Istari

Worldwide Boy Gladiators

Chapter 1
Research and Development

That was before William Durand purchased a controlling interest in the failing company and began adding original programming to the line-up. Unique original programming designed to attract a very small but very wealthy and influential segment of the population. Durand had a deep personal interest in his network's development of new entertainment, and he knew without a doubt that audiences worldwide were simply waiting for his brand of reality television to come along. In an earlier century, even an earlier decade, perhaps Durand's XB1 would have remained a small underground sensation, catering to very small but enthusiastic market. However that all changed when the United States became a signatory to the International Child Slavery Act, which was passed and ratified by the World Assembly of Nations in 2027.

Within twelve months of the passage of this euphemistically labeled 'social engineering' law, Extreme Action was offering fare such as 'Bully my Middle-schooler', in which college-aged jocks put twelve and thirteen-year-old boys through all sorts of brutal hazing and humiliation. 'Little Guy's Fight Club' in which boys aged nine through eleven essentially beat the crap out of each other in front of a live worldwide audience. And of course the controversial but highly rated 'Enslaved' which followed thirteen-year-old Mark Davis through his first year of servitude under the government's newly enacted child slavery act. The small underground network exploded into the mainstream, and people around the world, men and women both, discovered something terribly shocking about themselves: They enjoyed watching young teenaged boys being humiliated and subjected to all manner of suffering.

The network is now one of the most-watched around the world, but in the cut-throat world of reality broadcasting, you are only as popular and credible as your latest epic spectacle of human misery. William Durand understood this, and he understood the somewhat remarkable but not exactly shocking truth that viewers of all ages, classes, races and orientations enjoyed watching boys nine to fourteen suffering all manners of tortures, humiliation and degradation. For his newest program, in the coveted Saturday prime-time slot, he needed something amazing, astounding, utterly and totally shocking. Something that would raise the bar for all future shows to come.

Lara Tomlinsin was sure she had the answer. She'd only been at XB1 for a few months, and while she personally had no great fondness for her employer's programming, she appreciated the addictive nature of voyeuristic television. She also had no particular moral apprehensions about developing a concept that would make all of Extreme Action's previous efforts appear tame by comparison.

"I don't normally make time for personal meetings with junior producers, Ms. Tomlinsin," Durand began as he looked out over the city from his office on the 121st floor. "But you were quite insistent. This had better be worth it, or you'll find yourself over at Fox."

Lara smiled at the open insult, but quickly and efficiently set up her presentation. The office lights dimmed, and William Durand stared at the large viewscreen at the far end of the room. Lara began her pitch, flashing a single picture onto the screen. Durand immediately sat forward and laced his fingers. "What am I looking at there, Ms. Tomlinsin?"

"This is a detail taken from an ancient Roman fresco. Pompeii, I believe, though that hardly matters."

"Those would be gladiators, would they not?"

The attractive brunette nodded, her long hair flowing easily with her graceful movements. "They are, sir, but they are much more than that. Take a closer look."

She magnified the image. Durand was amazed at what he saw. The smooth slender limbs, the beardless faces, the youthful expressions.

"Those are boys."

"Yes, sir. Boy gladiators."

"I didn't think the Romans ever sent children into the arena, not as gladiators anyway. Women yes, but boys 3; "

"Oh, they sent them. In fairly large numbers if recent re-evaluations of frescoes like these are to be believed. There are a great many details about the ancient world that conservative history texts tend to overlook. This happens to be one of them. I suppose it would have all been too shocking for early twenty-first century moralists, but of course, our standards have changed somewhat in the last ten years. Thankfully."

"We would not be in business if they hadn't."

"And it's my job to ensure that you remain so. I call my concept 'Worldwide Boy Gladiators'."

"I'm interested already."

"I thought you might be."

"Details, Ms. Tomlinsin."

The young woman brushed her hair back. "Please call me Lara."

"Very well, Lara. You have my attention."

"Well, sir, my concept is really very simple, and

based upon XB1's proven successes. As the show's title indicates, we will subject a group of boys to various trials and tests of strength and endurance, they will, of course fight one another 3; "

"Little Guys Fight Club. We already have that show."

Lara nodded but was not deterred. "Gladiators will be significantly more 3; intense 3; and considerably more creative in its execution and production."

"I'm listening, Lara."

"The boys we recruit for the show will all be between the ages of ten and fourteen. In order for them to participate, they and their parents will have to sign a contract of indenture, which we will hold exclusively until the boy's sixteenth birthday."

Durand's eyes lit up and he nodded slowly in approval. Lara Tomlinsin had done her homework. It was a brilliant idea. "So we will own each of them."

"Precisely. And since the boys will become the bonded property of Extreme Action Broadcasting, we will have the widest discretion imaginable."

"Limitless, I would say."

"Under the terms of a standard contract of indenture, the only stipulation is that the boy not be killed. I think we can safely guarantee that."

"Tell me more about the program. What can I expect to see if I tune in on Saturday nights?"

"As I said, sir, we will feature extreme tests of strength and endurance. The boys will also be subjected to constant and extraordinary physical and mental 3; duress 3; "

"You may use the word 'torture', Lara, for that is what it is and that is why people will be watching each week."

"Yes, torture. There will be competitions each week, with the boys pitted against each other either in teams or individually. And also, since the boys will legally be slaves, we can introduce certain, shall we say, sexual elements into the program without risk of government fines or cancellation."

"That would be a first for us."

"And a sure ratings bonanza."

"How will we handle eliminations?" Durand asked.

Lara smiled. "We won't. Remember, sir, for all practical and legal purposes we own these boys until they turn sixteen. We don't eliminate anyone. Oh, there will be winners and losers each week. The winners will receive some reward, the losers will be punished. In addition, we will keep the boys on a competitive points system. Pluses for achieving, demerits for failing. The boys with the lowest scores will of course be subjected to far worse ordeals and humiliation than those with higher scores."

"I assume the rankings will change constantly."

"That's the plan. Certainly you can expect the youngest boys to be at or near the bottom most of the time, but we'll set things up so they get a fair chance at winning at least some of the time. I can virtually guarantee that every boy will spend some time on the bottom. This system will help create rivalries between them. We don't exactly want them hating each other, but we don't want them becoming best friends either."

"What's in it for the families? I mean I don't think we're likely to find too many families willing to indenture their sons just for the mild celebrity status they might possibly attain."

"Don't be so sure about that, Mr. Durand," Lara said with a smile. She then flashed up the first of the pertinent financial charts and figures. "But you are right of course. The chance to be on television for a few years is a rather steep price for selling a boy into slavery, so we will be offering financial incentives to each family."

"How much incentive are we talking about here, Lara?"

"Five million into a trust fund for the boy, accessible upon the expiration of his indenture. And an additional half-a-million paid immediately and directly to the family upon the signature of the indenture contract."

"That's not a great deal of money for us, is it?"

"Our advertising income for the first season alone should net us far more than we will ever pay out in trust."

"How many boys?"

"Ten is a nice round number, don't you think. We don't want too many or people will get them confused with one another. With ten its big enough to allow for some real competition, but small enough that viewers worldwide will get to know them."

"I'm sure the odds-makers will have a field day with this."

"Yes, and since we hold majority shares in several of the major wagering parlors and casinos, we should net a tidy profit there as well."

"So, we're looking at about sixty mil to acquire the boys."

"Yes."

"Facilities? Where do you plan on producing and filming this gem?"

The screen flashed once again at Lara Tomlinsin's command, this time showing an aerial photograph of a small island. "Recognize it?"

Durand smiled. "That's my island, Ms. Tomlinsin."

"Yes. Durand Island, formerly San Miguel. A tiny little paradise in the Caribbean. Present population: One very wealthy and very bored part-time resident. You."

"It's the perfect location."

Lara laughed in agreement. "Somehow I thought you would not object to being close to the production facilities on this one."

"Indeed I don't. What did you have in mind?"

"Well, sir, of course your private manor will remain untouched and off-limits to everyone, but the entire southern two-thirds of the island is completely unused. Perfect for the development of this project. And since you personally own the entire island, there'll be no licensing or permits required. We can begin immediately."

"What do you propose?"

"Let me show you," Lara said. A new graphic was superimposed over the aerial view, showing an extensive complex of buildings clustered in the southern area of the island. "Of course here in the center you have the main arena. It's designed to seat five hundred people. XB1 can invite clients, advertisers, or personal associates to attend the events. Of course to support visitors we will need to enlarge the current landing strip, as you see here," Lara pointed to a runway running perpendicular to the shoreline, several miles away from the complex she was proposing.

"Next to the arena you have the training facility. Toward the east you have the housing area for the film crew and island staff. This building next to the housing units is the administrative and pre and post-production facility. It also has a cafeteria, and medical facilities for the XB1 staff. Everything is state of the art, of course."

Lara then indicated a small structure, which appeared to be surrounded by a fence. "Over here, to the north of the arena, we will have a maximum security barracks for the boys. We don't want any of them deciding they'd be better off swimming home once they get on the island. When they're not competing or in training, they will be kept under strict control."

"Excellent. The barracks seems rather small."

"It is, Mr. Durand, intentionally. The boys will be permitted no comforts, no television, no outside contact except a weekly call home. The barracks contains five separate cells. Two boys will be housed in each. It is more than adequate to meet their needs."

"Again, excellent. What is the cost and timetable for construction?"

"Assuming you give me a green light today, Gladiator Island can be up and running by the end of the summer. I anticipate having the boys arrive in August to begin their training, with the premiere episode airing live worldwide on September 7th. Total construction cost will be approximately thirty-two million dollars, US. The sale of box seats in the arena should net twice that amount within the first six months."

"Several times now you've mentioned the need for staff. Explain this to me, Lara."

"Well, Mr. Durand, Gladiator Island will be a new venture for us, something XB1 has never attempted before. Not only will we have a large on-location set and broadcasting facility, but we will also have to deal with ten boys who will be the legal property of the corporation. To do this right, we need to have a doctor, a team of nurses, at least six individuals trained in juvenile corrections and a separate trainer for each boy, to manage them on a day to day basis. Not to mention the film crew, the commentators and a master of ceremonies for the broadcasts."

"You are talking about a sizeable outlay for payroll, my dear," Durand said, shaking his head.

"Not as much as you might think. It is not terribly hard to imagine that there are qualified individuals out there who would be more than happy to relocate to the island and oversee the boys for limited or no salary."

"I'd do it in a heartbeat."

"And you're not alone. I've already taken the liberty of having our recruiting office begin the search for suitable candidates for the island's full-time positions. Travel, room and board would of course be provided by the company for the duration of their employment."

"That seems fair. Do we have prospects for all open positions at this time?"

"We do, all except master of ceremonies. But I have someone in mind for that."

"Indeed. Who?"

Lara flashed her boss her winning smile. "You, sir. Who could be better?"

Durand was flattered, and quite pleased with the idea. "I humbly accept, Ms. Tomlinsin," he said with a dignified bow of his head. "Now, tell me about the boys. Have you begun recruiting them as well?"

"Not yet, sir," the young woman answered, knowing she had the world's most powerful media mogul sold on her idea. "But we naturally want slim, handsome, athletic boys 3; and since we're calling it 'Worldwide Boy Gladiators' we need to recruit from outside the United States as well."

"How will you find them?"

"I'll start by having recruitment search the web for elementary and middle school athletics

pages. We need boys who are champions. We'll focus on swimmers, wrestlers, soccer players, maybe runners and gymnasts too. Boys from those five groups should all have the physical characteristics we're looking for."

"You have your green light, Lara. Make this show a reality."

"Thank you, sir. You won't be disappointed."

Chapter 2
Chris and Josh

Thirteen-year-old Christopher Andrews stood in front of his family's mailbox, holding the plain brown envelope in his left hand. Chris never got mail, at least not addressed directly to him. What was even more amazing was that his younger brother Josh also had an identical envelope.

"Mr. Joshua M. Andrews," the blond-haired eleven-year-old said, holding the letter up to the sky. "That's me alright. You got one too, huh, bro?"

"Sure did, squirt," the equally blond-haired young teenager replied. "Let's get inside and open 'em up."

"Race ya!" Josh shouted, bolting toward the front porch without further warning.

"No contest, baby brother," Chris laughed. It took his slender five-foot [1.50m] frame about seven steps to pass that of his four-and-a-half foot [1.37m] tall brother.

"No fair," Josh yelled as he tromped up the wooden steps. "You're legs are longer 'n mine."

Chris gave Josh an affectionate little punch in the shoulder and they went inside. The two boys were about as close as brothers could be. Josh was just old enough not to be a pest to his big brother, and Chris was still young enough that he didn't mind hanging out with Josh. They certainly looked like brothers. Both boys had blond hair, which they wore shoulder length. Chris had blue eyes, like his mom, Josh's were brown like his dad's. They were both were lightly tanned from summer days spent outdoors. Chris had a few freckles across his nose. Josh did too. They were slender, athletic, muscular young boys who loved, and played, practically every sport ever created. Chris was the state swimming champ for his age group. Josh carried the same title in wrestling. Their medals hung proudly on the family mantle above the fireplace.

Young Chris was in his first year of puberty, his voice always crackling and breaking at the most embarrassing moments. Josh was still prepubescent, but he was starting to get taller and would probably start noticing other changes about his body in the next few months.

"Mommmm, we're home," Chris called as he shucked off his shoes and put his envelope down on the kitchen table. Josh copied his brother precisely.

Lindsay Andrews came up from the basement carrying a basket of laundry. She smiled when she saw her two sons. "Hi, boys. What did you two get up to today?"

"Nothin', mom," Josh answered. "Just rode our bikes 'n stuff."

"Someone sent me and Josh a letter," Chris said.

Lindsay set the laundry basket down on the table and examined the two identical letters. The return address was a post office box in New York City, but there was no name for the sender.

"Can we open 'em?" Josh asked.

"They're your letters, boys," mom answered. "Don't see why not."

The two boys tore open the envelopes. Inside each was a single page letter bearing the XB1 logo in the top left corner.

"XB1!" Chris whistled in admiration. The thirteen-year-old loved 'Little Guys Fight Club' and often practiced moves on Joshua. The boys weren't allowed to watch any of the networks other shows, but Chris had sneaked downstairs a few times when everyone else had gone to bed to watch 'Enslaved', which this year featured a fourteen-year-old named Ryan. That show gave Christopher a rather funny feeling in his gut, and his teenaged dick always got hard when he watched it. He didn't really know why.

After he read his letter, he looked over at his brother who was busy staring back at him. He looked down and read the letter again. Josh did the same.

"Fuckin' shit! Oh, fuckin' shit!"

"Christopher!" his mother shouted. "Watch your language!"

"Sorry, mom," the young teenager said, "but look. Just look what it says! They want us to be on TV!"

"Yeah, mom! TV!" Josh echoed his brother's excitement, thrusting his letter in front of his mother's face.

"Calm down, boys," their mom said. "Let me see your letters."

She read them both, then handed them back.

"Well?" the two boys asked in unison.

"We need to talk about this as a family, guys. Let's wait 'til your dad gets home. "

"Are they for real?" Chris asked.

"Yes, Chris, they are."

"Wow!"

Eleven-year-old Josh started jumping around the kitchen, unable to contain his excitement. "We're gonna be TV stars!"

Matthew Andrews pretty much had the same initial reaction to his sons' letters as the boys themselves did. The family celebrated by ordering pizza. Lindsay Andrews however was a little worried. "I just don't understand why they'd pay us so much money to put Chris and Josh on television, before the show is even on the air. And I don't think I like the title very much."

"Oh come on, Lin. The least we can do is hear whatever it is they want."

"Says right here they'll pay us, mom," Chris said, pointing to the number with all the zeroes after it. "How many is five with six zeroes after it, dad?"

"That's five million dollars, sport."

"Freakin' awesome."

"I get that much too, right?" Josh asked.

"Sure do."

"What would we have to do?" Chris asked, shoving a piece of pepperoni pizza into his mouth. From his limited experience with the network's programming, he had a vague idea that some unpleasant things might happen to him if he agreed to be on the new show.

"That's the question, boys," their father said. "XB1 does some pretty extreme stuff 3; "

"Duh, dad!" Josh, always the family smart-ass replied. "Extreme is like in their name."

"I mean they'd do extreme stuff to you," their father said, "and make you do things you probably won't like. I've seen some of their other shows, the ones you two aren't allowed to watch. Come to think of it, five million dollars each might not really be enough. They'd do some pretty nasty things to you boys."

"But it's so much money," Chris said, "plus you get to keep some it right now, don't you?"

"That's what it says, honey," Lindsay Andrews replied.

"You guys could 3; like 3; pay for the house and stuff, right?"

"With money to spare, sweetie," his mom answered. "but this isn't about your dad and me."

"Sure it is, mom. Its about the whole family, you, dad, me an Josh. It's so much money," Chris repeated for the fourth or fifth time since the family's debate began.

"Look," Matt Andrews told them, "it says if we're interested, we should call them and they'll send someone out to meet with us. We don't have to decide until we talk to them and find out what this is all about."

"Let's call right now, dad, pleeeease," Josh begged.

"Chris, you're the oldest," their father said. "Why don't you call for yourself and your brother."

"Can I? Really?" It was such a grown-up thing to do, make the call all by himself. Josh gave him a big smile. The thirteen-year-old took a last gulp of Pepsi then got up and went to the phone. A few moments later his family heard him talking to the person at the other end of the line.

"Hi. This is Christopher Andrews 3; yeah 3; you guys sent me and my brother Josh a letter 3; yeah 3; yeah that's us 3; yeah I am a real good swimmer 3; you bet we are 3; okay 3; when 3; tonight 3; uh, sure . . . hang on a sec, k?"

Chris covered the receiver with his left hand. "They wanna send a guy to see us tonight, all the way from New York City! Private jet or somethin' 3; can I say okay?"

Mom and dad nodded slowly, a little concerned at how fast things were moving. Josh was practically bursting. Chris turned back to the phone. "Okay. My folks said it's cool. Eight o'clock. Okay. You guys need directions or somethin'? Okay. Bye."

"They'll be here at eight," Chris said, sitting back down and taking another piece of pizza. He looked up at the clock. "Shit it's five-thirty now!"

"Alright," mom told them, "why don't you both get showers and put on some clean clothes."

Eleven-year-old Josh, who still believed baths and showers should be optional, rolled his eyes. Mom scolded him gently. "Don't give me that look, mister. Besides, you want to make a good impression, don't you?"

"Yes, mom," the boy said as he followed his brother upstairs.

The boys were dressed in cargo shorts and pullover shirts when the doorbell rang. Both of them were barefoot. There was a large Hummer parked in the family driveway. The man at the door was young, in his early twenties to judge by appearance. He was dressed business casual with a laptop and briefcase at his side. It was Chris who got the door, and so unknowingly met for the first time the man who would become his trainer on Gladiator Island.

"You must be Chris," the man said with a smile. The five-foot [1.50m] tall boy standing in front of him was even more attractive in person than he was in his picture. The word cute definitely came to mind and described Christopher Andrews perfectly. "My name is Jason Sanborne. Extreme Action Broadcasting. I've got a business card here somewhere. May I come in?"

"Yes, sir," Chris said enthusiastically. The boy offered to take one of the cases from the man's hands, but was politely refused. The thirteen-year-old led their visitor into the living room to introduce him to the family. Along the way Jason Sanborne enjoyed the view of the trim athletic young teenager in his beige shorts. The boy's calves were fantastic. His bare boy-feet were adorable. His little butt covered in light summery cotton was a thing of almost poetic beauty.

"Everybody, this is Jason," Chris said, trying to sound as grown-up as possible. The man set his briefcase and laptop on the coffee table and met the parents of the two Andrews boys for the first time. "And last but not least this must be Josh," Sanborne said when the sandy-haired four-and-a-half-foot-high [1.37m] eleven-year-old offered his small hand. "Pleased to met you, young man."

Jason Sanborne was in fact very pleased. Chris Andrews' eleven-year-old brother was every bit as cute as the older boy, with a pair of the deepest darkest brown eyes the man had ever seen.

The two Andrews boys were going to be stars. If he could convince their parents to let their sons become boy gladiators.

Sanborne removed several folders from his briefcase and set up the laptop. "Shall we get down to business then?" he asked in a friendly tone, his eyes casually wandering over the slim bodies and handsome faces of the two young brothers.

"Your letter has us all very excited," Lindsay Andrews said. "It all seems too good to be true."

"Oh, it is all quite true. We're looking for ten strong, smart, athletic boys for our newest program."

"What exactly is the program about?" the boy's father asked, not trying to sound too interested.

"Well as you know, we are calling the show 'Worldwide Boy Gladiators'. I believe that name probably speaks for itself. It is certainly meant to. I can only assume you are familiar with some of our other programs. This one will make them all seem rather dull in comparison."

Matthew and Lindsay Andrews were much more aware of the content and extreme nature of some of XB1's programming than their thirteen and eleven-year-old sons. The thought of willingly allowing their precious boys to be involved in something so potentially traumatic was certainly troubling to them. But the money being offered would secure a wealthy future for Chris and Josh and help pay off all the family's mounting debts, which were beginning to become a real problem. In fact, just a few weeks ago, Matt and Lindsay had sat up half the night arguing. Matthew had gently raised the possibility of selling one of the boys into slavery.

Lindsay went ballistic at first and threatened to leave and take the boys with her. Matthew calmed her down.

'Just hear me out, Lin. It is something we might have to consider. Other parents do it. The Wildesins down the street sold Timothy last summer.'

'I never liked that boy anyway,' Lin confessed, 'but still its horrible. Do you know the kind of things they do to boy slaves?'

'I do. I also know we're in way over our heads. If the government steps in, they'll take both boys from us.'

'Don't say that. Don't ever say that 3; '

And so the conversation went on while their two sons slept blissfully in their beds down the hall. Now a man from one of the biggest and richest media companies in the world was sitting in their living room offering them enough money to never have to worry again. They looked at their boys for a moment, ushering away the thoughts of what might befall them should they agree to take the money. They then returned their attention to Jason Sanborne in his casual shirt and tie.

"We've done extensive research for the past two months and your sons appear to meet all of our physical requirements. They both fall within the right height and weight range for their ages, and, to be quite frank, they are very attractive boys. I won't pretend it is not a major criterion for selection. Good-looking boys draw viewers. But mostly we need boys who are champion athletes. Boys who like to win at all costs. You are both good athletes, right?"

"Yes, sir," the boys answered in unison.

"Good. That's why we want you. I've brought two contracts with me with your names on them. If you agree to participate, you'll be competing in all sorts of events. Some will be familiar, like swimming and wrestling 3; "

"That's what we're best at," Chris interrupted, boasting on behalf of himself and his brother.

Jason smiled at the cute teenaged boy. "I'm glad to hear it, but that's just the start, boys. There will be other events you can't even imagine. Things you probably would not consider sports at all. We'll be testing your strength, your speed, your endurance, your intelligence. I won't lie to you. It's not going to be easy, and most of the time it's not going to be fun. You'll have to do things you never thought you could do. Things you probably won't want to do. But you will do them. You won't have a choice. We're going to push your bodies to their limits, and when you think you can't take any more, it will get even worse. You will not be allowed to stop or quit. Not even for a moment."

"We're not quitters," Josh said strongly.

"They wouldn't have sent me here if we thought you were, young man. Now if you boys will stop interrupting and let me continue."

"Sorry, sir," the brothers said, Christopher's adolescent tenor mixing sweetly with Josh's high unbroken boy soprano.

"If you agree to participate, there will be no backing out. You will live on Gladiator Island with the other boys and your trainers. You boys cannot quit or go home. And you, mom and dad, may not remove them from our custody once the contract is signed. And I must tell you we expect a long-term commitment. Simply put, Mr. and Mrs. Andrews, the corporation needs your sons, and we are prepared to pay handsomely for them."

Matthew sat back on the sofa and looked over at Chris and Josh. The expression on his oldest son's face told him that the thirteen-year-old vaguely understood Mr. Sanborne's meaning. Young Josh on the other hand seemed not to have been paying a whole lot of attention at all. "Mr. Sanborne," the boys' father asked, "are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"I am," Sanborne replied, at last flipping open the two folders he'd laid out previously. "And for the money being offered, I think you'll agree the price is fair. If you want your sons to participate, you and the boys must sign a contract of indenture. The boys will become the property of the corporation up to and until their sixteenth birthday, at which time the indenture may be canceled or transferred to a third party at your discretion. The indenture is irreversible and non-negotiable. We would own all rights to your sons."

Chris definitely got it at this point. "Fuckin' shit! You mean we'd be 3; like 3; slaves or something!

"That is exactly what I mean, Chris. And there would be no something about it. You and Josh would be slaves. The corporation would own you and you would be our property. You would forfeit all your personal and physical rights. You will be kept on Gladiator Island and you will participate in the program until your indenture expires when you turn sixteen. That means we'd own you for three years, Chris. In fact, I'd be your trainer, if you and your parents sign the indenture. Josh, you'd be a slave on the island for five years."

"Don't sell me, dad! Please!' Josh burst into tears. Every boy in his sixth grade class had recently taken a trip to one of the state's five slave processing centers, where boys his own age and even younger were being readied for their new lives as slaves. Juvenile criminals, boys whose parents were simply too poor to raise them or too greedy to care, third and fourth and fifth sons whose existence was now illegal due to strict population laws. They all ended up as slaves. There were girl slaves too, but very few. It was almost always boys. No one even knew how many boy slaves there were right now, but Josh knew he did not want to be one of them, not even for five million dollars.

"I will remind you, it is only an indenture," Sanborne said to calm the anxious parents. "You will get your sons back, and they will be millionaires. They will be worked very hard during their time on the island, but once they're freed, they will never have to work again."

It was Chris who sat forward, his hands on his knees, his eyes dancing. "It really doesn't

sound that bad, guys. I mean it'll suck to be a slave an all that, but like he said it's not forever. Come on, Joshie, we'll be rich, totally filthy stinkin' rich. All we gotta do is go to this island and live there for a few years. Plus we'll be on TV. Everybody will know who we are, won't they Mr. Sanborne?"

"They certainly will. Weekly viewership is projected at close to thirty-six percent saturation. You boys will be quite famous."

"But they'll be slaves," their mother said sadly. What a horrible choice had been laid before them. A horrible, tempting, terrible, alluring choice. So much money. It would start as five million, but it would be kept in trust, invested by XB1's own financial wizards. By the time Chris was sixteen in three years, he could maybe have twenty or twenty-five million. And Josh, he was only eleven, he'd have to be a slave for five years, but how much money might he end up with when he was freed? A lifetime of security for her two boys. What more could any mother wish for. But what price would they have to pay, living as slaves on that island, the whole world watching horrible things being done to them week after week.

"I don't need your decision tonight," Jason Sanborne said. "You can have forty-eight hours."

Chris stood up and looked at his parents. "I'll do it. I'll sign the thing right now. Let me do it, guys."

"Chris, honey," the thirteen-year-old's mother said, "once we sign that paper, you can't take it back. You'll be a slave until you're sixteen."

"Dad?" Chris turned to his father. Jason Sanborne sat back quietly enjoying the drama of this family about to willingly sell at least one of their sons into slavery.

"Five million is a lot of money, Lindsay."

"Matthew! I can't believe you're making this about money. Do you really want to see your son on that awful show?"

"Somebody's son is going to be. Why not Chris?"

"Yeah, mom. Come on. Let me do it. I'll sign the paper right now."

Josh stared up at his brother. Chris was so brave and so cool. He wasn't going to let him go away and leave him behind. "If Chris signs it, I'll sign it," he said. Lindsay stared at her youngest in pity and horror. Chris clapped his brother on the back. "That's right, squirt, you and me."

"What do you say, Lin?" their father asked. "I'll sign, if that's really what the boys want."

Lindsay stood up and drew first Chris then Josh into her arms. "Are you boys sure this is what you want to do?"

The two young brothers nodded. Jason Sanborne drew a black pen from his shirt pocket and held it to Chris. "This is your file, Chris. Sign the last page. Mr. and Mrs. Andrews, you'll need to sign below your son's signature. Then we'll take care of Josh's indenture. Since he's under twelve it's a little more detailed, but it will be equally binding."

Ten minutes later it was done. Jason closed the files and returned them to his briefcase. He did not close the case but instead pulled out a slim card-sized digital camera. "Before we finish here, I need to take some photographs of you both for our official records. Take off your clothes."

Chris and Josh both stared open-mouthed at Jason Sanborne, not sure they heard him correctly.

"You two are now slaves. Slaves do exactly as they are told. Now take off your clothes."

"Right here, in front of mom?" Josh asked, already blushing.

Jason smiled at the boy's modesty. "Mom, dad, perhaps if you were to go into another room this would be easier."

"Sure," Matthew said, dragging his wife into the kitchen.

"Okay, boys, I gave you a break. Now strip."

Chris and Josh slowly pulled off their shirts, revealing their slim, muscular, well-tanned torsos. Chris was already shaped like a young man. Josh still had some of the softer curves of a little boy, but he was every bit as lean and athletic as his older brother.

Sharing a nervous glance, the boys then lowered their cargo shorts. Chris was wearing black boxer-briefs, Josh had oversized boxers with cartoon characters on them.

"Underpants too, boys. You'll be kept naked on the island, so you'd better start getting used to it."

Josh looked at Chris and Chris looked at Josh. Neither boy was too happy about that last piece of information. Josh was particularly upset. Like most eleven-year-olds he was very modest. He wouldn't even let his mom see him in his underwear. In fact the only person who'd seen him without his clothes on in the last three years was his big brother.

"Let's just get it over with, Josh," Chris said, digging his fingers under his waistband and pulling down his underwear in a swift graceful motion. Spurred on by his older brother's courage, Josh did the same. The two boys stood naked in their own living room. Jason Sanborne looked on, pleased with what he saw.

Thirteen-year-old Christopher was slender, with nice shapely thighs, lean arms and a tight muscular abdomen. His chest was developing nicely, his pectoral muscles beginning to define themselves. His small dime-sized boy-nipples had been tanned a pleasant brown from exposure to the sun. He had a sparse patch of wispy blond pubic hair just above his penis. Aside from that he was still completely smooth and hairless. Jason paused at the boy's genitals. Chris' penis was quite impressive for a boy his age. Uncircumcised and about four inches [10cm] long. His balls were big and heavy and hung down surprisingly low in his pink hairless scrotum.

Eleven-year-old Joshua was a nearly perfect copy of his older brother in miniature. He was of course completely hairless, but the great surprise was that his penis was nearly as big as his brother's, a long thick sausage dangling between the eleven-year-old's slim legs. His balls, though noticeably smaller, hung every bit as low as Christopher's did, swinging back and forth between the eleven-year-old's smooth shapely thighs.

Chris, in spite of his nice endowment, seemed to be a little embarrassed, standing next to his little brother whose cock was in actuality only 1/8 of an inch [3mm] shorter than his own. Sanborne made no particular comment about either boy, although he was greatly impressed at how beautiful they were and what perfect slaves they were going to be. And Joshua's oversized penis was certain to make him a big hit with the viewers.

"You first, Chris. Put your hands behind your head."

Chris did as he was told. To his horror, he felt his penis slowly starting to harden. By the time Sanborne had finished taking the pictures, his four-inch [10cm] dick had grown to a full six-inch [15cm] erection.

Josh went next, bravely copying his brother's pose. His penis too managed to erect itself, reaching an impressive five and ¾ inches [14½cm].

"I see we're going to have to train those penises of yours not to get hard unless you're told to," Jason said to them quietly. "We have some very strict rules on the island, but you'll learn all about that on Friday. Josh, you can call your parents back in."

"Can we get dressed again?" Chris asked.

"Josh can. You can't until tomorrow morning. I'm your trainer so we might as well get a head start. I want you to get used to being naked. You won't be wearing regular clothes again for a very long time."

Chris blushed and shivered, but made no attempt to retrieve his clothes. His mom and dad both noticed that he was still nude while Josh was back in his shorts and shirt. They also noticed their thirteen-year-old son was having an erection. They didn't ask, and Chris chose not to talk about it. He just stood there with his hard dick bobbing up and down. Jason shook both Matthew and Lindsay's hands, then he turned to address Chris and Josh. "You two are now slaves. I am allowing you to stay with your parents for the rest of the week. You are not allowed to leave this house. You will keep yourselves clean. Mr. and Mrs. Andrews, as Christopher's trainer I have given him orders to remain naked until the morning. He is not allowed to cover himself with his hands or anything else. That means no sheets or blankets tonight on his bed. Please see that he obeys my orders. We'll be sending a collection team for them on Friday morning. I'm leaving them each a copy of the basic rules we'll be expecting them to follow once they reach the island. See that they read them and start to memorize them. You have a lovely home. It has been a pleasure. Boys, I'm looking forward to seeing you on the island."

Chapter 3
Final Days of Freedom

"Chris is getting a boner again, mom," became the high-pitched giggling refrain that echoed through the house that whole evening.

"Shut up, Josh. Jason said I had to be naked. He didn't say anything about my dick."

"Don't yell at your brother, young man," their mom said.

Were it not for the fact that their eldest son was nude, and that both of the boys were now legally considered slaves, it would have been just another normal night in the Andrews house, with two brothers teasing and taunting and tormenting each other. It was summer, so the boys didn't have a set bedtime. Their father had retired around eleven-thirty. It was past midnight when Lindsay kissed her boys goodnight, trying not to think about the fact that she had only three days of goodnight kisses left before they were taken away.

"Make sure you two start studying those rules," she admonished them before going upstairs.

With their parents both asleep, the brothers sat together on the couch, Chris naked, laying back, his hairless legs spread, his four-inch [10cm] penis dangling soft over his big thirteen-year-old boy balls which rested upon the cushion. Josh had stripped down to just his boxers. His hand absent-mindedly found its way inside his shorts and he fiddled with himself as he watched TV, enjoying the tight feeling of his throbbing not-quite-six-inch [15cm] erection. Soon that weird tingly feeling started to build up in his balls. He rubbed his boy-cock even faster until he gasped and cried out and his entire body writhed with a powerful dry orgasm. Josh lay his head back on the couch, exhausted from his latest effort.

Chris smiled at his eleven-year-old brother and leisurely stroked his own penis. He got hard almost immediately, but he didn't want to make a mess in the living room. He decided to wait until he was in his bed, then he'd jerk off as hard and fast as he could. With is erection still pointing up toward his belly, Chris picked up the paper Jason Sanborne had left him. "Guess we should read these, Josh."

"Yeah, guess so."

The boys took turns reading each rule on the list. There were ten of them. This is what they read:

Chris: "You will address every adult on the island as 'sir' or 'ma'am'."

Josh: "You will be naked at all times unless your trainer gives you clothes to wear."

Chris: "You will obey every order given to you and participate in every activity you are assigned to."

Josh: "You will not speak unless you are spoken to, except when you are in your barracks. Then you may speak quietly with the other boys."

Chris: "You will not touch your genitals or the genitals of another boy for any reason, at any time, unless you are told to by your trainer."

Josh: "If you think you are in danger of being injured, you will tell the nearest trainer immediately. He or she will decide if you can continue."

Chris: "You will eat only the food that is given to you each day. You will not share food with other boys and you will not eat food from the staff cafeteria."

Josh: "You will go to the bathroom only at your assigned times."

"Wow," Chris said after they'd finished. "Some of those rules really suck."

"Yeah."

The two boys were suddenly very quiet and very subdued as the monumental weight of their decision began to set in. They were slaves. They were going to be treated like slaves. They were going to an island someplace they didn't even know where. They would be boy gladiators.

"Think we'll have to fight each other, Chris?" Josh asked.

"Probably. I'll try not to kick your ass to hard."

"Thanks."

The two boys went upstairs around one in the morning. Josh crawled into his bed right away. Chris noticed that his parents had stripped his bed of its sheets and blankets, just as Jason Sandborne had ordered. Chris would have to sleep naked with no covering for his lean hairless body.

"Good thing its summer, or I'd freeze my balls off," the young teenager said. Josh laughed, quite happy it was his brother who had to be naked and not him.

Josh rolled over onto his stomach and was asleep in a matter of minutes. Chris turned down the lamp beside his bed, lay on his back, spread his perfect thirteen-year-old legs and jerked himself off, sliding his left hand frantically over the length of his six-inch [15cm] erection. He paid special attention to his foreskin, pulling it all the way up over the tip of his cock, then skinning it all the way down his shaft. He loved that tight wonderful feeling. It wasn't long before the feeling started, deep inside him. Carefully, slowly, as he'd done for the last few months, he inserted a single finger into his butt. His cock got even harder. In the dim light of the lamp the boy could see the tip of it was wet and oozing with sticky clear fluid.

"Oh yeah," he whispered to himself as his balls drew up toward his groin. "Ugh, fuck 3; ooohh." Chris shot his thin sperm in violent bursts onto his tight muscular stomach. It had never felt so good. To his surprise, the boy discovered he'd put a second finger into his rear end. He didn't remember doing it. "Damn," he said quietly, grabbing a handful of tissue and cleaning the sticky mess off his body. "I'm gonna bust something if I keep doing that."

But then again he hadn't busted anything yet in two years and counting of twice-daily jerk-off sessions. One during his morning shower. One at night right before bed, after Josh had fallen asleep. With his head still swimming, Chris fell asleep on his back, snoring softly, the lamp still glowing on its lowest setting.

In the morning, Chris woke up first, as always, and roused his little brother. Josh opened his eyes to see Chris standing over him naked, his four-inch [10cm] cock swinging back and forth as his big brother moved around.

"You still gotta be naked?" the eleven-year-old asked, yawning.

"I guess."

Josh got out of bed, pulled off his boxers and trotted naked over to his dresser. He picked out a clean pair of underpants, silky blue soccer shorts and a tank-top. His cock was as stiff as a nail, but Josh didn't pay much attention to it. "See ya downstairs, bro!" he said as he tore out of the room they'd shared all their lives.

Chris puttered around for a while, kind of enjoying the way it felt to be naked. He turned on his computer and played a video games for a while until Josh's high voice shouted to him from the bottom of the stairs. "Mom says you'd better get down here for breakfast before its gone."

Chris then realized he was really hungry. He hurried downstairs, quite forgetting he was still in his birthday suit.

"Well, I see my naked son has survived the night," his mom said.

Chris blushed and sat down to a big plate of pancakes. The phone rang a few minutes later. His mom answered it.

"Its Jason Sanborne, Chris."

Chris took the phone and tried to remember how he was supposed to address his trainer. "Hello, sir," he said quietly.

"Good morning, Christopher. Are you naked?"

"Yes, sir. I'm naked. Just hangin' around, you know."

Sanborne laughed on the other end of the line. "You can put on shorts and a T-shirt today. No underwear. I will be calling you every morning until Friday and instructing you on what to wear. After you've eaten your dinner tonight, you will take off all your clothes and spend the rest of the night naked, just like last night. Oh, and one more thing. You are not allowed to masturbate. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Have you and your brother read the rules I left for you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do either of you have any questions?"

"Not right now, sir. Some of them seem kinda scary."

"They're meant to. You aren't free boys anymore. You and Josh are slaves. The sooner you start to think like a slave, the better off you'll be."

"Yes, sir."

"Hang up the phone and repeat my instructions for today to your mother."

Chris did exactly as he was told. Josh giggled at the thought of his big brother having to be naked again after dinner.

"Shut up, squirt."

Thursday evening, the Andrews boys last night at home, came quickly. Chris spent it naked. Thankfully his penis only got erect twice, and both times when his mom wasn't around. The family ate a quiet meal. There really wasn't much to say. Their mother was trying her best not to cry. Josh and Chris were trying to be brave for her. The boys had nothing to pack. They were told they were not allowed to bring any personal possessions with them. Just after eleven o'clock, the boys marched upstairs to brush their teeth. It was time for bed. The last night they would spend in their own beds, in their own room, in their own home until they turned sixteen. Chris realized he would not be coming back for three years, and Josh 3; Josh would have to be a slave for five years. He would be left behind on the island when Chris was freed.

"At least we don't have'ta go to school anymore," Josh observed as he crawled under his covers.

"Yeah, that's totally cool. I never really thought about it. I mean, by time we're free, we'll be so rich it won't matter. Fuck school!" the young teenager shouted joyfully.

"Yeah! Fuck it!" Josh shouted. Any time Chris used a naughty word, young Josh took it as free license to do the same.

Naked, Chris lay atop his bed, his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling, his tight, slim, muscular thirteen-year-old swimmer's body stretched out in front of him. He looked down at himself, at his cute little bush of blond pubic hair and his soft uncut penis resting over his balls. He wiggled his boy-toes and took a deep breath. He suddenly realized his heart was pounding in his chest. He knew he wasn't going to be getting much sleep tonight. Tomorrow their new lives would begin, and he had only the faintest idea what would happen to them. "Are you scared about tomorrow, Josh?"

"Kinda. Are you?"

"Yeah. Maybe we shouldn't have signed the contracts."

"Yeah."

Their mom came in. Chris brought his trim muscular legs together and drew his knees up, trying to conceal his genitals from his mother. It wasn't that he was particularly shy. He was getting used to be naked. It just seemed wrong to be lying flat on your back with your half-hard wiener hanging out when your mom was around.

"One last goodnight kiss, babies," she said sadly, kissing each of her boys on the forehead. "I'll get you up early tomorrow. They'll be coming to get you sometime around ten."

"Okay, mom," Josh said.

"We're ready," Chris added bravely. Lindsay Andrews gazed at her eldest son.

"Chris, I want you to promise me you'll behave yourself. Do everything you're told and don't cause trouble."

"I will, mom."

"And promise me you'll look after your brother. Take care of him, okay?"

"I will, mom. I won't let anything happen to Josh, don't worry." Chris of course did not realize how utterly powerless he would be to protect his little brother when their new lives began on the island. Or how powerless he would be to protect himself.

Friday morning came. The boys' parents woke them up at seven. Chris and Josh showered and put on the same shorts and shirts they'd worn when Jason Sanborne had visited earlier in the week.

At exactly ten o'clock, a white van pulled into the driveway. Two men in business suits stepped out and walked quickly to the front door.

"Mr. Andrews?" one of the men inquired.

"Yes."

"Mitchell Harwell. XB1Corporate Security." The man produced a business card verifying his identification. "I've come to take Christopher and Joshua Andrews into custody in accordance with the contracts of indenture signed August 12, 2039. Are they ready?"

"They are, Mr. Harwell. Please come in."

Matthew Andrews escorted Mr. Harwell and his assistant into the living room. Chris and Josh stood up immediately.

"Good morning, boys," Harwell addressed them, shaking both their hands. "I'm here to escort you on the first part of your journey to Gladiator Island. Are you excited about your little adventure?"

"Yes, sir," the brothers said in unison.

Harwell nodded. "Good. Now I need you both to listen carefully. There are a few rules you must follow once we leave this house. You are officially slaves as of this moment. That means you must do exactly as you are told, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Chris said in his soft pubescent voice.

"Yes, sir," Josh said in his high pre-teen voice.

"Neither of you are allowed to speak unless you are addressed directly by me, or one of my aides. If you must ask a question, you will raise your hand."

The boys nodded that they understood.

"You will be sedated for this first part of the journey. Do you know what that means?"

Chris shook his head yes. Josh shook his head no.

"Christopher, please explain it to your brother."

"Yes, sir," Chris said, then turned to Josh and told him. "He means they're going to give us a pill, or something, to make us feel sleepy."

"Oh," was Josh's only response.

"It simply makes the transition to your new lives easier. But before we give you your injections, we have to get you properly dressed for the trip. Strip."

The boys quickly obeyed. They'd already stripped for Jason Sanborne, so it wasn't anything new for them. It didn't make it any less embarrassing though, having to take your clothes off in front of total strangers and your parents. Harwell however did not seem like a very patient man. Chris and Josh were down to their boxers in a hurry, exhibiting their tanned, tight, slender young bodies. They looked at each other, and slid their last remaining source of modesty down their slim hips.

The boys' parents looked on helpless as their sons were made to remove their clothes in the family living room for the second time in a week. It marked the last time Chris would wear normal clothing for the next three years. For eleven-year-old Josh it would be five years. Once the boys were naked, Harwell addressed them again.

"Put your hands behind your heads."

The young brothers obeyed. Harwell was very impressed at the slender, athletic, hairless

young bodies now on display. He noticed the older boy had the sparse beginnings of pubic hair above his four-inch [10cm] long penis. Both boys were uncircumcised and very well endowed, especially eleven-year-old Josh, whose penis was already nearly as long and thick as his teenaged brother's.

"As you are now slaves, you will be attired accordingly. If you are taken from Gladiator

Island for any reason, you will have a uniform to wear at all times."

"We get to leave the island sometimes?" Josh asked. "Like go home 'n stuff?"

The company security man smiled at the two boys. "You won't be allowed to go home until your indentures expire. You will, from time to time, be taken from the island for various public events sponsored by the company."

Harwell's assistant handed him two paper-bound packages, which Harwell in turn gave to Chris and Josh. "Open them and put on the clothes you find inside."

The clothes they found consisted simply of a gray sleeveless tunic and a pair of white shorts. Chris was the first to put his on, and he was sure he'd gotten Josh's by mistake. The tunic ended just above his navel. And the white shorts were very, very short, and very, very tight, making his penis and testicles bulge out in front of him in a rather obscene way. When he looked over and Josh though, he saw that his younger brother's tunic also came to an abrupt end above the boy's outtie-style belly button, and that Josh's shorts were every bit as short and tight as his own. The shorts made the four-and-one-half-foot [1.37m] tall boy's rather oversized genitals appear almost comically large as they bulged out in front of him. For the most part, Josh was unaware of just how big his penis was compared to other eleven-year-olds, but he did look down at his boyhood package jutting out so prominently in front of his shorts and giggle in his innocent boyish way.

Each boy was then given a pair of shoes, plain simple white trainers. The boys never wore socks anyway, so they did not think to miss them.

It was humiliating, being forced to wear the tunics and those small tight shorts. Chris and Josh were both blushing fiercely. They certainly didn't want their parents to see them like this.

"Say your final good-byes, boys. You have two minutes. Come out to the van when you are done. Do not make us come back in for you."

Chris and Josh hugged their mom and shook their dad's hand.

"Be good, guys," Matt Andrews said. "Be brave. Be safe."

"We will, dad."

"Remember your promise, Christopher," his mom added, holding back tears.

"I will, mom."

Chris looked around his house one last time, then turned to his younger brother. "Ready, Josh?"

"Yeah."

Clad in their slave tunics and their embarrassingly small white shorts, the Andrews boys left the house and walked quickly down the driveway. It was just after eleven in the morning. There were neighbors out and about, and more than a few of them stopped whatever they were doing when they saw the two boys in their scant skimpy uniforms. The back door of the van was open, and at Harwell's instructions the boys climbed in. What they saw when they got inside made them both shiver. Their new lives had taken an immediate and frightening and unexpected turn. Christopher took in a sharp breath. Josh's brown eyes widened. On the floor of the van there were the two iron cages placed side-by-side.

"Crawl inside, boys," Harwell ordered.

It was too late to go back now. Chris and Josh had signed the indentures themselves. Their parents had signed them too. The boys knew they had no choice. Chris was the first to get down on his hands and knees. Josh quickly followed. The brothers crawled into the small cages. Harwell closed them and his assistant clicked heavy padlocks in place over the latches.

Harwell double-checked the locks, pulling on the doors of the boys' cages. "Give me your arm, Chris," he then demanded.

Chris fished his slender arm between the thick iron bars. His eyes widened when he saw Harwell draw a sharp needle and syringe from a leather case. The man jabbed the boy's arm and injected the sedative. Ten seconds later, the thirteen-year-old's head was already spinning. Thirty seconds after that, he had a mild drug-induced seizure and slipped into unconsciousness.

Poor Josh had watched the whole thing and panicked when Harwell stood in front of his cage.

"You ain't stickin' me with that," Josh shouted, backing away as far as he could. "You killed him! You killed Chris!"

Harwell smiled warmly. "I did no such thing. I merely put him to sleep for a while. And now I'm going to do the same to you. If you make me pull your arm out of that cage, I promise you I will break it."

Josh wiped the tears from his eyes. Chris rolled over onto his side and moaned softly in his sleep. That evidence that his big brother was indeed still alive seemed to calm the pre-teen. He bravely stuck his arm between the bars and received his injection, a considerably larger dose than his brother had been given. Josh's seizure was sudden and violent and lasted for almost a full minute before he finally succumbed and passed out. Harwell reached through the bars, wiped the fluid from the boy's mouth and with surprising tenderness rolled the little eleven-year-old onto his side.

The van backed out of the driveway and slowly drove off, carrying Chris and Josh Andrews toward their harsh new lives as boy gladiators.

Chapter 4
Thank You for Flying Gladiator Airlines

He was in a very large room, like a big warehouse or something. There were about thirty people walking around, carrying bags and boxes and talking and walking right by him as if it was perfectly normal to see a thirteen-year-old boy locked inside a cage. Most of the boxes had the XB1 logo on them, and they were being loaded onto carts. Chris couldn't turn around to see what was behind him, but he could turn his head right and left. That's when he saw Josh.

His eleven-year-old brother was also in a cage, just a few feet to the right of the one he was in. Josh was awake too and had managed to sit up inside the cage, drawing his bare legs up to his chest and hugging his arms around his knees. The boys' cages were the same size, and since Josh was considerably smaller than his brother, he had more freedom of movement. Josh realized his brother was awake and looked over at him. The younger boy was scared but trying hard not to let it show, especially in front of Chris.

"Hey," Chris said groggily, his head still foggy.

"Hey," Josh replied.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. I gotta pee real bad. I keep tellin' them I gotta go but they won't let me out."

Chris suddenly realized he had to piss too. His penis was fully erect inside the tight white shorts they made him wear. The boy often wondered why he always woke up with a boner and a burning need to pee. He always drained himself right before bed, but it never helped. "I guess we just have to hold it," he said to his brother.

Josh nodded. Of course his bladder was smaller and younger than his brother's by two and a half years. 'Holding it' wasn't going to be a viable option for him for too much longer.

"Why are we in these cages, Chris? We said we'd do it 3; I mean go to the island and stuff 3; why won't they let us out?"

"Because you're boy gladiators," came a voice from behind. It was a man in an expensive suit. He came around and stopped in front of the boys' cages. He had a goatee with a few distinguished flecks of gray in it and dark commanding eyes that made both boys shrink away from him. "You are both slaves, and slaves travel in cages just like animals do. I have spent a great deal of money for you and I will not have you running amok in my hangar or on my plane. Now I believe Mr. Harwell had already explained that you are not allowed to talk. Therefore you have both already broken one of the rules. One of you is going to be punished. Right now. Tell me which one it should be."

The man, of course, was William Durand, owner and CEO of Extreme Action Broadcasting, and also, ultimately, the owner of young Christopher and Joshua Andrews. He stared down at his newest pieces of property, enjoying the sight of two provocatively clad boys locked in cages. And they were property. The moment their boyish signatures were affixed to the indentures the Andrews boys ceased to be human beings. They had no rights, no freedom. In the eyes of society they were now merely animals, pets perhaps, though the average family dog was given far kinder treatment than these boys would be receiving for the next few years.

"Well, boys? Who will it be? If I have to choose one of you, it will go far worse for the one who is chosen."

Chris looked at Josh and Josh looked at Chris. Thirteen-year-old Chris knew what he had to do. He was not going to let his little brother get punished, just for talking.

"Its me, sir," the young teenager said, his voice choosing that moment to break awkwardly and rise a full octave.

Josh breathed a sigh of relief.

Durand summoned one of the uniformed security guards over. "Unlock this cage," he ordered, pointing to the cage in which Chris was confined. The guard quickly found the correct key and swung the cage door open. Chris had no choice but to crawl out on his hands and knees.

"Stand up."

Chris obeyed immediately.

Durand had a chair brought over by another guard and took a seat in front of the thirteen-year-old boy.

"Take your pants off, Chris."

"Yes, sir," the boy replied, shaking. It made him uncomfortable for some reason to hear this complete stranger using his name. Chris skinned the tight shorts off his hips and down his legs, stepping out of them in a graceful motion. His four-inch [10cm] long cock flopped about and his hairless low-hanging balls swung from side to side between his legs as he did so. When he stood up again, he clasped his hands over his genitals.

"We'll have none of that, Chris," Durand said. "You are not to cover your genitals, and you are never allowed to touch them without permission. You'll be getting an additional punishment for that. Put your hands behind your head."

Chris was about to die from embarrassment. His state of undress was totally humiliating for the young teenaged boy. There he was in just a short gray tunic that didn't even come down over his navel, his middle was totally naked and exposed, and his feet were still in his white Reebok trainers.

Durand said nothing for a few moments, just sat there staring at the cute thirteen-year-old boy on display. "You've got a nice big cock there, don't you, Chris?"

"I 3; I guess so," Chris replied. In fact he knew his penis was maybe a little longer than most boys his age. Being on his community swimming team he had seen lots of young dicks hidden behind tight speedos, and his always seemed to be one of the biggest. It certainly wasn't huge though. Just a nice long thick teenaged boy-cock, in perfect proportion to his lean smooth hairless body. It twitched a little as it dangled soft between his legs. Chris could feel it starting to swell as the man continued to stare at him. When the young teen's penis was semi-erect, Durand stood up.

"Turn around."

"Yes, sir." Chris turned quickly, showing Durand his perfect little butt.

"Bend over and grab your ankles."

"Yes, sir."

Chris bent at his waist and gripped his hands around his ankles. It was a horrible, humiliating position. He knew his ass was on display to anyone who wanted to see it, and there was, by now, a sizeable crowd gathering around the two cages. The boy stood there, his balls dangling low between his legs, the tip of his penis was just visible to Durand as the man stood behind the slim boy.

"Keep your feet still," Durand warned. He raised his hand and brought it down hard on the boy's butt.

Chris yelped in protest and stood up, craning his neck back and glaring at the man. "Ouch, that hurt!"

"You've never been spanked before?" Durand asked.

"No, sir! Never!"

"Well this will be a new experience for you then, won't it? I can promise you it won't be the last spanking you receive over the next three years. Now stand still. Don't make me have you restrained."

The spanking was horrible. Chris was staggered with each heavy blow of the man's hand. The sound of his smooth young butt getting smacked echoed through the hangar. Worst was the fact that everybody was watching. Everybody. Thirty people at least, all gathered round to watch the thirteen-year-old boy get his first spanking. Josh watched from his cage, feeling sorry for his brother but really glad it was Chris and not he who was the one bent over and being spanked.

"Discipline is going to be a very important part of your life from now on, Christopher Andrews," Durand said. "We have invested a great deal of time and money on you and you will learn to do exactly as you are told. You will obey every order that is given to you, immediately and without question. You will be punished for the slightest mistake. Do you understand?"

"I think so 3; I mean, yes, sir!"

Durand continued. Chris struggled to stay on his feet. All the while he knew everyone was watching him, watching his balls swing back and forth as he wiggled and tried to keep his balance. Between his legs he could plainly see he had an erection. His cock was rigid, stretched to its full almost six-inch [15cm] length. As much as he wanted the spanking to end, he certainly did not want to have to stand up with his penis at full mast.

Chris got twenty swats on his bare behind for talking. He was then given ten more for Joshua. In the end, the boy's end was a fiery red.

"Stand up."

Mercifully, Christopher's penis had gone soft again. He stood up and instinctively reached his hands behind him.

"Stop that, Chris. Keep your hands at your side. Now turn around."

He did, tears running down his cheeks, and saw that everyone was already going back to work. At least no one had laughed at him.

"Stop crying," Durand said. "Since you were so eager to get out of your cage, I have a job for you. Pull your pants up and follow me."

Before he led the thirteen-year-old away, he tossed the key to Joshua's cage to a waiting security guard. "Let the little one stretch his legs for five minutes and let him use the bathroom."

Chris was happy that at least Josh would get to pee. He looked back. Josh was staring at him with a look of terror on his face. Watching your big brother get his butt whipped, hearing Chris cry 3; well it was almost too much for the eleven-year-old. Josh had never seen Chris cry. Ever. Until today.

Christopher's 'job' was to help unload the many vans and trucks that were still arriving, bringing supplies for the trip to the island, and transfer all the crates and boxes to waiting carts. Chris now understood that he and his brother were inside an airplane hangar and that everything was being readied for loading once the plane arrived. He was ordered not to say anything to anyone unless someone gave him an order to do something. Mostly he just carried boxes from place to place until his arms and shoulders were aching. Still, Chris was starting to get very excited. Overhearing everyone's talk, he knew the plane would be landing sometime after midnight. The boy had never been in a plane before. He was looking forward to that. He also learned that several other vans were still expected, all of them delivering more boy gladiators.

He worked hard and quietly, forgetting all about the skimpy uniform they'd made him wear, almost forgetting about his spanking except for the fact that his backside still stung fiercely. To the rest of the crew and staff he was an adorable and provocative sight, this strong, muscular young teenaged boy working alongside them in his gray tunic and white shorts. His taut stomach was fully exposed, the white shorts hugged his ample thirteen-year-old genitals and showed off the gorgeous curve of his rear end, his firm smooth legs ended in a pair of white trainers. He had to endure a constant barrage of good-natured smacks on his perfect little butt whenever he walked past one of the adults, men and women both, but he was glad to be out of the cage. It gave him something to do and helped the time pass.

Chris was basically free to go wherever he wanted in the hangar as long he was carrying a box or crate in his young arms. He worked his way back to Josh's cage, just to see how his kid brother was doing.

Josh was sitting like he was before, his knees drawn to his chest. He flashed his big brother an 'ok' sign with his right hand as Chris passed by his cage. Chris returned it with a gesture of his own.

Chris was put back into his cage after nearly six hours of hard labor. He was allowed to use the bathroom first and given a drink of water. He was a very tired young man when the door to the cage was closed and locked, but he could not lie down comfortably inside the cage. He stayed on his hands and knees as long as he could, then rolled over onto his side, folding his legs up as best he could and drawing his knees up to his chest. He hated the cage already.

Two more vans bearing the XB1 logo pulled into the hanger. A forklift drove up to the back door of each and removed four more cages one at a time. Each cage contained a boy. Each boy was close in age to Josh or Chris and attired in the same skimpy uniform the brothers wore. The four newly arrived cages were placed next to the ones that held Chris and Josh, making a neat straight row of six.

Neither Chris nor Josh could get a very good look at the other boys. Three of them were still unconscious when they arrived, and the boy who was awake had been given the same orders not to talk. One by one the others all woke up, struggled and in some cases cried for a moment when they realized they were still caged, then they too became quiet.

There was a large clock directly over the hangar entrance. If Chris turned his head just right he could see it. It was nine-thirty at night. He could see outside. There were bright lights out there, and it was clear it had been raining. He could just hear it beating on the roof of the hangar far above his head.

At ten o'clock the six boys were released from their cages to be fed. They crawled out together and were told to remain on their knees in front of their cages. A small bowl of soup and two cheese sandwiches were laid on the floor in front of them.

"Eat up, boys," the woman who brought their dinner told them in a kindly way. "That's all you get until you're on the island."

Chris and Josh hadn't eaten since breakfast. Apparently none of the other boys had either. The six of them ate ravenously. Chris divided his second sandwich and gave the smaller piece to Josh. The younger boy smiled at him and gobbled it down.

At eleven o'clock two more vans entered the hangar, and two more sets of cages were removed and set among the six already lined up and waiting. All ten of the boys who would soon be the reluctant stars of Worldwide Boy Gladiators were now securely caged and awaiting the plane that would take them to the island to begin their new lives.

The four latecomers were all fed in the same manner, kneeling in front of their cages, gobbling down their sandwiches and drinking their soup directly from the bowls. Two at a time, the boys were then taken to the bathroom. Chris did not go with Josh. His little brother was taken first, with a boy who appeared to be younger than he was. When Josh returned his hair was wet and water still glistened on his skin. His tunic was plastered to his chest.

Chris was taken with a boy about the same age as he was. Once they reached the bathroom they were told to strip. Both boys skinned out of their uniforms. Chris risked a guilty glance at the other boy. The boy was about as tall as Chris, and had a similar build, long and lean. Chris was sure he had to be a swimmer, just like he was. The other boy had a lot more pubic hair than Chris did, and it was brown to match the hair on the boy's head. It formed a thick triangle over the boy's penis, which was a little smaller than the one hanging between Christopher's legs. Aside from the boy's thicker pubic hair, he was totally hairless.

The boys were given two minutes to relieve themselves. Chris had to do everything, and sat nervously on the toilet. He was given no privacy.

'Damn, I can't shit with those guys watching me!'

"Looks like we've got ourselves a shy one," one of the security men said.

"He'd better get over that real quick if he knows what's good for him."

Chris finally managed to empty his bladder and his bowels and wipe himself just as time ran out. The two boys were then taken to a large open shower room.

"Wet yourselves down, boys," the security guards escorting them ordered. The two nude young teens stood over a drain in the middle of the shower room. There was only one large nozzle above their heads. The two boys shared a moment of hesitation, then Chris turned the faucet. The water was not exactly warm, but it wasn't frigid either. Torturous icy showers would become the norm for Chris over the next three years, but this last warm shower in the country of his birth went by quickly without much appreciation on the young teenager's part.

Forced to stand shoulder to shoulder, back to back, front to front, the two boys were soon sporting erections. The guards snickered to themselves about the turgid state of affairs between the youngsters' legs.

"Alright, kids, time's up. Get those cocks soft and get dressed."

Chris was back in his uniform and back in his cage all in less than ten minutes. He and his shower partner had not said one word to each other. He'd seen the other kid totally naked, felt the other boy's boner accidentally rubbing up against his own in the shower, and he didn't even know the other kid's name.

At midnight plus five minutes, a mid-sized jet rolled into the hangar. Chris' heart leapt into his throat. This was it. He was in a cage and he was going to be put on that plane. There was no way to get out of it. No way to quit. No way back. No way to go home. He was a slave. He was going to be a boy gladiator. People all over the world were going to be watching him. Chris suddenly felt very scared and very small

When all the supplies and equipment had been loaded in the cargo hold, and most of the crew and staff had boarded, William Durand appeared once again. He stood in front of the line of cages, now holding ten young boys between the ages of ten and fourteen.

"Listen up, boys," he began. "I know it's been a very long day for all of you. I'm afraid it is about to get even longer. Once you've all been loaded onto the plane we'll be taking off. It's a nearly two-hour flight from New York City to the island. I'm told the weather is somewhat rough. If any of you feel the need to puke while we're airborne, you will not be punished for it, though I am afraid if you soil your cage, you will simply have to live with it. The cargo compartment is not air-conditioned. You will each be given a bottle of water. I expect you to remain silent. There will be at least one guard in the hold with you at all times.

Once we reach the island, you will be given an orientation where you will meet the staff, the crew and your trainers. You will then be fed and allowed to go to bed for eight hours. That is the most sleep you will ever be getting on Gladiator Island so I would enjoy it if I were you."

Each boy was given his water bottle.

Then the forklifts began their work, loading the cages onto the plane. Chris and Josh were the last two boys to be put aboard. The hold was already hot, and when the cargo door was closed the air went still and stale almost immediately. The hold was dimly lit. The boys were kept all together in one area, their cages packed front to back and side to side. They could hear the roaring of the tires as the plane sped down the runway, then nothing but the drone of the engines and they all knew they were in the air.

None of the boys got sick on the flight, but all ten of them were totally miserable. They were drenched in their own sweat. The water they'd been given had long ago vanished. It was too hot for the boys to sleep in their small cramped cages.

Chapter 5
Arrival

Chris looked out through the iron bars of the cage and saw the dark green vegetation rolling by as the truck sped down the road. There was a sweet smell in the warm air, and the sound of birds and insects filled his ears. In his thirteen years, Chris had never imagined he could ever be so far from home. But then he realized this was his home for the next three years of his life.

The truck stopped in front of a large building with the XB1 logo over the entrance. It was the main broadcast and support building that housed all the production equipment and technology, the cafeteria and the infirmary for the staff. A smaller infirmary for the boys was located in the training facility.

All of the cages were opened, and the boys were ordered to crawl out and jump off the truck. Five security guards in gray uniforms quickly surrounded them and marched them into the building, escorting them down a long corridor and into a large open room. Their trainers were there waiting for them, each with a metal box sitting on a small table beside them. Chris recognized Jason Sanborne right away.

The boys were lined up in the center of the room, facing the six men and four women who were going to be their trainers. William Durand entered from a side door and called everyone to attention.

"Good morning, boys. Welcome to Gladiator Island." He walked slowly up and down the line of boys in their small slave tunics and embarrassingly tight white shorts. Ten sets of firm, shapely, athletic boy legs were on display, ten sets of young genitals protruded provocatively in the shorts. Some of the boys had much larger packages between their legs than others. Chris was actually quite proud that his and Josh's were among the biggest. Ten boy bellies were exposed, lean and taut, some tanned a golden-brown, some pale white, all with adorable navels. There were five innies in the group and five outties, a pure coincidence. Durand addressed them as he walked, pausing for a few moments in front of each boy to stare into their young, nervous eyes.

"You will be living and training and competing here until you are sixteen years old. For some of you that will be less than two years, for others it will be as long as five or six. The boy gladiators of ancient Rome were slaves, and so are you. You will be trained and disciplined and live your lives just as they would have done. Short of killing you, there are no limits to what we can do to you or make you do. You have no rights. You have no say. Make no mistake, little men, our viewers are interested in one thing: Watching you suffer in the most extreme ways imaginable. No part of your bodies is off limits. You will be punished for your failures and mistakes. You will be rewarded for your victories and successes. When you reach your sixteenth birthdays, you will be returned to your parents and you will be extremely rich. You and your parents agreed to this arrangement of your own free will. There is no escape."

Durand paused to let all of this new information sink in. All of the boys knew they would have to be slaves for a few years, few them grasped the extreme pain, humiliation and suffering they would each endure until they turned sixteen.

"And now, we will handle the formalities of the roll call and assign you to your trainers. You will notice the cameramen in the room. You are always to ignore them. Never look directly into any of the cameras unless you are told to by your trainer. If you disobey, you will be punished. When I call your name, step forward, strip, and stand at attention. Your trainer will come to fetch you."

There was a moment of silence while Durand took his place at a podium behind the trainers. His laptop was already set up and waiting for him. He opened the necessary files and reviewed all the information his researchers had collected on each boy. "Andrews, C."

Chris was hoping he wouldn't be the first boy to have to step forward and strip naked, but he had no choice. Blushing slightly he left the line and walked toward the waiting trainers. He saw a piece of black tape on the floor and cleverly figured out this was where he was supposed to stop.

"State your name, age and nationality. Tell us what sports you are best at. Speak up so the cameramen can hear you."

"My name is Christopher Andrews," Chris said, darting his eyes from one trainer to the next, finally resting his gaze on Jason Sanborne. "I'm thirteen. I'm from the USA. I swim and I wrestle." With that, Chris pulled off his tunic, took off his shoes and slid his tight white shorts off his hips and down his legs, his boy-cock swinging back and forth as he stepped out of them. Now he was naked, the only naked boy in the whole room. The two cameramen moved in closer to him, filming his nude thirteen-year-old body from head to toe.

"Your trainer is Jason Sanborne," Durand said.

Jason Sanborne stepped forward. "Put your hands behind your head and come over here to the table."

Chris immediately obeyed and walked forward to the small table his trainer had indicated. There was a metal box sitting on it. The boy tried to sneak a look inside, but it was closed and locked.

"Stand next to me and don't move."

Chris nodded that he understood. As frightened as he was, he was sort of glad he was first. Now he just had to wait for the others to endure the same humiliation he'd just been through. At least he'd get to watch.

Josh was called next. He stood in the middle of the room, and repeated his brother's performance. "I'm Joshua Andrews. Chris is my brother. I'm eleven and I'm from the USA. I'm a wrestler. Free-style's my best, but I do Greco-Roman too." Josh stripped much faster than his brother had done. He just wanted to get it over with. All of the trainers and film crew in the room couldn't help but stare at the oversized organ that dangled between the eleven-year-old's legs. It was already almost as big as thirteen-year-old Christopher's, and Josh hadn't even started puberty yet.

"Your trainer is Hanna Dubose."

A tall young woman, barely in her twenties stepped forward. She wore the same gray jumpsuit as Jason Sanborne. Her hair was dark and cut very short. She was a lesbian, but took a certain delight in the idea of training and tormenting a young boy. She generally disliked males, and she took an immediate dislike to little Joshua with his not so little penis.

"Put your hands behind your head and get over here, wiener-boy," she sneered at him. The other trainers laughed. Not a terribly imaginative nickname, but it was certainly descriptive, and young Josh would be tagged with it for the next five years of his life.

Already very much afraid of this very powerful and confident young woman, a very naked Josh scurried over to Hanna Dubose's table.

William Durand called each boy's name individually. And each boy took his turn stepping into the center of the room, alone and frightened. Each boy stripped off his uniform and stood naked before the trainers and of course the other boys who'd gone earlier. The youngest and smallest boy was Miles Harris. He was English, a Londoner in fact, and excelled at running and cricket.

"There won't be much cricket on this island," Durand said with a smile, "but you will have plenty of chances to show us all how fast you can run."

Miles had a very athletic build in spite of his young age. His legs were particularly muscular and well developed. His genitals though were very small, a tiny circumcised cock barely two inches [2cm] long and balls that still hugged up close to his body. Naturally there was not a lick of hair on him, aside from the shaggy brown mop on his head.

The oldest boy turned out to be the one Chris had showered with earlier. He was David Brown, age fourteen and six months, from Australia. He was taller than Chris, though not the tallest boy in the group. Like Chris he was a swimmer, and also competed in Australia's junior lifeguard competitions. He had the most pubic hair of all the boys, and even had a few sparse hairs growing under his arms. The rest of his body was still perfectly hairless. The hair on his head was brown. His eyes were blue. His genitals were about the same size as Christopher's, his cock a bit smaller, his balls a bit larger.

The boy with the biggest cock and balls was Illya Casparev, a Russian and a thirteen-year-old about two months older than Chris was. His cock was a massive organ, nearly six inches [15cm] long, and very thick, dangling down over a set of plump low-hanging balls. Illya's genitals were made to appear even larger due to the fact that the thirteen-year-old did not have a single pubic hair. His entire body was as smooth and hairless as that of the younger boys. Illya was a gymnast. The muscles in his arms and legs certainly proved that.

The remaining boys were all equally cute and equally athletic, and after the final boy was called, they all stood equally naked next to their trainers. All of them were curious as to the contents of the metal boxes on the small tables. They were soon to find out, although it is doubtful any of them would be too happy about it when they did.

Durand addressed the ten trainers and their boys. "Now that you boys have met your trainers, we need to establish some rules about your behavior. Your trainers are your masters. If you remember that, you will do very well here on the island. You are to obey them without question. Your trainers will tell you what is expected of you each day. They will supervise your daily training sessions and prepare you for each contest. You will always try your best. This is a competition. You will be competing against each other, either in teams or individually. You will also be competing against yourself. You will earn points both inside and outside the arena for being obedient and doing things correctly, and you will be given demerits for misbehaving and for any errors you make. Winning a contest does not necessarily mean you will earn points in your favor." Durand paused for a moment. The boys' eyes were all locked on him, trying to make sense of everything they were being told. It was almost overwhelming for them. Some of the boys had been awake for more than twenty-four hours now, all of them were scared and exhausted.

"Your trainers will help to ensure that you are in the best shape of your lives, and that you stay that way. They are here to help you endure hardships you cannot yet imagine. They are not here to be your friends or your counselors. Obey them. Never lie to them. Do exactly what they tell you, when they tell you."

Chris looked up at Jason. The young man gave him a brief smile.

"Now, trainers, please unlock each boy's box. Boys, go back and get your shoes and your uniforms. Fold your tunics and shorts and place them on the table."

Each of the trainers drew a ring of keys from his or her pocket and opened the boxes that lay on the tables. The nude boys meanwhile scrambled back to the other side of the room and picked up their cast off clothing, in some cases having a hard time figuring out whose was whose. After a few minutes of boyish chaos, everything was sorted out and all ten of the boys returned to their trainers, carrying their meager clothing in their arms.

Chris deposited his uniform and his shoes on the table.

"You won't be needing these very often," Jason explained. "You'll be naked most of the time."

"I'm getting used to it, sir," Chris whispered.

Jason smiled, but then his youthful features grew stern. "No talking. Don't open your mouth again or I'll have to punish you."

Durand called everyone back to attention. Indoctrinating the boys was a carefully orchestrated step-by-step process, intended to reinforce the fact that they were all slaves and would remain so until their indentures expired. "Trainers, it is now time to put your young gladiator in his collar and irons."

Jason Sanborne reached into the box and pulled out a thick iron collar. It opened with a hinge and had four iron rings on it, one in front, one in back, and one on each side. Chris stared at it with wide anxious eyes.

"Stand still, Chris," Jason said. He put the collar around the thirteen-year-old's neck and locked it in place. He could sense the young teenager's apprehension. "Slaves always wear collars. It will not come off until you leave the island."

Next, iron shackles were locked around the boy's ankles. Like the collar, they had rings on them. Another identical pair soon adorned his wrists. Chris was totally silent, not even daring to breathe. Just a few days ago he was a free person, a normal happy kid enjoying his summer vacation. Now he was naked, and collared, with heavy iron shackles locked around his wrists and ankles. His summer vacation was over, but his schooling was going to be quite different from now on. He was a thirteen-year-old slave, a thirteen-year-old gladiator. He started trembling. He couldn't help himself. At this moment he was more afraid than he'd ever been before.

The other boys were equally subdued and equally frightened. All of the trainers sensed it. Durand at the podium sensed it. It was exactly the reaction he wanted. The ten boys were now all locked in their collars and shackles.

"Trainers, attach the chains."

Sanborne went back to the box. He first produced a two-foot [60cm] length of heavy chain, which he attached to the irons around Christopher's ankles, securing it with a set of padlocks. A second chain followed it. This one was attached to the iron shackles around the boy's wrists. Chris was now chained hand and foot. The chains were long enough that he could still freely move his arms and legs, but they were heavy, adding to the already substantial weight of the shackles themselves. Chris knew he could not get out of them. He bit his lower lip. If he could have quit, he would have done it right there. But he couldn't quit. He'd signed the paper himself, making himself a slave. His only escape was his sixteenth birthday, nearly three full years away.

"Get used to the chains, Chris," his trainer explained. "Whenever you're not in the arena, in the boys' barracks, or at the training facility, you will be chained."

Chris swallowed hard and nodded that he understood.

Just then Durand issued his next set of instructions.

"Trainers, put your boys into their chastity devices."

Jason again reached into the box and produced a bizarre metal object. Chris could tell by the general shape and size of the object that it was meant to go on only one place on his body. He took a close look at the device in his trainer's hands and tried to bolt.

'No way they're putting that thing around my dick!' he thought to himself.

He wasn't the only one of the ten boys who had that reaction. Jason grabbed him under the arm and held him still. "None of that, Chris. If you do that again, you'll be punished. You signed the contract. You're a slave now. Deal with it. You will wear this at all times. Now stand still and let me put it on you."

"What the hell is it?" the naked thirteen-year-old asked, trying to regain his composure, staring at the shiny metal device.

"Just like Mr. Durand said. It's a chastity device." Jason held it closer and turned it this way and that so Chris could get a better look at it. "This particular style has been around for over forty years, kiddo. They usually come in plastic, but we had these made from stainless steel. It has two main pieces 3; " he removed the small padlock that held it all together. "Hold out your hand, boy."

Chris did as he was told and Jason put the biggest piece of the device in the boy's left hand. It looked like a small metal cage, about three inches [7½cm] long from end to end and one inch [2½cm] wide. There was a small metal ring at the open end, less than an inch [25mm] in diameter. Two metal posts stuck out on the back of the ring. Each post was about a ½ inch long [13mm]. It was on the other side of this ring that things got interesting, scary interesting in young Chris' opinion.

Six metal bars were welded to the ring, held permanently in place, stretching down from the ring and attaching themselves about two inches [5cm] further down to another even smaller ring about ¾ of an inch [20mm] in diameter. The bars looked as if they passed through this ring, took a sharp forty-five degree downward angle, and finally attached themselves to the end of the device, which was closed off by yet another even smaller ring with its own set of tiny bars running in parallel lines across its diameter. The result resting in Christopher's palm was a not quite three-inch [7½cm] long metal cage that curved wickedly under itself at its very end.

"That part goes around your penis."

"Yeah. I kinda figured that out myself."

"Smart boy. Now this larger ring," Jason held up the other primary piece to this puzzling device, "goes around the base of your cock and balls. There's three little holes drilled through the top of the ring, see 3;"

Again Chris got to inspect it close up.

"There's a post that slides through the hole in the middle," Jason held out his hand and showed Chris the post with all the other as yet unidentified bits, "and the posts on the penis cage slide into the two holes on either side of the middle hole."

"What's all the rest of that stuff."

"These little round things are spacers, to make sure it fits you nice and snug. And this," Jason held up the last piece. It was a half-circle, shining steel like the rest of the device, and along its inner curvature there was a series of small metal spikes. It had a hole at the top for the main post to pass through. "Well, I think you've got the idea about what that piece is for. Now spread your legs a bit so I can get this on you. You're not going to give me any trouble are you?"

"No, sir."

"Good. Try your best not to get an erection."

Jason drew the thirteen-year-old boy's low-hanging balls through the ring then slowly worked the boy's penis through, pulling the kid's genitals forward until the ring rested right up against Christopher's pubic region. It was the first time any hand but his own, or maybe possibly his mom's when he was very little, had touched his private parts. Chris couldn't help but let out a soft moan as his cock slowly swelled to a semi-erect state.

"Alright. Calm yourself down." Jason ran his hands playfully through Christopher's sparse little tuft of blond pubic hair. He didn't have the heart to tell the young teenager that he'd soon be loosing it, along with every other pretty much non-existent wisp of hair on his slim muscular little body.

"Now the post, the spacers, and the spikes." Jason slid the post through the middle of the three holes, then slid the spacers down the post, followed by the half-circular spike attachment. Chris could feel the spikes digging into the flesh of his penis right away.

"Ouch."

"Stop whining. Now the penis cage." Jason lined up the three posts and slid the device on, using just the tips of his pinky fingers (the only ones that could fit in the spaces between the bars) to pull the tip of the boy's penis all the way down to the end. Chris immediately felt his cock being curved back under itself. He started to get hard just as Jason was putting the padlock through a tiny hole at the very end of the center post. The trainer snapped the lock in place with a very ominous and final 'click.' He took the key and added it to the ring that already held the keys to Christopher's collar and shackles.

"Oh, shit 3; " Chris whispered as his cock strained against the metal cage, the five tiny spikes digging even deeper into his swollen teenaged meat.

"You can't have an erection in that thing, Christopher. When you try to, you'll feel the spikes even more."

In a total panic, Chris instinctively reached down and tried to pull the device off his genitals. It wouldn't budge. He looked up at Jason with a look of sheer confused terror in his watering blue eyes.

"You can't take it off, Chris. You need the key to do that. And you don't have the key, do you?"

"No, sir," Chris hung his head as the stark reality of this situation sunk in. His penis was locked in a cage and there was nothing he could do about it.

"I'm your trainer, Chris," Jason said sternly, "and that means I'm in charge of you 3; all of you. From now on, I decide when you can have an erection. And I can promise you it won't be very often. You'll get used to it. You don't really have a choice, do you?"

"No, sir."

The only consolation Chris could find was that all of the other boys also had chastity devices locked around their cocks and balls. Looking around he did notice that Josh, and the two other younger boys were wearing a somewhat different contraption. Josh had on a thick black leather belt. Attached to this belt was a metal plate in the shape of a triangle with a slight outward and downward curve to it. The plate concealed and encased Joshua's penis and testicles completely. They could not be seen or touched. The belt locked around the boy's waist from behind with two heavy padlocks. A leather strap ran from the bottom of the plate, under Joshua's legs and up the length of his little butt-crack, attaching itself to the belt and pulling the plate tightly against the eleven-year-old's abdomen. It made him appear totally flat up front between his legs, no cute young genitals dangling softly. It was as if eleven-year-old Josh had no genitals at all.

Chris of course did not know all the details, but Josh was currently experiencing the odd and not very pleasant sensation of having his testicles forced back up into his body, his penis pressed permanently downward between his legs.

Joshua, Ian, and Miles, the three youngest boys, all wore these nasty chastity belts. None of the little boys would be having stiffies with the belts locked around their slender waists.

William Durand again stood in front of the group. "Now boys, each of you will receive your number. This will make it easier for the staff and crew and the audience at home to identify you. Trainers, if you will take your boy's identification tag and attach it to the ring on the front of his collar."

Jason reached into the box once again. This time he pulled out a small square metal ID tag. Chris looked at it closely. It was silver, with thick black lettering. It simply said:

'Boy 07'

Jason attached it to the front of Christopher's collar. "That's your name from this moment on. You will never be called by your given name again. I will find a nickname for you eventually, but for now you will answer to Boy Zero-Seven."

Chris nodded and looked over to find Josh. He quietly and quickly flashed a seven with his fingers. Josh just as quickly flashed two fingers back at him.

The numbers were not random, but in fact based on the boy's ages. Boy number Zero-One was ten-year-old Miles Harris. Boy number One-Zero was fourteen-year-old David Brown, the oldest boy on the island, but not the biggest. Chris even though he was one of the tallest, was only the fourth oldest, and so he ended up with number Zero-Seven. It would be his name for the next three years.

"Now we will put you in pairs," Durand said, gazing out at the ten handsome muscular boy athletes. Aside from the wispy tufts of pubic hair on the older boys, their strong young naked bodies were all completely smooth and hairless. "In most cases you will be competing as team-mates, though there will be exceptions. To keep things fair, we will be pairing an older boy with a younger boy. When your numbers are called please pick up your boxes and step forward with your trainers. Then move to the other side of the room."

Durand looked down at his roster, made a few last minute adjustments and began reading out the numbers.

"Zero-One and Zero-Nine."

That paired ten-year-old Miles Davis with fourteen-year-old Phillipe Dulac. Phillipe was the only French boy in the group. Diving was his sport of choice. He was long-limbed and lean, with an uncircumcised cock that was of just about average length for his age but very thick and crowned with a nice tuft of light brown pubic hair. The two boys and their trainers stepped forward and walked across the room, carrying their boxes in front of them. "Lift that box higher, Zero-Nine," the older boy's trainer, a woman, said. "You are not allowed to cover your genitals. Ever."

"Zero-Three and Zero-Eight."

Eleven-year-old Ian Cloverdale and thirteen-year-old Illya Casparev stepped forward. Their trainers were both men. Illya, a skim alabaster-skinned Russian, was actually taller than either of the two fourteen-year-olds. Ian was tanned a deep dark golden brown except for a striking pure white patch around his middle where his speedo would have been. Hidden within the confines of his chastity belt, was a cock that was still rather small, but his balls were quite large and hung lower than Josh's did. Ian already had some pubic hair, black like the hair on his head, forming a small wispy triangle above his penis. None of this of course could now be seen, since a metal plate covered the youngster's genitals completely. Beside him, thirteen-year-old Ilya's huge man-sized dick, without a single pubic hair around it, was now confined by the metal cock-cage. It was a fairly comical sight, a boy so young with a cock so big. He and Josh probably should have been paired together.

"Zero-Two and One-Zero."

Josh got David, the oldest boy in the competition, and the only one with a fairly thick bush of pubic hair above his penis. The rest of him however was a completely hairless as his four-foot-six-inch [1.37m] tall eleven-year-old partner. Josh looked back at his brother in fear. He was sure he'd get to be with his brother the whole time, he never would have signed the contract if he thought they'd be separated. Chris was also disappointed and worried. He'd promised Josh he'd take of him and look after him. He'd promised his parents the same thing. Now they'd be competing against each other. With his head down, prodded along by his trainer, the second of the four women in the room, young Josh followed David to the other side. The fourteen-year-old's trainer was also a woman, much to young David's embarrassment.

"Zero-Six and Zero-Five."

That was a pairing of the two oldest twelve-year-olds, Daniel O'Hanlon, the only Canadian, and the only red-head among the boys, and the second English boy Gabriel Shelton who, based upon his age, had the strongest heaviest build of all the boys. There was no fat on the kid's body at all. He was solid muscle. His sports were soccer and rugby, and his compact frame was perfectly proportioned for his chosen athletic endeavors. Neither boy had a lick of hair on his body. Gabriel's genitals, before being locked away in the chastity device, were quite large for a boy of twelve. Daniel's on the other hand were quite small, the smallest in fact of virtually all the boys, beating only ten-year-old Miles in that department.

"Zero-Four and Zero-Seven."

Simply by elimination, Chris already knew boy number Zero-Four would be his partner. It was the other Russian, Alexei Graznikov. He was only a little bit bigger than Josh, and unlike the two older twelve-year-olds, he had slight dusting of pubic hair over a particularly thick three-inch [7½cm] long cock. He was trim, tight and muscular, and Chris knew just by looking at him that we was a wrestler the same as Josh was. If his younger brother could not be his partner, Alexei was probably the next best choice. The two boys stood face to face and shared a quick smile, remembering that they were not allowed to speak out of turn. Then they picked up their boxes and marched across the room with their trainers. Alexei's trainer was a woman, which clearly did not make him, or Chris, terribly happy.

"Alright boys, listen up," Durand said. "This is the last time you will stand in this building. No slaves are allowed here. We're going to march you outside and show you around the complex. Your first stop will be the arena. Trainers, chain your boys together, please."

Two-foot [60cm] lengths of chain were brought out and attached to the iron collars around each boy's neck, chaining him to his partner.

"Whenever you are being taken from one place to another, you will be chained together," Alexei's trainer explained to them as Jason locked the chain in place. The chain was very heavy. Chris and Alexei were close in height, but they quickly discovered they had to stand close together to keep slack in the chain. "My name is Natasha," she said to Chris, her accent clearly Russian. She was a very large and very frightening woman, a few inches taller than Jason. She gazed down at the thirteen-year-old's strong athletic young body and a wicked leer filled her eyes. "You will address me as 'ma'am'."

"Yes, ma'am," Chris said.

"Follow us, boys," Jason said and the two boys fell in step behind their trainers.

They walked out into the hot tropical sun. There were no trees close by to offer the boys any shade. They left the production building, passed the small resort-style hotel that had built for special guests, crossed a neatly manicured dirt road and saw the arena for the first time. It was an octagonal building, not as large as the boys might have expected, but it was the biggest building on the island, with the exception of William Durand's private estate.

"This is the public entrance," Durand said as the ten boys and their trainers marched around the front of the building. It was ornate and elegant and clearly intended for those of great wealth and influence. "It is strictly off-limits to you boys. Your entrance is at the back."

With their chains rattling and clinking with each step, the nude boys were led around the structure. A set of steel double doors marked the boys' entrance to the arena. Jason and one of the other male trainers pulled the doors open and the boys were marched down a steep ramp into a large underground room. It was dimly lit, but the boys could see cages, and cells, and four ominous looking wooden tables with metal restraints and chains at each corner.

"We are directly beneath the floor of the arena," Durand explained. "Some of the events will require all of you to be in the arena at the same time, most of them will not. You will be held here until your number is called. Then you will ascend those stairs," Durand pointed to one of two sets of stairs that led up to the arena. Over the arched opening the word 'BOYS' was painted in black letters. The other staircase had the words 'Trainers and Crew'.

The boys were given a few minutes to walk around the lower level. There were no windows at all. The four tables drew a lot of attention and a lot of frightened anxious looks. All of the boys wondered what might happen to them on one of those tables and all of them decided they did not want to end up there. The cages were larger than the ones they'd been put into for their journey to the island. Tall and narrow, it was obvious that each could hold only a single boy and that he would have to be standing the entire time he was in it.

"Alright, boys," Durand called them back to attention. "Up the stairs you go." The five pairs of boys marched quickly and silently up the steps. The staircase was just wide enough to allow for a pair of boys chained together at the neck. Chris and Alexei where the first ones to reach the floor of the arena. Durand and the trainers had taken the other steps and were already there waiting for them.

"You will run up those steps from now on," Durand said. "When you reach the top, you will come to the center of the arena and wait with your hands behind your heads. Do it now."

The ten boys all crowded together in the center of the floor, assuming the required position. The area in which they stood was square, fifty yards by fifty [45x45m], with a five-foot [1.50m] high wall on all sides. Hard unforgiving concrete was beneath their bare feet. Above the wall, the seating for the spectators began. The arena would hold five hundred people, and there was not an obstructed view in the house. The arena was enclosed, the roof covered in tiles which would amplify the sounds from the floor below.

"The arena," Durand said, gesturing wide with his arms. "Modeled after the coliseums of the ancient world. You will be shedding a lot of sweat and quite a few tears on this floor."

The boys all shivered. Their chains rattled.

"Live competitions will take place here every Friday and Saturday. All of you will always compete in the live events. There will be additional contests throughout the week. These will be more selective, designed to test your individual strengths and weaknesses. Not all events will be held indoors. Follow me."

With their trainers prodding them forward, the boys marched through an open archway at the far end of the arena, passed through a narrow tunnel and came out into the bright, sweltering tropical sunlight. There in front of them was a long oval track, with grandstands built along both straight-aways. The track itself was simply hard-packed dirt. It was forty feet [12m] wide along the straight sections, but narrowed considerably in the oval curves at each end. Inside the track there were two small open pavillions, each with a single wooden bench, more holding cages like the ones the boys had already seen below the arena, and five two-wheeled carts which immediately caught the young gladiators attention.

"The hippodrome. Your foot and chariot races will be held here," Durand explained as the ten boys were forcefully marched around the entire track. "The track is ¾ of a mile [1200m] long. I see you've all noticed the chariots. They've been designed to be pulled by something considerably smaller than a horse. An animal with fewer legs. A boy, to be precise."

The naked boys gave each other nervous worried glances. The chariots, though small, looked to be very sturdy and no doubt very heavy.

"I'll never be able to pull something like that," young Josh said, staring at the two-wheeled chariot with dread.

Once they'd completed their circuit of the track, the boys were hurried along at a brisk run to the far side of the arena, where another out-door facility awaited their inspection. It was an enormous swimming pool. Olympic sized.

Chris and the other swimmers in the group immediately got excited.

"Is there any boy here who can't swim?" Durand asked.

Ten-year-old Miles was the only boy who raised his hand.

"You will learn," Durand said sternly. "Quickly. Boy Zero-Seven!"

It took Chris a few seconds to realize Durand meant him. 'Oh, that's me!' he thought. "Yes, sir!" he shouted as loud and brave as he could.

"Our research tells us you are likely the best swimmer in the group. You will be responsible for teaching Zero-One here to swim. You will be punished if he fails to meet my expectations. Trainers, make a note of it."

Jason drew out his digital notepad and quickly entered these special orders. Chris suddenly did not feel so good about being such a good swimmer.

"I'm sure you boys are thinking you will enjoy yourselves in the pool," Durand continued. "I can assure you that will not be the case."

The boys were marched away from the pool and taken to the training facility right next door. There was a large common area in the center of the building with smaller special training rooms all around it. The infirmary and its examination room were also here. The main room looked like any well-equipped athletic training facility. There were weight machines, treadmills, rowing machines, free weights, medicine balls, jump ropes and even a climbing wall at one end. Everything was new and the boys were excited about being able to train on all that cool equipment. Their reaction to the six smaller special training rooms was considerably less enthusiastic.

There were three on either side, opening onto the main room. They were each about twenty feet by twenty [6x6m]. All six of them had solid steel doors. There were no windows. The boys all gasped when they saw the contents of these rooms. There were contraptions and devices and pieces of equipment none of them had ever seen before. Most of them looked extremely scary and painful. Chris wondered just exactly what kind of training was going to be going on here. Once again the boys were allowed to walk around, exploring each room, studying the bizarre equipment close up. The puzzled unsure looks on all of their young faces was priceless, and of course the cameras, which were already following them everywhere they went, captured all of it. Some of the older boys were beginning to get some idea about what might be happening to them in this building. Strange things. Things that had nothing to do with athletics as they understood the word. There were nervous giggles and frightened awestruck gasps.

Of course even the youngest boys knew what the whips and canes and paddles that hung from the walls of each room would be used for. None of the boys dared get too close to those.

"Boys," Durand addressed them as their trainers gathered them back together again. "You will now be taken to the barracks. You will be allowed rest until feeding time. After you have been fed, you will be brought back here and your training will begin. Move out!"

They were marched toward a single isolated building sitting out on open ground, surrounded by a high fence topped with razor wire. The boys did not like the looks of it at all. A uniformed guard stood by the only gate in the fence. He spoke into his radio and the gate buzzed loudly for a moment and clicked open.

The ten boys were marched inside by their trainers, and the gate closed and locked behind them. Another guard stood at the door to the barracks and buzzed it open for them. The boys were ushered inside to find five more guards on duty, two of whom were women. Durand had followed behind the parade of naked boys and told them all to gather in the common area of the barracks. The boys all stood there, collared, shackled, chained, their young genitals locked away in chastity devices. Some of them looked scared, all of them looked shocked, none of them looked terribly happy.

"The guards are in charge of you while you're inside the barracks," Durand explained to the ten boys. "The gladiators of ancient times were slaves and so are you. You are, essentially, animals, and the guards are instructed to treat you accordingly. They will not go out of their way to be cruel to you, but you boys must start to learn that you are no longer free human beings. The guards will oversee your feeding, your daily showers and any routine punishments you earn while in this building. You will obey them the same you will obey your trainers. They are allowed to discipline you as they see fit. This common area, and your cells are the only places on the island where you will be allowed to speak freely to each other, but you will remain quiet and orderly at all times. You are not allowed to leave the barracks without a trainer to accompany you.

Your daily routine is as follows: You will be awakened for breakfast at 0800 every morning. You will eat all the food you are given. You will then be taken to the shower area. The guards will supervise you closely to make sure your bodies are clean. Your trainers will come for you at 0900 to start your day. You will be returned here for supper at 1700, allowed to go to the bathroom then resume whatever activities you've been assigned. You will be returned to your barracks by 2130 each night and given two hours of free time. There will be no television, no video games. There is a small library from which you may borrow one book at a time. Lights out is at 2330 hours.

You will be allowed to make one fifteen-minute telephone call home each week. Your trainer will schedule your call time for you. This is a privilege and not a right. You are slaves. If you break any rules, your call privileges will be taken away. Trainers, remove their chains."

The ten trainers quickly unlocked the chains attached to the boys' collars, freeing them from their partners. The shackles around their ankles and wrists were also removed. Each set of chains and shackles was hung next to the doors of the five small cells that would be the boys sleeping quarters. Each pair was assigned to a cell. Chris and Alexei were placed in cell number three. It had two small metal slabs that folded down from the wall. Each was covered with a thin mattress. There was a pillow on each bed, a single white sheet, and no blankets. The cell had a window, covered by thick mesh screen and iron bars. Fresh air could come in, but the boys could not see out. Aside from the beds, there was nothing else in the tiny little room.

The boys were put in their cells and locked in until supper was delivered from the cafeteria building. Chris was distraught. He hadn't had one chance to say anything to Josh. He knew his little brother must be scared to death right now, but there was nothing he could do to help him. He sat on his bunk and swung his legs freely, his toes just barely grazed the floor.

"You are scared?" Alexei said, his voice just showing the first signs of puberty.

Chris looked up at his younger partner in surprise. Alexei smiled brightly.

"Da. I speak good English. You are Christopher?"

"Yeah. You can call me Chris."

"Chris," the twelve-year-old Russian boy smiled, showing a rather endearing gap in his front teeth. "You are scared?"

"Hell yes! Aren't you?"

"Da. I don't 3; understood 3; why we wear these things 3; " Alexei spread his slender muscular legs and pointed down at the metal device encasing his hairless genitals.

"Me neither," Chris sighed. "Guess I won't be jerkin' off for a while. You're Alexei, right?"

"Da," the twleve-year-old said, pointing a finger at his chest. "Alexei

Ivanovich Graznikov."

Chris held out his hand. "Nice to meet you. Guess we're going to be team-mates or something like that."

"Team 3; mates. Yes. I like. Nice to meet you too."

"Sorry I don't speak any Russian."

Alexei smiled again. "I will teach. If you help me with English? Good?"

Chris couldn't help but smile at the boy's awkward way of speaking. But he was relieved the other kid at least understood what he was saying. "Deal," Chris said, again shaking Alexei's hand.

"Natasha says we always will be naked. You think she says truth?"

Chris nodded. "Jason told me the same thing. Just think, Alexei, millions of people are gonna get to see our big dicks an our naked butts every fuckin' Saturday."

"Fuckin' Saturday!" Alexei shouted with a big laugh, slapping his bare thighs with his hands. "Big fuckin' dicks! I have a big fuckin' dick! Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"Well, you've got that word figured out anyway," Chris replied. "And you're dick ain't really all that big, buddy, sorry to tell you."

"Your little brother 3; he has big one."

"Bigger than yours," Chris said with a certain amount of pride, and also a certain amount of embarrassment that Josh's penis was already almost as big as his own. "Illya is like, totally huge, man. I mean damn."

"Illya, da," Alexei said. "We are friends for very long time. He only got so big a few years ago."

"You're a wrestler, right?"

The twelve-year-old nodded with enthusiasm. "Very good wrestler. You?"

"I wrestle, but that's really my brother's thing. I'm a swimmer. No one's gonna beat me in the water."

"We will make a good team," the young Russian said.

"I think so too."

NEXT PART