Worldwide Boy Gladiators Part 18

Worldwide Boy Gladiators Part 18
By istari

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

Comments are welcome and can be directed to
istari_olias@yahoo.com
* * * * *

Chapter 37:

The evening competition featured the tug-o-war, an event that would quickly become a staple of the Gladiators prime-time line-up. The event was held outdoors on the grassy field that would later host the boys' five-on-five football matches (the international, American, and Australian versions!). The surrounding stands were still under construction, but the pitch itself was ready and temporary bleachers had been set up to accommodate the fans. Gabriel was especially excited to see the fresh green grass and couldn't wait until the day came when he could demonstrate his football skills to the world. Roger had to take hold of the twelve-year-old's collar to keep him in check.

"You'll get your chance. Now behave yourself." Roger smacked the back of Gabe's head to keep him in line. The former United star understood the boy's excitement, he got the same feeling every time he stepped onto a field, but the first match was still a month away. Besides, the boy would probably not be so happy when he learned about the special rules of Gladiator football. With the mules engaged in other menial activities around the island, it was left to the gladiators themselves to prepare the field for the night's event. Under the supervision of the trainers, the boys used hoses to wet the center of the field, quickly turning it into a muddy quagmire. Being high-spirited boys, they soon turned the hoses on each other, laughing and giggling, spraying each other in the face and chest and generally having the kind of unruly fun that only boys seem to appreciate. Poor Ian was still receiving regular shocks to his penis from the battery-powered unit taped to his leg, but it didn't stop him from joining in the youthful mayhem. Fourteen-year-old Philippe, with his tongue still stretched out of his mouth and stuck between the two steel rods was quite delighted to take as much water in the face as he could, more than enough to finally wash away the pepper oil they'd put there earlier. All of the other boys were more than happy to oblige.

Several of the trainers moved in with their shock sticks to break things up and restore order to the pack of naked boys, but Jason stopped them.

"Let them be boys for a while," he said, enjoying the sight of their lithe young bodies, quickly being covered in mud. "It'll do them good. Besides, they're just making the field muddier and slipperier . . . and wearing themselves out."

All the trainers agreed that a group of tired boys on wet and slippery ground would make the upcoming event a lot more dramatic.

When Jason blew his whistle ten minutes later, the boys were all covered from their necks down to their bare toes in muck. They quickly lined up with their hands behind their heads, no longer needing special instruction to assume this position. Jason was privately pleased that the boys had become so disciplined and submissive to authority so quickly. He and many of the other trainers had feared they would have a bunch of rebellious little hellions on their hands from day one, but the island's strict regime and the ever-present threat of punishment and humiliation worked wonders on the psyches of these young boys. Ten obedient young slaves now awaited their next challenge.

"I hope you all enjoyed your little mud fight. The boss wants you sparkling clean when this event starts."

With that, the trainers hosed the boys down front and back, washing away the muck and grime. The boys' feet remained quite muddy though since the center of the field was now satisfactorily swamp-like.

"Alright, trainers," Jason continued, coordinating the final preparations. The first spectators were just beginning to fill the stands. "Get their chastity devices off them and let's divide them up."

The boys were split into two teams of five. Illya, Chris, Danny, Josh and Miles made up the first team. David, Philippe, Gabriel, Alexei and Ian comprised the second. While these two line-ups would vary slightly as different events dictated, for the most part, whenever there was a five-on-five competition, this is how the boys would be distributed until the older boys' indentures began to expire. For this event, Illya would anchor the first team, who had quickly dubbed themselves the Tigercats at Danny's suggestion. David anchored the second team who were still arguing over what to call themselves when Jason's whistle blew yet again.

The stands were now full and the two teams were quickly lined up on opposite sites of the mud-pit. All of their dicks were soft at the moment, hanging lazily or flopping adorably between their legs as they anxiously shifted from foot to foot. Naturally they bent down to pick up the rope at their feet but were quickly ordered to stand at attention. The rope being used was not the thick heavy hemp variety customary for this event, rather a very thin nylon-composite, strong, flexible and virtually unbreakable under tension.

"You won't be using your hands for this event," Jason explained. All of the boys immediately began to get a bad feeling as to where the rope was going to be attached. "Stradle the rope, boys, and wait your turn. Hands behind your backs." The boys obeyed, setting their bare muddy feet on either side of the rope and clasping their hands behind them.

Josh craned his neck back and looked past Danny to his big brother. "That rope's goin' around our balls, isn't it?" he asked.

Chris nodded slowly and felt his penis stiffen slightly at the thought.

Working from David's end, Hannah and Elaina began securing each boy's hands behind him with handcuffs and silencing each of them with a ball-gag. They skipped Philippe, whose tongue was still held between the two metal rods. To his considerable relief, the pepper oil had finally lost its potency.

Working from Illya's end, Anthony and Natasha had the more complicated task of securing the rope to each boy. Illya winced as a short length of nylon rope was tied first around the base of his genitals, then wrapped tightly around his balls, stretching them downward and forcibly separating them. Anthony continued wrapping the rope around and between the thirteen-year-old's plump ripe balls until all the excess was taken up. The last loose ends were then tied to a small loop on the end of the main rope, which was now left hanging from Illya's balls. The tugging rope had nine more of these loops, positioned not coincidently between each boy's spread legs. Over the next few minutes all of the other boys had their balls tied off and attached to the main rope in identical fashion. Ian still had the sound in his dick, the mesh cap holding it place, the control unit still taped to his thigh. He would be competing in this event while receiving shocks to his already itching and aching penis.

The trainers had some difficulty coaxing Danny's now dormant testicles back down into his sack, but once this was accomplished the chemically castrated boy stood with his useless balls tied to the rope just like all the others. Miles, with his little ten-year-old marbles, also presented some problems, and he endured some rather rough handling until his balls were properly and tightly cinched by the slender rope. He ended up with a cute bouncing erection for all his pain and troubles. Any time little Miles sported a stiffy it always drew laughter and applause from the crowd, and this occasion proved no exception. He smiled for the cameras through his ball-gag and wiggled his hips in a lewd fashion, solidifying his reputation as the best little showman among the boy gladiators.

With the boys now tied to the tugging rope, the center line for the event was established with red flags on either side of the muddy pit. The rules for the event were very simple. At Jason's whistle, the two teams would start pulling in opposite directions. Each time a boy was pulled across the center line by his balls, he would be eliminated from the event, leaving his team one boy down. The first team with all their players eliminated would lose the contest.

The cameras were set. The crowd was more than ready. Jason raised his whistle to his lips and the latest cruel and humiliating competition for the boys began amid a flurry of flashbulbs and dramatic music. With their hands bound behind them and their bare feet on the slippery mud beneath them it was a struggle for the boys to dig in and get any leverage. Nevertheless, all ten of the young gladiators immediately felt the painful and relentless tug on their cinched-up ball sacks. Miles and Ian were the boys first in line on either side, closest to the flags and certain elimination. As the two teams pulled against each other, slipping and struggling for balance in the mud, the pressure on all their young balls grew worse and worse. It took only the first few seconds for all the slack in the rope to be taken up, resulting in blinding flashes of agony between all their young legs.

Illya and David, as the anchors, naturally got the worse of things, feeling every tug of the already taut rope. Gagged as they were, it was impossible for the boys to communicate with their teammates using anything other than grunts and groans. Just keeping their feet under them was a big enough challenge, but none of the boys wanted to lose. For five full minutes the two teams managed a stalemate, staring across the pit from each other, growling through their gags and using their muscular young legs to tug away with all their might even as tears came to their eyes.

Miles was the first boy to lose his footing and fall to the ground. He was quickly dragged shrieking by his balls through the mud and across the center line. The contest was temporarily halted while the ten-year-old was detached from the rope and his wrists untied behind him. His tiny genitals however remained snuggly and painfully cinched. He cradled them gently in his hands as he stumbled to the edge of the quagmire. He was immediately given ten demerits for touching himself, but he really didn't care since he'd won the marathon and was sitting on a whole mountain of bonus points. He figured he could afford to give up a few of them. Miles would watch the rest of the contest sitting in the mud, dejected to have been eliminated, but happy his tender little boy-parts weren't attached to that rope anymore.

With his recently sprained ankle, and the electric shocks still zapping his genitals every few minutes, it wasn't surprising that young Ian was the next to lose his footing and go down into the muck. Seeing him falter, the four remaining boys on the other side all tugged together, screaming into their ball-gags as their aching swollen balls were jerked violently by their efforts. Ian's team-mates tried their best to pull back, but looking down and seeing your balls being tugged away from your body has a rather disheartening effect a boy. All of them groaned in unison as they were pulled toward the center line. Ian was on his butt now, still bravely working his legs trying to find some footing that would let him get back up even as he was dragged closer and closer to the center of the pit.

Finally the whistle blew. The eleven-year-old Aussie was freed from the rope. He crawled over to Miles and sat down beside him, just as another jolt of electricity shot through his penis. He yelped pathetically and came very close to pulling the sound out of his dick. A quick glare from Anthony stopped him just in time.

"Don't even think about it, boy," he told his young charge. He bent down to the controller taped to the boy's thigh. "Just for that I'm changing the timer to one minute. If I see you trying that again, I'll increase the voltage too. Would you like that?"

With the big ball-gag still stuffed in his mouth, Ian vehemently shook his head no. Now he'd just made things worse for himself. He'd be having the inside of his penis shocked once a minute. He didn't even want to think about how it would feel if the power was turned up too. The shocks were having a strange effect on him. At first, they'd made his penis want to get hard, but now they seemed to be keeping him soft. His wiener, not exactly small for a boy his age though nothing compared to Joshua's giant organ, hung there now like a limp wet sausage. He didn't want it to get hard as that seemed to make the shocks more painful. He looked over at Miles, gagged just like he was, and the two boys shared a moment of commiseration.

With one boy eliminated from each team, another stalemate ensued, and this one looked like it might go on for a while. David and Illya, the two anchors, had finally gotten the hang of balancing themselves without the use of their arms by using their strong adolescent legs for leverage. The ground was still slippery beneath their bare feet, but they weren't sliding around as much. This gave their team-mates a chance to do the same. The two teams were now locked in a lengthy pulling contest, their ball sacks swollen and purple and very sore, their faces all clenched in anguished but determined grimaces. The cameras zoomed in for delightful close-ups of the pain and misery on each boy's face. Josh cursed at them through his ball-gag, even as his face filed the enormous viewing screen, his freckled little nose wrinkled up as he panted and struggled and pulled for all he was worth.

All of the boys had a constant stream of tears running down their cheeks now, to the joy and excitement of the crowd. This was what they paid for. Watching from the comfort of his private study, with a nude Trevor sitting obediently at his feet, William Durand was smiling. This was also what he had paid for. His investment in this show was already paying off in ways he could never have predicted. Proposals for licensing and merchandizing WBG products, and a lengthy prospectus for opening more 'Gladiator Island'-themed resorts all around the world currently littered his desk. He was particularly taken with the idea of marketing the boys' images and bodies for various suitable high-quality products. And Mattel's proposal for a full line of Worldwide Boy Gladiator Action Figures was sure to be a hit with young boys who dreamed of stardom, or just wanted to conduct their own gladiator events in their bedrooms. The international toy giant had sent him their prototype of one of the figures. It was most certainly Joshua Andrews, the facial and bodily likeness was uncanny, right down to the adorable miniature chastity belt. Durand was particularly amused to find that the Josh action figure was, in fact, anatomically correct.

'They've even got his big dick,' he'd thought with a smirk. He handed the toy down to Trevor.

"What do you think, Trev? Would you play with something like that?" Trevor examined the plastic version of Josh. "I guess if I was a bit younger, sir. I'm too old for toys now, sir."

Durand ran his fingers through the boy's long blond hair. "Well, at least for those kinds of toys."

Trevor giggled and returned his attention to the tug-o-war. Durand noticed that the boy had not offered to hand the action figure back.

For almost ten minutes now the two teams had fought to a virtual stand-still. The crowd was getting restless for more eliminations.

"This is not good television," Mike Brussard told Jason through his head-set. "What exactly am I supposed to be filming here?"

"Alright, alright. Don't get your shorts twisted, Mike. We'll work on it."

The trainers decided it was best to turn the hoses back on and make the mucky field even slipperier and muddier, and if they happened to accidentally spray the boys down with frigid water in the process, well that would just add another element of difficulty to the event. The trainers grabbed the hoses and aimed them at the boys' feet, at least at first. It wasn't long before all the boys were being hit in the chest and face with harsh streams of ice-cold water.

The rabid crowd was now chanting for one or more of the boys to fall. They got their wish a moment later when Josh slipped backwards and fell onto his back, tugging his balls most painfully. Josh's fall caused Danny to lose his balance behind him and he too went down. Josh was quickly dragged by his ball-sack across the center line, and before the trainers could blow the whistle, David's team managed to pull Danny out into the pit was well. Jason stopped the contest and the trainers briefly conferred. Then, the first of the hot Gladiators controversies was born, as they decided this had to be a double elimination. Josh and Danny both had their balls detached from the rope and were marched over to the edge of the pit. Danny was struggling wildly and shouting into his gag as the trainers planted him on his butt next to an equally furious Josh. Daniel had not technically been pulled across the center line, and perhaps, by the strictest rules should have been allowed to stand back up and remain with his team-mates.

Fans who had been rooting for Danny's Tigercats, or had bet money on them, were vocally upset about this turn of events, but controversy, of course, makes for excellent sport.

Chris and Illya meanwhile were staring nervously at the muddy pit. Both of them were sporting firm erections by this time, though neither boy was paying much attention to that. All that was on their young minds now was the simple fact that when the contest resumed it would be four boys against two, and that they were on the short end of that equation. Illya was particularly nervous. He knew Chris was still not feeling well, so really it was more like four boys against one-and-a-half. He took the short time before the contest was reset to dig his feet into the muck as far as he could. He actually managed to get himself in fairly deep, his right leg, his strongest, in almost to his ankle. If the out-numbered gladiators had any advantage it was that the two of them were certainly the most muscular and well-built of all of these supremely athletic boys. A life in gymnastics had given Illya fantastic upper-body strength, and his legs were by far the thickest and sturdiest of all the boys. Chris, lean and wiry, had the perfect swimmer's body. He couldn't add much pure body mass to his depleted team, but he was all muscle and deceptively strong despite his slender appearance.

Unable to communicate because of their gags, both boys nonetheless came up with the same plan. Separately, but with like minds, they decided they would have to jump the next whistle, just a bit, not so much that they would be accused to cheating, but enough to catch David's team napping. They dug in and listened keenly for the starting whistle.

By sheer good fortune, Chris and Illya timed their start almost perfectly to the second as Jason's whistle began to blow. As they'd both hoped, David's team was caught off guard. Illya managed to shout a barely intelligible "Pull! Chris!" into his ball-gag. The two thirteen-year-olds worked their strong legs, momentarily ignoring the sharp pains in their tightly bound balls. On the other side of the pit, Alexei was the first boy in line. He was struggling fiercely to recover his precarious balance, slipping and sliding, his ball sack now pulled painfully out from his body, farther than he'd ever imagined it could go. The tension in the opposite direction from his three older team-mates was only making it hurt worse. With a look of surprise and agony on his face, he was pulled toward the center line, then back for a few seconds, then once again forward and past the two red flags. The whistle blew, announcing Alexei's elimination. The crowd applauded the brave bold effort of Boys Zero-Seven and Zero-Eight. As Alexei joined the other eliminated boys in the mud, the contest resumed, now at a somewhat more even 3-on-2.

For another five minutes, Illya's enormous strength and Chris' stubborn determination managed to keep a balance of power between the two teams. All of the remaining boys were now wet and miserable and fairly covered with mud from the waist down. The sun was setting and the bright lights that surrounded the field were coming on, casting eerie shadows. Clouds were building on the horizon, promising another night of rain.

After soldiering on as best his could, Christopher's sore feet finally betrayed him. He was tired and hurting, his balls were on fire, and he simply could not keep his throbbing feet under him for another second. He gazed back sadly at his team-mate. Illya could read the message in his fellow thirteen-year-old's eyes. The strongest, tallest boy on the island also had the softest, kindest heart. He figured he'd end up finishing this event by himself anyway, and so, for just a moment, he allowed himself to slip. Chris' elimination would thus appear to be mostly Illya's fault and not his own, sparing him some humiliation if not some punishment.

David's team took immediate advantage of Illya's 'slip'. Demonstrating some actual coordination for the first time, they all pulled together, screaming into their gags as the pain ripped through their balls. Chris screamed too as he skipped and stumbled over the center line and fell flat on his stomach into the mud. As he was marched over to the other boys sitting miserably with their butts in the muck, he looked back at Illya and give him a private smile. Illya nodded sharply, dug his feet in again as best he could and waited for the restart, a 3-on-1 which would certainly spell his quick, painful and messy defeat.

The crowd began chanting for him as he stood there, tall and brave and totally doomed. The cameras zoomed in on the boy-gymnast's fantastic young legs, presently caked with muck up to his knees. The cameras panned up slowly, pausing for just a moment at the boy's huge man-sized erection and his cruelly tied balls. They then passed over his lean muscular torso and finally stopped at his anguished but fiercely determined face. Illya had beautifully pale alabaster skin when he first arrived here, and frequent applications of powerful sunscreen had mostly kept him that way. While the other boys were all turning a golden bronze, a pinkish glow was the only evidence of Illya's weeks spent naked under the tropical sun. The boy stared into the camera, tired but still defiant, his hazel eyes soft yet full of boyish strength. He did not smile. He almost never smiled. It simply wasn't part of his character.

Jason gave David's team a few seconds to get set then blew the whistle. Even Illya himself was surprised just how quickly it ended. In a single coordinated effort, David, Philippe and Gabriel pulled back on the rope, groaning and moaning as their balls were tugged further away from their bodies. Illya was quickly uprooted from his dug-in stance and was now slipping and sliding through the mud, being pulled by his balls toward the red flags that marked the center of the pit. He managed to keep his feet under him, more than most of the other eliminated boys had done, but he was still forced across the imaginary line. The final whistle blew an instant later. Illya dropped to his knees and fell over onto his side. David, Philippe and Gabriel celebrated their victory in hooting hollering boyish fashion, but quickly discovered that jumping up and down was not a terribly bright idea with their balls cinched to the tugging rope.

The boys were all freed of their gags, except poor Philippe of course, and the ropes around their genitals were removed. All the boys were left with deep red marks and all of them now had scrotums ranging in color from dark red to dark purple and all quite painful. Most of them were feeling sick to their stomachs, that stabbing, deep, horrible feeling a boy gets after he's been kicked in the family jewels.

Having survived elimination, David, Philippe and Gabriel each received ten bonus points. Miles and Alexei, by virtue of being on the winning team got five. Chris and Illya for their bravery and strength in almost evening the odds against them were given three points each. Chris knew that three measly little points weren't going to help him avoid the punishment wheel tomorrow, but it felt good to be called out for special recognition after having such a painful and difficult week, which he knew was only going to get worse after he spun the wheel. Illya who was already near the top in points, as he always seemed to be, took his bonus with his usual quiet humility.

As a final reward, the winners got their cocks sucked by the losers. The losing team was lined up on their knees in front of the winners, in the same order they'd been tied to the rope. Thus Illya sucked David's aching frustrated dick, Chris got his first taste of the French boy's cock, Danny sucked Gabe's dick for the very first time, Josh had Alexei's rather thick sausage in his mouth (Josh's own long dick flapping flaccidly between his thighs), and Ian, still being shocked by the battery-pack, got to suckle on Miles' cute little pickle. Naturally it wasn't long before the five horny suckees were moaning and sighing and curling their toes as one by one they each came.

With the first ever Gladiators tug-o-war now successfully concluded, and with five of the boys wearing the warm afterglow of orgasm on their sweet young faces, the crowd departed leaving the gladiators and their trainers on the muddy field. With a few hours before the final event of the weekend, the first order of business was getting the mud-covered boys clean and sparkling again. The trainers quickly turned the hoses on the boys once again, ordering them to stand still and take the assault of ice cold water on their nude bodies. When every inch of them, except their bare feet, was clean, they finally had their ball-gags taken out.

"Man, my balls are gonna be hangin' down to my knees if they keep doin' things like this to us," Josh observed.

Ian agreed with a laugh that turned into a little shriek as his penis received its latest shock from the battery pack taped to his thigh.

"Mine already do, tavarich," Illya said with a smile, nudging Josh on the shoulder. It was of course an exaggeration, but Illya's plump testicles certainly matched his big penis in size, and his soft hairless scrotum did hang particularly low. He and Josh of course shared this situation in common, cute boy-sized bodies with exceptionally large genitals hanging comically out of proportion to the rest of them. Josh grinned back. It was the first time Illya had ever said a word to him or even acknowledged his existence. It was not that the Russian boy was unfriendly or arrogant, quite the opposite. He was in fact extremely shy and introspective, but his normally grim expressions and his tall stature made him rather an intimidating figure to the younger boy gladiators.

As a further reward for winning the tug-o-war, David, Philippe, Gabe, Alexei and Miles would all be allowed to go about without their chastity devices for the rest of the day. The normal prohibition against unauthorized erections was also lifted, although they were still strictly forbidden to touch themselves or each other. Having just climaxed moments earlier, the cocks of the four older boys were currently soft and spent. Little Miles naturally had his eager perpetual little boner sticking straight out in front of him. The ten-year-old, as was most often the case, didn't even notice it.

The winning team sniggered and pointed and teased the unfortunate Tigercats who all stood with their hands behind their heads as their genitals were locked away once again. Eleven-year-old Josh, who had just started having wet cums a few days earlier was now hornier and more desperate to play with his dick (or have his brother suck it again) than he'd ever been in his young life. The tight unforgiving confines of the chastity belt seemed more miserable to him than ever. His penis swelled up, had no place to go, slowly deflated again and started the cycle all over again.

Hannah Dubose could read the wild sexual desperation in the eleven-year-old boy's brown eyes. His misery excited her, and a quick series of arousing thoughts flashed through her mind. Of course, as property of the company, young Joshua was strictly off limits for satisfying her most evil desires. She and Michela would most definitely have to acquire a boy of their very own.

Chained together by their collars once more, the boys were marched back to the arena through the sweltering tropical night. While containing all of the ultra-modern amenities within its walls, from the outside the domed arena was designed to recall the styles of ancient times, a smaller twenty-first century version of the coliseums of the Roman Empire. It was the centerpiece of Gladiator Island and it was currently lit around its perimeter in dramatic reds and blues. Late arriving visitors were still making their way through the elaborate main entrance. The boy gladiators received no such luxury. The steel security doors that sealed the entrance to the underground staging rooms buzzed open automatically as they approached and closed slowly behind them as they descended the dimly lit tunnel. None of the boys had any clue what awaited them, only that this was the last event of the weekend. Tomorrow would be a welcome day of rest for most of them, except for the unfortunate boy who ended the week in last place. His ordeal would just be starting.

Chapter 38:

There had been a great deal of excitement amongst the island's guests regarding the final event of the weekend. The 'Best Whipped Butt' competition promised to become an enduring favorite on Gladiator Island, the first, but certainly not the last official event that allowed for and encouraged the direct participation of the audience. As only five individuals, and five boy gladiators, would be chosen for this event, a special lottery would determine the lucky and unlucky participants. Entry into the lottery was free, but the selected winners would be charged a one-time fee of thirty thousand dollars for the honor of playing a part in the televised event and getting the rare coveted privilege of personally torturing one of the adorable young gladiators. For most visitors to the island, this represented a relatively minor investment.

The main arena was full to capacity. Five whipping posts had already been set up, chains and manacles dangling ominously from their tops. Next to each post was a small table each bearing a selection of whips, strops, crops and, for the first time, the cruel knotted flagellums, purpose-designed to tear flesh from the backs of young boy slaves. Five harsh spot lights lit the five individual posts, five separate scenes of torture to be played out before a live worldwide audience. The arena was abuzz with anticipation. More than half of the spectators had entered their names into the lottery. As the camera teams finished setting up, a large rolling drum was wheeled out into the center of the arena by mule 1674, the youngest of the six boy-laborers on the island. He made no effort to acknowledge the crowd, but pushed the drum in place and quickly disappeared back down the tunnel, never once raising his head or shifting his eyes from his bare dirty feet. The lights lowered after the boy was gone and the crowd was left to stew in anticipation for a few minutes. Finally, from the same tunnel, young Miles appeared, once again wearing his cute master-of-ceremonies outfit: black vest, red gloves, black bow tie, and nothing else. His little penis was hard, as it always seemed to be when he knew he was on camera. A little bow tie had been placed around its base, to match the one around his neck.

Miles stepped up to the microphone without hesitation.

"Hi," he said, reading from the liquid crystal teleprompter positioned just off camera. "I'm Gladiator Zero-One, and I am the cutest little guy on this island." The ten-year-old winked and shook his little butt for the audience. "I'm your host tonight for the Best Whipped Butt contest." Miles continued reading the script, trying to make himself look like he was thinking the whole thing up as he went along. "Tonight, five lucky people will get a chance to whip the butts of five lucky gladiators." He paused and gazed over at the ominous whipping posts. "I'm sure glad I ain't gonna be lucky tonight!"

The crowd laughed. Miles wore a smug expression on his sweet round face, assuming that in his accustomed role as 'Boy of Ceremonies', he was naturally exempt from the upcoming drawing of names and numbers. "First we'll pick the members from the audience," he said with ten-year-old authority.

With his boner still sticking out comically in front of him, the little fellow marched over to the drum, already filled with the names of eligible audience members. At Mike Brussard's signal, the boy spun it several times, needing all his strength to finally stop it rolling.

"Wow, this thing's heavy," he said to the adoring but increasingly impatient crowd. He unlocked the small door on the side and reached his hand in, pulling out five cards in quick succession. As Miles dutifully read off the chosen names of the winners, Anthony and Sergei quietly emptied the drum and placed ten new cards into it, naturally bearing the numbers of the boy gladiators.

"Okay," Miles continued, handing the cards to Sergei. "Now I get to pick the lucky boys who'll get their butts whipped tonight. Are you ready?"

The crowd cheered him on. At this moment, the rest of the boy gladiators were marched into the arena in chains. Each boy took an assigned position beneath a red spot light and stood there staring out defiantly at the audience, as instructed. Several of them struck muscle poses, and Josh, as he was now known to do, stuck his tongue out at everybody and gave them all the finger. Thunderous applause echoed through the arena and once again Miles spun the big drum, really putting his shoulders into it this time. He stood back and watched it spin, letting it roll to a stop all by itself, just to prolong the drama. This was not something he'd been instructed to do, but Miles had already demonstrated a natural talent for theatrics, and so Brussard decided to just let the boy do it his own way.

With the drum once again motionless, and the crowd falling silent, Miles reached in and pulled out five cards. He looked down at the first one, then over to his partner Philippe.

"Boy Zero-Nine," Miles said into the microphone.

Philippe, whose tongue was still trapped in the cruel vice gag, simply bowed his head and marched over to the first whipping post.

Miles turned the second card over and read off the number. "Boy Zero-Two."

"Dammit!" Josh cursed aloud, but he too quickly and obediently marched over to the next post.

"Boy Zero-Six."

That was Gabriel. "Bring it on!" he shouted at the crowd as he strode cockily over to the post, his soft twelve-year-old dick swinging back and forth between his sturdy legs.

"Boy Zero-Eight."

That was Illya, who naturally showed no emotion whatsoever as he took the next spot down the line.

Miles was truly enjoying calling out the numbers of his fellow gladiators and watching them walk past him to their fate. He held the last card in his hands and stared over at the remaining gladiators. "Which one will it be?" he asked the audience playfully. He turned the card over and his playful mood quickly vanished. The look of shock and horror on his face was absolutely priceless and this would remain a great Gladiators moment throughout the long history of the show.

"Boy . . . Zero-One," he finally said, hanging his head in defeat.

The crowd laughed at him and applauded this deliciously evil turn of events. The rest of the boy gladiators all snickered at him. He stood there for a moment, wondering what he should do. He certainly hadn't planned on this happening. He felt like crying, but instead he bravely bit his lip, set the microphone down, stared directly into the camera and quickly stripped out of his vest and gloves. With a shrug of his shoulders he joined the four other 'contestants' for the evening's final event. He forgot to take off his bow ties, both the one around his neck and the one around his dick.

By now the selected audience members had gathered at the center of the arena. In all there were three men, one woman and one young boy, ten-year-old Sean who just a few days ago had learned the fine art of milking a slave boy. Having put young David through his paces that day in the medical suite, he'd since employed that new skill twice on the family's fourteen-year-old houseboy. So far this had been the best vacation he had ever had! Now it promised to get even better. The crowd had extra-loud cheers for him as he took his place among the grown-ups.

In genteel fashion, the woman was allowed to choose her boy first, followed by the males in the order their names had been chosen. The five boy gladiators stood at attention, their heads bowed as the woman examined each of them in turn. After a few moments of indecision, she returned to young Gabriel, placed a hand under his chin and lifted his face.

"British?" she asked in a London high-society accent.

"Yes, miss," twelve-year-old Gabe replied and blushed. Freed of his chastity cage, the boy's penis quickly hardened, an ample and proud five-and-one-half incher.

"Turn round. Let me see your little bum."

Gabriel instantly obeyed, happy to turn his embarrassing boner away from her. He gasped when he felt her hands gently caressing his butt.

"Very nice. Firm. I'll take this one."

Anthony and Sergei, the trainers assigned to monitor this particular event made quick work of chaining Gabriel's wrists to the whipping post, leaving the helpless boy standing on his tip-toes.

Josh was selected by the biggest, tallest, most fearsome man of the three. With fear in his big brown eyes, he turned to face the post and raised his arms. Sergei did the honors of chaining him in place. "I think I know who the winner's gonna be," the plucky eleven-year-old told the young trainer in his typical smart-ass tone.

"Don't know about that," Sergei replied, his English considerably better than his younger brother Illya's. "But you certainly will not be sitting down for a while."

Little Miles was chosen by little Sean. It was the selection everyone hoped for. One ten-year-old whipping another ten-year-old. Miles wore a smug smile as he was chained to the post, figuring the kid would go easy on him since they were the same age. Sean of course had grown up with the family's slave boy and had been largely in charge of his discipline for the last two years. He enjoyed whipping his slave, and he would enjoy whipping this one as well.

When all five gladiators were hanging from their posts, the event was officially set to begin. The remaining gladiators were assigned to act as assistants to the contestants, handing them the desired whips and paddles. Predictably, Chris was assigned to assist the man who would be whipping his brother.

"Try not to cry," Chris whispered in Josh's ear as he took his place beside the post.

"Easy for you t' say, dickweed," Josh hissed back.

With a signal from Brussard that the camera teams were ready, Anthony addressed the contestants and the crowd. "At the sound of my whistle, each contestant has one hour to whip his, or her, chosen boy. Any or all of the implements of discipline on the tables in front of them can be used in any order and at any time they wish. In order for a lash to count, it must land in the strike zone, which is defined as the area stretching from below the boy's shoulder blades to above his knees. The boys' butt plugs may be removed and direct whipping of each boy's anus is permitted and encouraged. Blood can be drawn. No blows to the head or neck are allowed. The penalty for doing so, even accidentally, is instant disqualification. The boy must remain conscious for the entire hour. If your boy passes out, you will be eliminated from the contest. Judging will be conducted via electronic vote of the audience." Anthony then blew his whistle. "Let the whippings begin!"

Over the next hour, the sound of cracking whips, smacking paddles, swishing canes and thwacking strops on soft boyish skin combined with the wonderful chorus of high-pitched cries, shrieks, yelps and whimpers. After just the first few minutes all of the boys sported burning red backsides. Gabriel's erection had quickly subsided, and even Miles' perpetual boner was now a soft shrunken little morsel. Illya and Josh, of course, remained locked in their chastity devices, leaving fourteen-year-old Philippe alone as the only boy with a throbbing teenaged erection between his muscular legs.

Among the five contestants there were different strategies for winning the event. Several had opted to apply as many harsh blows as quickly and as often as they could, covering their unfortunate boys' backsides with angry welts, cuts and bruises both inside and outside the authorized 'strike zone.' The contestant working Josh proved to be a sadist of the highest and most meticulous degree, eschewing sloppy random lashes in favor of a leisurely pace, alternating from one implement to another in increasing severity and focusing almost entirely on Josh's butt. Josh's screams and shrieks were by far the loudest and longest and he'd quickly abandoned his brother's advice about not crying. Shouting his lungs out after each blow and letting the tears flow freely down his cheeks was the best way he knew to cope with the mounting pain.

Young Sean for his part was proving to be quite the artiste. His blows and lashes certainly lacked the force of the grown-ups, but the ten-year-old was placing them in a beautiful pattern of criss-crosses and welts, using poor Miles' back as a canvas for his latest experiment in inflicting pain on a slave boy. Not wanting to get his finest summer holiday clothes all sweaty, Sean had removed his button-down shirt, revealing a tight, wiry athletic little torso that resulted in several rather scandalous hoots and hollers from the crowd. Directing such calls at the boy gladiators, who had no legal status as human beings, was perfectly acceptable. Such behavior directed toward a free boy was another matter and the crowd quickly adopted a more decorous approach to their cheers for the young boy master.

After some hesitation as to his next step, he chose the thick heavy flagellum.

"That's going to make him bleed, sir," David, his assistant for the event, warned him gently.

Sean stared at the oldest boy gladiator, the one he'd milked just a few days earlier. "I didn't ask you, did I? I know what it's going to do."

Almost too big for the little boy, Sean hefted the whip, took a few practice lashes in the air, then applied it to Miles' behind. The result was immediate and horrific, tearing the littlest gladiator's skin and drawing blood instantly. Not at all bothered by Miles' shrill screams, Sean decided he simply did not like the aesthetic and set the whip aside, returning to the smaller flogger that had so far been his primary weapon. He alone had his assistant remove his gladiator's butt-plug and landed several perfect hits on his fellow ten-year-old's little rose-bud, resulting in a particularly beautiful series of boyish shrieks.

Exactly one hour later, Anthony again blew his whistle. The five boy gladiators hung limp and sobbing from their posts. All of them had remained conscious, although Chris had been required to frequently apply smelling-salts and few sharp slaps to keep his brother from passing out. All five of the boys bore a nasty array of welts, stripes and bruises. Miles and Josh were, in fact, bleeding, Josh rather profusely. The contestants, all sweaty from their own exertions, stood now beside their boys as one at a time close-up views of the freshly whipped backsides were flashed onto the big overhead screens. The electronic voting took only a few minutes. The winner was giant hulk of a man who had methodically tortured poor Josh for the last hour. In a very close second was young Sean, whose clever patterns and exceptional cuteness had won him lots of points.

The winner's prize, aside from a moment of international fame, was two hours alone with Josh in one of the special training rooms. The look of terror on the young eleven-year-old's face as he was led away in chains was utterly priceless. The face of a boy who knows he is going to be used and abused in all sorts of horrible and humiliating ways.

Young Sean's prize was to have his little cocklet sucked by the boy of his choice. Still angry at David for speaking out of turn, he naturally chose the oldest gladiator to perform this task, naturally back in the privacy of his family's luxury suite. The crowd got a particular thrill at the sight of tall fourteen-year-old David being dragged away in chains by the little ten-year-old master.

The remaining eight gladiators were once again chained together by their collars and marched out of the arena, to the beating pulse of the Worldwide Boy Gladiators theme music. The crowd dispersed, several of the wealthiest headed to a private affair at the Durand mansion, the rest back to their opulent rooms. Tomorrow was punishment day. No one was about to leave the island and miss that terrific event.

Back in the barracks, the final scores for the week were already posted. Thanks to his victory in the marathon, Miles was in first place. Illya finished a strong second, marking two weeks in a row in the top two. It came as no surprise to Chris that his name appeared in last place. What did surprise him was that he was not alone. By mere chance, young Ian had ended up with the exact same number of points. The punishment wheel was already set up at the front of the room. The two boys shared a commiserating grin, knowing that tomorrow morning they'd be spinning that wheel together.

"Your brother didn't want to see what was on the wheel until he spun it," Jason said coming up behind Chris and laying a hand on the thirteen-year-old's shoulder. "Do you want to take a look?"

"No, sir. I'll wait."

Jason was a little disappointed at the boy's choice, but he respected Christopher's decision. The boys were all released from their chains, collars and shackles and given an hour of free time before bed. The four boys who had suffered on the whipping posts got a visit from the nurses and had soothing healing ointments applied to their burning backsides. All of them would be sleeping on their stomachs tonight. David was returned from his unpleasant but rather simple duty in time for the late evening snack. Josh had still not put in an appearance. He was still in the punishment room, chained on his tummy to one of the infamous 'fucking beds' and being fucked by a man for the second time in his brief life. The previous instance having occurred just an hour earlier in the same room, with the same man. The well-endowed eleven-year-old was still wearing his chastity belt. Hannah had offered the man the key, but he had declined.

"I'm not interested in what he's got in there. I don't care how big it is. All I want is his tight little boy ass. You been fucked yet, boy?"

Josh had shaken his head no with unmistakable fear.

"Well, first time for everything, isn't there."

Joshua's first time had been a nightmare of pain and suffering, clawing at the thin mattress beneath him as the man ripped the plug out of his little butt and rammed his long thick cock into him with a single forceful thrust. Josh's scream echoed through small stifling hot room.

"You're never going to forget me, boy, or this," the man growled, fucking poor Josh hard and with increasing violence.

To his own great shame, Josh felt his cock trying to harden inside his chastity belt, only this time the spikes lining the inner surface of the metal plate did nothing to make it soften. He was so horny and so frustrated, and even as the man brutally raped him, he felt something strange happening inside him, a deep desperate tingling that would not go away. After several minutes, his breathing quickened, he moaned and squealed and curled his toes and discovered that it actually was possible to have a cum even while he was wearing the belt. It wasn't like the one he'd had when the nurse had jerked him off in the medical suite, actually it felt weird and a little scary, more like the dreaded milking machine than anything else. He secretly hoped the man didn't know what he'd just done, but Josh had already learned to never trust his luck on Gladiator Island.

"Did you just cum, you worthless little shit?" the man yelled, still violating the boy's no-longer virginal hole.

"Y. . . yes, sir . . . I think so . . . "

"You think so?" he spat, mocking the boy's high-pitched voice. "You don't know? What are you stupid?"

"No, sir," Josh grunted and yelped as the man's thrusts grew even faster and harder. "I came, sir. I'm sorry, sir . . ."

"You will be. No boy cums when I'm fucking him. Ever."

But cum Joshua had. His meager squirts of clear semen were presently dripping out of the pee hole on his chastity belt, leaving a tell-tale wet-spot on the mattress. Blood and fluid from the boy's first fucking was running down the insides of slim but boyishly muscular legs. After the man filled the boy's butt with his seed, he unchained Josh long enough to make the boy lick his cock clean, then lick up his own immature seed from the mattress. He then dragged the exhausted, beaten and bloodied boy to the shower drain and proceeded to piss all over him. The man's urine stung sharply when it ran down Josh's back and over his wounds and cuts. After this nightmare, Josh was again thrown face down onto the bed, chained in place and subjected to a second brutal butt fucking.

At the end of two hours, Josh was delivered to the barracks, battered and broken, weak from all the blood he had lost. The guards laid him immediately on his bunk and the nurses carefully disinfected and dressed his wounds. A few permanent scars on his back would not be a bad thing where ratings were concerned, but Joshua Andrews had five years of slavery ahead of him and there was no need to damage him so thoroughly so quickly. Josh was beyond crying at this point, even as they touched his sensitive welted skin. He just lay there quietly, staring off into nothing. The only sound he made was a hopeless sigh when the nurse reinserted his butt-plug for the night and locked in place with the strap on his chastity belt. His last conscious memory until the next morning was swallowing a small blue pill they'd given him.

Across from him, young David lay awake most of the night, watching and listening rather terrified as the smaller boy wailed and moaned and thrashed around in his drug-induced sleep.

The private party at the Durand Mansion had ended just an hour ago, but the host was still very much awake. Bill Durand had a luxurious playroom in the basement of his colonial-style mansion. Soft lush carpeting, a large bed, leather padding on the walls, and all variety of chains, mounts, and implements of discipline for young Trevor. The boy even had his own small slave bed in the center of this softly lit room, really nothing more than a padded cushion with a series of d-rings positioned to strap the boy down in all manners of positions. There was a hanging spherical cage as well, in which Trevor would often sleep after a long night of rough use at his master's hands.

The boy was waiting there now, wearing all of his finest leather gear. Collar, ankle and wrist cuffs, waist and chest harnesses, thigh cuffs and a special mask which covered the lower part of his face ensuring his obedient silence. Master had been rather preoccupied lately with the show, and their visits to the playroom had been few and far between. Unable to experience erections or normal adolescent orgasms, Trevor found his sexual releases in somewhat more unusual ways. Simply wearing all the leather was quite a turn on. He was already panting and sweating and feeling that itch in his butt. He wanted his master inside him, desperately. When master had ordered him down to the playroom after cleaning up from the party, the boy could scarcely hide his excitement. He quickly washed up the last of the dishes, skinned out of the skin-tight spandex shorts master had put him in for the enjoyment of his guests, and scampered naked to the basement. He took his time putting on all the leather, enjoying the feel of it against his bare skin. He removed his 'every-day' butt plug and selected a much larger one from his master's collection, working it with slow determination into his small little opening.

When Durand arrived, Trevor was on his knees, his hands clasped behind his back, his head bowed in submission. His heart was pounding in his chest. Durand smiled at the beautiful fourteen-year-old boy before him. Their relationship was a complicated one to say the least. Having only scarce memory of his parents, Trevor thought of William Durand as his guardian and father, as well as his master. His boyish devotion to the man was deep and without question. Durand, for his part, in some small way at least, thought of Trevor as a son, but he was always careful to ensure the boy knew his place.

"Thank you for being so beautiful and obedient tonight, Trevor," Durand said with genuine affection. As always, young Trevor's efficient service and clever wit had been a highlight of the party. A well-trained slave boy reflects nicely on his master. Trevor knew this as well as Durand himself, and he took immense pride in showing his master's guests just what a perfect specimen of young teen boy slavehood he was. "What will it be tonight?"

Silenced by this special mask, Trevor pointed to the spanking bench. His bright eyes smiled.

"Were you jealous of those boys on the posts today?"

Trevor nodded.

"Does my little pet need a spanking?"

Trevor nodded.

Durand drew the boy into his arms and ran his hands down the gentle curve of the boy's back, working slowly around front to tickle his young slave's belly button. He bent forward slightly and suckled Trevor's nipples one at a time. The boy moaned and trembled. Durand moved his right hand between the fourteen-year-old's slim legs, fondling Trevor's tiny useless nub of a penis. It did not get hard. It never did. It never could, but Trevor still enjoyed those very rare occasions when master actually touched it. Trevor never touched it himself and often it would be weeks or even months before William Durand would show any interest in it at all. Trevor knew it wasn't important. Just a pointless little hose that he peed through. Why should master waste any time on it after all?

"Get on over there. Shall I use my hand, or something with a bit more bite?"

Already straddling the softly padded bench, Trevor pointed to an aluminum paddle with small holes drilled through its surface.

"Ah, so you want it hard tonight . . . I am only too happy to oblige. I'm sure you've done something wrong today that I don't know about."

Trevor smiled in his mask, wrapped his wrists around the leather straps on the legs of the spanking bench and waited.

"After we've taken care of this, I think we'll share the bed tonight."

Trevor cooed in delight. Durand noticed the large butt-plug the boy had inserted, always a sign that the boy was experiencing what passed for horniness in his virtually pure sexless state.

Hours later, as dawn rose on punishment day, young Trevor lay awake, satisfied and warm inside and out, gazing at the sleeping form of his master.

'How could I ever be jealous of those boys?' he thought to himself, stretching his lean frame across the mattress. Sometime during the night, master had removed all of his leather gear, allowing him a more restful sleep. He had a vague memory of waking, and being gently hushed back into slumber. He got up quietly, found a simple white speedo he'd tossed off the last time they were down here and slid it up his slim hips. He moved off slowly, creeping up the stairs. He would surprise his master with breakfast in bed this morning. Cooking was a skill he took particular pride in and master would be treated to steak and eggs this morning, and Trevor, if he was lucky, might get to eat the leftovers.