want to prove it? XB-1 needs you. We're recruiting now for a new crop of Boy Gladiators. If you think you've got what it takes, get your parents permission and reply with your email to the address below. Send us a short message telling us why we should consider you for Worldwide Boy Gladiators. There are only ten Boy Gladiators in the whole world. You could be one of them. Why wait. Apply today.'

Sam stared at the screen. It couldn't really be that easy could it?

It was three o'clock on Gladiator Island. The boys were quickly fed an early dinner back in their barracks. Fresh fruit a cup of plain yogurt and a full glass of the corporation's costume-blended energy drink, which the boys now knew as 'Gladiator Punch'. The menu was formulated by Doctor Trench to give them an extra burst of energy and stamina for the marathon. The Gladiator Punch had become a regular part of the boys' diet by this time, and while had a rather strong medicinal taste, it certainly lived up to its promise. Knowing the ordeal that awaited them, the ten young slaves gulped it down in a hurry. Several of them wanted seconds.

"Sorry, boys," the matron told them with a smirk, "one serving per customer."

Mild protests followed, but the boys knew better than to get too vocal when the matron and her guards were close by. Their quick meal finished and cleared up, the boys were taken outside into the exercise yard and told to stretch their limbs for the coming race. They were unusually quiet as they loosened up their already aching arms and legs. Since their first day of training, all of the boys had spent at least an hour each day running the dirt and sand paths that crisscrossed the island in preparation for this event. Sometimes they were chained to their partners, sometimes they ran on their own. Sometimes their arms were bound behind them, sometimes their ankles were chained. They always ran barefoot, but fortunately the paths had been for the most part leveled and cleared. An occasional pebble or small stone were the only real obstacles the boys faced. Still the hard packed sand and dirt was always hot and unforgiving beneath their feet.

After a few minutes of warm-up time, the boys were marched out of the barracks together, heads down, chained in a single file as always. Their trainers escorted them on either side, using their prods to keep the little chain-gang moving at a sharp pace. They were headed to the main arena where the event would start and finish. Already the boys could hear the noise of the crowd and as they entered the building the sounds grew louder. Secured in the holding room, the boys' chains were removed and their chastity devices were replaced with the leather pouches that they had now become accustomed to competing in. The thickness of the leather still prevented any of them from playing with themselves, but the pouches allowed the boys (most of them anyway) to sport nice full erections that would give the crowd a cheap thrill. All of the boys remained plugged, but by now they had all grown accustomed to competing with the thick latex butt-plugs lodged securely in their rectums.

Before being marched up to the arena floor, each boy stood at attention while a large backpack was put around his shoulders and strapped in place with a special chest harness. The backpacks were colored individually for each boy, and they quickly realized that the packs were very heavy. Lead weights had been placed inside the packs before they'd been sealed. The boys would all be running the marathon with one-third of their own body-weight strapped to their backs.

From the arena above, the young gladiators could hear the show's theme music blaring over the loudspeakers. The trainers quickly double-checked the backpacks then gave their boys a sharp jab with the prods.

"Showtime, boys!" Jason shouted.

"Sir, yes, sir!" the boys all yelled back in unison, followed by loud boyish howls of enthusiastic aggression. Still fresh and full of energy, and not yet bothered by the weights strapped their backs, they charged up the ramp and out onto the harshly lit floor of the arena. An excited cheer went up from the crowd. The boys waved and pumped their fists and did their best to look tough for the cameras. They playfully jostled and pushed each other as they ran an opening lap around the edge of the arena.

On the overhead scoreboard, each boy's statistics and his current score were displayed. The various giant viewscreens which hung from the roof were running replays of recent events on a continual feed. Once the race started, each screen would be showing a live feed from a different section of the island's cross-country track. As the boys' stats were flashed up, the crowd reacted with cheers or hisses of various intensity. Already some of the boys were becoming beloved or sympathetic crowd favorites, while others were seen as potential villains. Cuddly little Miles was showered with adoration. Josh and Chris, both well-liked and early favorites in the ratings, were given appropriate applause. Danny and Gabriel, who appeared to be the strongest overall team at the moment were also perceived as being somewhat dirty players and were booed accordingly, much to their great delight.

"I think they hate us, Gabe," Danny observed as he worked up a dramatic snarl for the cameras.

"Yeah. Looks like we're the bad guys, Dan."

"Cool!"

At the sound of Jason's whistle, the ten boys positioned themselves at the start-finish line. Their trainers stood in front of them, giving them their final instructions. Alex Wright gripped Miles' firmly by the shoulders.

"No one expects you to win, Zero-One. Except me."

The ten-year-old flashed a cocky smile. Running was his specialty. He'd actually finished several full-length marathons. This one was junior-length, exactly eighteen miles. He liked the distance and he'd memorized every twist and turn, rise and fall of the island-wide course. He was confident and excited.

"I'll do my best, sir," the littlest gladiator said, his dark eyes flashing.

"Time to show these guys what you're made of."

Miles pointed to the tunnel that led out of the arena and onto the island. Currently it was closed with a set of heavy iron bars. When the bars were raised the event would officially begin. "I'm gonna be the first one out of here, and the first one back, sir."

Alex liked the little ten-year-old's courage. "Just remember, you're not the only one who's a good runner. Pace yourself, just like we practiced."

"Okay, okay. Let's go. I'm ready."

Alex patted his boy on the rump and stepped away. All the trainers had now left their boys alone on the starting line. The crowd had fallen silent in anticipation. As the ten boys cast their eyes from one to another, William Durand slowly stood up from his luxury box. Young Trevor was beside him, chained to his owner's chair and dressed appropriately in dark red running shorts. He held the starting flag aloft and waited for the command. The live broadcast was currently in a commercial break.

Sixty seconds later, Mike Brussard got the word from the production booth and waved his hand in Durand's direction. Trevor dropped the flag with an enthusiastic flourish. At that same moment a loud klaxon sounded in the arena and the iron grate rose swiftly, opening the tunnel. As promised, Miles was off like a shot, leaving the older boys behind and momentarily bewildered. Soon they were all running full-speed toward the tunnel, as flash-bulbs went off all around them. Chris was the last boy out, running as best he could on his bruised feet. He was trying not to think about the distance.

'Just keep running,' he thought to himself. The boy knew that all sorts of strange and unexpected things tended to happen on Gladiator Island. He knew he had no chance of winning this race, but if he could manage to finish, he might just possibly not finish last.

With all the boys out of the arena and headed out onto the marathon course, the majority of the spectators filed out as well, heading toward the many viewing areas along the winding course that had been specially set up for this event. A significant number however still remained in the stands, preferring to watch the race on the multiple high-definition screens overhead.

The trainers had a quick meeting on the arena floor, getting their instructions from Jason and Roger. "Alex, Anthony, Sergei and Natasha," Roger said, "we'll want you on the four-by-fours patrolling to course. If you see a boy lagging behind, give him a good shock with your prod, but if it looks like any of them are really in trouble, call medical immediately. We're particularly worried about Zero-Seven. Keep a close eye on him."

"Michella, Hannah, Calvin and Elaina," Jason added, "we've got you at the water stations along the course. Make sure all the boys take water when they pass you. No boy is allowed to refuse." Elaina was Philippe's sadistic boy-hating trainer, the youngest of the females, close in age to Sergei. "Roger and I are going up in the helicopter with Mike to get overhead shots and keep an eye on things. We've activated the nanochips we installed in the boys' scrotums a few weeks back."

The trainers all looked shocked and the more evil of them looked pleased. They all remembered the absolute terror on the faces of ten young boys as the virtually invisible chips were injected into their dangling hairless ball sacks, and they had all privately wondered when they might come into play.

"No, we're not using the behavioral modification settings. None of your boys are having their balls shocked. Although we will leave that option open to you if your boy seems to be dogging it. But the chips do have transmitters so we can track their whereabouts on the island. We'll be able to tell you where each boy is minute by minute. Now let's get out there before the little slaves get too far along."

The trainers departed to their assigned tasks, with Jason and Roger meeting Mike Brussard on the way out.

"Great day for a race, guys," the network's award-winning director said with a smile. "I've got camera teams stationed just about everywhere. This is going to be one hell of a broadcast."

The race was off to a good start. After sprinting out of the arena, Miles slowed his pace significantly. He was only ten years old, the youngest and smallest of the boy gladiators, but he was the most experienced runner. He wasn't worried when David, Illya and Philippe with their long slim legs all passed him in a single group.

"You guys are running too fast," he yelled to them. "Slow down or you'll never finish!"

But teenaged boys generally don't listen to ten-year-olds. Miles just smirked and kept running. His only worry was the heavy pack strapped to his back. He didn't know how that was going to affect him as the race went on, but he figured all the other boys would be having similar problems so everything should balance out. He was also bothered by the plug in his butt. He hated running with that thing inside him. His little pickle was rock hard at the moment, jutting straight out against the leather pouch. He reached down and adjusted it into a more comfortable position, not once breaking his steady stride. At ten, Miles hadn't really developed any particular interest in his penis. He really didn't think too much about it all, when it came right down to it. It was just there between his legs. Sometimes it got hard, sometimes it didn't. Until his arrival on Gladiator Island he'd never even experienced a dry orgasm, and even though he liked having that funny special feeling and wouldn't have minded having it more often, he wasn't suffering from its denial the way the other boys seemed to be. He was the only boy who was not frantically and desperately frustrated by the strict chastity regime imposed on the boy gladiators. There were times, Miles realized, when it was good to be little.

With his little erection now bobbing at a more comfortable angle, Miles returned his full attention to the course. He'd memorized the whole thing from start to finish and knew there was a rough section coming up with lots of twists and turns and hills. He slowed down a bit and took several deep breaths, even as Josh, Ian and Danny passed him in quick succession.

'That's six of 'em' he thought to himself.

Looking briefly over his shoulder he saw Alexei and Gabriel running side-by-side about twenty paces back. Miles figured right from the start that Gabe, his fellow Englishman, was going to be his toughest competition. He was a football player and used to covering long distances at speed, without a break, for hours at a time. Gabe was also very smart and seemed to have adopted Miles own strategy of hanging back and letting the older, bolder and at least in this case stupider boys run themselves to exhaustion before the half-way point.

Gabriel looked ahead and saw Miles now jogging backwards, staring straight at him. He gave the youngest gladiator a smug little smirk. The two boys seemed to read each other's minds in that moment.

Miles decided he didn't want Gabriel getting ahead of him, so he chose to expend a little energy and sprinted off at top speed. Gabriel saw the little boy take off and picked up his own pace, leaving Alexei behind.

"See you at back at the arena, slowpoke," the twelve-and-a-half-year-old called with mock sweetness in his young pubescent voice.

Alexei wanted to snap off an appropriately insulting comeback, but his command of English was not all that good and he was already getting winded. Looking over his own shoulder he wondered where Chris was.

Far behind was the answer. Chris had managed to keep up with the pack for the first mile or so, but then they started to leave him behind as he limped along on his sore and bruised feet. When Chris finally came to the first set of hills, all of the other boys were already out of sight.

"Dammit!" he said aloud as he struggled up the gentle grassy slope. He was already feeling the strain from the weights in his backpack. He was heading for disaster and he knew it. Tears started to form in his eyes. "I can't finish last! I can't!"

Back in the arena, William Durand remained in his luxury box, watching the action on the screens above. He was entertaining a wealthy visitor and potential investor in the show, pointing out all the care and planning that had gone into ensuring Worldwide Boy Gladiators remained a viable long-term success. The investor, and young man with money to burn, had brought his own slave boy with him and now the lad stood submissively alongside Trevor behind their masters' chairs. Both boys were nude and collared. Trevor, whose silky skimpy running shorts had been dropped immediately after the starting flag, looked over shyly at the newcomer. The other boy appeared to be about his own age and had the same slim, small build. Trevor noticed that the boy's genitals were the same size as his own, and that the boy's penis was pierced with a thick steel ring which kept the tiny useless organ in an obedient downward curve.

"I'm Trevor," the fourteen-year-old said softly. He knew his master was too preoccupied to be paying any attention, but he still kept his voice low and quiet.

"Kyle," the other boy said in a voice that sounded more like it belonged to a ten-year-old than a young teenager. He had dark hair and brown eyes and bronzed skin indicating that a great deal of his life was spent outdoors. On the left side of the boy's chest, a ten digit slave number had been permanently tattooed in dark ink.

The two boys talked quietly for several minutes. Trevor found out Kyle was in fact fifteen years old, although his body resembled that of a much younger boy. They discovered they were both receiving regular testroxil treatments. It was the first time Trevor had met another boy like himself.

"It really sucks not being able to get hard anymore," Kyle lamented softly to his newfound and sympathetic comrade.

"Yeah," Trevor replied, though in truth he could likely count on one hand the number of erections he'd had since he became William Durand's slaveboy at the age of ten. He'd been locked in a chastity belt that very first night and when that finally came off for good at age eleven, the testroxil had already taken its intended effect. He really didn't miss erections all that much because he could barely remember ever having one. "How long has your master kept you like that?" the young teen asked, pointing to the other boy's tiny genitals.

"Since I was twelve," Kyle whispered softly, unable to hide the shame in his eyes. "I had a real big dick when it started, now it's like what, an inch long?"

The two boys moved a bit closer and compared their pathetic little penises. To his surprise, Trevor's was actually a little bit bigger, not that it mattered a whole lot. His was every bit as dormant and useless as Kyle's.

"I trust you two are having a nice conversation?" It was Durand's voice that interrupted them, sending both boys snapping to attention with wide fearful eyes. "I say we gag them both for the rest of the day, Tom, how about you?"

Durand's young but wealthy guest nodded his head in agreement. "Sounds like an excellent plan."

"This evening they both can provide us with some entertainment," Durand said, staring at his fourteen-year-old slave with malice.

"I've always loved your hospitality," Tom replied. "Ever since I was kid. My dad always told me there's always something interesting happening around Bill Durand. Stay close to him and maybe some of his good fortune will rub off on you."

"Has it?"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

It was well past midnight in Johannesburg, but young Sammy 'Shaka' Nguni was wide awake. He was sitting naked on his bed, his firm legs spread wide, idly stroking his thick five-inch long erection as he watched the race unfold. His hairless light brown skin glistened with a fine sheen of sweat. The boy let go of his erection and jiggled his low-hanging balls, quite large for a boy not yet twelve. "I think Zero-Six is going to win, Pieter. What do you think?"

Pieter, equally naked stood beside his young master's bed, his own much smaller erection held firmly against his groin by the humiliating belt. At least he could still get hard. All that talk at dinner of putting him into a real chastity belt had made him a very unhappy twelve-year-old. He gazed at the liquid plasma television, no thicker than a credit chip and checked the current times and standings. "I say Zero-One, Shaka."

Privately, the two boys were on a first name basis. Out in public things were different, but Samuel and Pieter had grown up together, and they were friends in spite of the ever present complexity of also being master and slave.

"Zero-One! That little squirt!" Sam laughed, giving his erection several more absent-minded tugs. "Why do you say that? He's almost last already."

"He's the only one who's a real runner."
"Well, I guess you got a point about that."

Pieter nodded vehemently. "Sure do."

"Okay, smart-ass, I'll bet you a blow job Zero-Six finishes first."

Pieter's eyes got wide. He'd been sucking Samuel's cock for him since they were both ten, but Sam had never, ever, even once shown any interest in sucking his. 'Masters don't do that kind of thing, Piet,' he'd said. 'That's what slaves do.'

"For real?" the twelve-year-old slave asked. His three inch boner twitched madly despite being constrained by the belt.

"For real. I'll suck your little white dick if Zero-One wins the race."

"You're on."

The two boys shook on it and Pieter was given the rare privilege of joining Samuel on his bed. Sam's penis remained half hard, as did Piet's. The two pre-teens were incredibly horny and eager for the end of the race, but that was still at least an hour away.

It came as no surprise to anyone that three of the boys with the longest legs were the first ones to reach the first water station. Hannah and Michella shouted out the boys' times as they handed them small paper cups for drinking on the run. Michella was less than proud to see David in the lead.

"Slow down, you stupid idiot," she yelled at him. "You'll run yourself right out of the race. If you don't finish you'll wish you'd never been born."

Fourteen-year-old David had already spent enough time alone with his boy-hating feminist trainer to know she wasn't kidding. But at the moment, all his adrenaline-addled brain could think about was that he was in first place and feeling really strong. His legs didn't hurt at all, and that little burn he was starting to feel in his lungs didn't mean all that much to him.

Michella was still shouting at him when he disappeared down the slope, with Illya and Philippe close on his heels. "Boys are so stupid," she said to Hannah. "He's a swimmer. He's not used to long distances like this and the little dumb-ass is running like it's a sprint. He'll be dead on his feet in another five miles."

Hannah just smirked. She was proud to see that Josh wasn't in the lead group. She'd drilled it into the eleven-year-old's head that keeping a steady pace as the key to a good finish. She didn't expect Josh to win, less than two days removed from his ordeal in the black room, but she certainly expected him to cross the finish line. She'd given him orders to finish in the top five.

Josh had stared up at her with dread in his young brown eyes, wondering what horrible punishment awaited him if he failed to live up to his trainer's expectations.

Less than a minute later, Josh and Danny passed the first water station and took their little paper cups with obvious relief.

"You're right on target, Josh," Hannah said to him, one of the rare times she'd actually called him by his name. "Keep those little legs moving!"

"Yes, ma'am!" Josh called as he tossed his crumpled cup onto the grass and hurried on down the gentle hill. Danny was running right beside him. The two boys, who had become good friends despite their fierce rivalry in competition, had decided to run the race together for as long as they could. Danny's legs were probably a little bit stronger, but Josh was definitely faster, and both boys knew that their alliance was just a temporary strategy.

"Hate t' tell ya, Danny . . . but I'm gonna win this thing, ay," Josh said between gaping breaths, playfully mocking the young Canadian's trademark dialectic.

"You haven't beaten me at anything yet, Josh!"

With that, Daniel raced forward just a bit, to show off the strength of his muscular young legs. An equally determined Josh lowered his head and sprinted after him, only slowing down when he was several paces ahead of the older boy.

Back in the United States, Matt and Lindsay Andrews were hosting the first of many neighborhood 'Gladiator' parties. Taking advantage of their young sons' newfound celebrity status that had suddenly made them the talk of the town. Since the premier broadcast last week, the couple were being recognized everywhere they went as the 'Gladiator parents'. A small minority of citizens may have privately thought it abhorrent for parents to allow their handsome and for the most part well-behaved sons to be indentured and taken away as slaves. Most people though found it a perfectly sensible and certainly lucrative thing to do and more than a few families were already trying to find ways to get one or more of their boys into a similarly wealth-making arrangement. There were sure to be copy-cat shows on other networks, and word had already gone out that XB-1 itself had started recruiting a new batch of boy gladiators to replace the older ones as they wore out.

The Andrews and several of their closest friends were gathered around the newly purchased wide-screen liquid plasma television to watch the marathon. Matthew eagerly boasted about Josh's athletic prowess every time the little eleven-year-old was on the screen.

"Look at that strong little body," he said proudly as his nearly naked son filled the screen. "He's a star."

"Didn't he finish tenth last week?" one of Lindsay's co-workers reminded everyone. Matthew didn't have an answer for that, and of course he didn't say much at all about poor Chris, who was currently shown to be dead last and had been in that position since the starting whistle.