Istari

Worldwide Boy Gladiators

Chapters 11-15

Chapter 11
Training Begins

For his part, David would try to shorten his steps so Josh could keep pace, but invariably he would forget and pull ahead until the chain between the boys' collars was stretched as far as it would go. Josh would immediately stumble, sometimes falling and being dragged along for a few steps, sometimes taking David down with him leaving the two boys in a sore and sweaty heap of slender tangled limbs.

Riding behind them, their trainers would stop and wait for the boys to regain their feet, before forcing them on again. Josh had already earned ten more demerits for falling down five times. David had received four, which he thought was very unfair since it was the younger boy's stumbles that had tripped him up both times. The course was winding and uneven and led them through thickly forested areas of the island. The boys welcomed the shade whenever they passed beneath the trees, but it did little to cool things off.

"I'm getting tired," Josh said as he ran as fast as the chains between his ankles would allow. "How much longer are we gonna have to keep running?"

"I don't know," David answered, taking the young boy's arm and helping pull him along the dirt track. "Just keep your legs moving. I'm not going to drag you all over the island. And we're not getting any more demerits today, got it, mate?"

"Got it," Josh shouted. He'd already earned ten demerits for his erection this morning, now he'd accumulated ten more during the run. He did the math in his head as they came back out into the blazing tropical sunlight. "Fuck! I got like twenty demerits already!"

"Right, mate, and I've got six. I'm not going to be last at the end of the week."

"Me neither!"

Gladiator Island would have been considered small were it a sovereign Caribbean nation, as a privately owned estate however, it was exceptionally large. The marathon course used every square mile of it. Just over twenty-three miles [37km], it wound through the tropical trees that shaded the center of the island and along the white sands of the beach, passing in sight of William Durand's private mansion at its northern most point, then winding back to the main competition area. At the halfway point, the boys circled the arena and ran inside, their trainers riding behind them on the four-wheeler. David and Josh made two circuits of the arena floor, looking up at the empty stands. In less than two weeks, those seats would be filled with rabid spectators who had paid top dollar to see ten naked boys enduring all manner of trials and torments and tests of endurance.

The boys ran outside again, starting the second half of their run, which would take them over the western side of the island, where hills and a rocky shoreline awaited them. Considering their youth, and their inexperience at long-distance running, David and Josh were making excellent time. Both boys were terrific athletes, but as the course became more challenging, the strain on their young bodies began to show. Josh especially began to struggle as their run entered its second hour.

"Come on, Josh, just keep running," David said, trying to sound encouraging. His own legs were burning.

Behind them, their trainers drove up close on their heels.

"Pick up your feet, boys," Hannah shouted at them. "I want those little butts moving. Speed up!" She accelerated a bit until she was almost on top of them. Afraid of being run over, the fourteen and eleven-year-old managed to find some extra energy.

After they'd covered about two more hard miles [3km], Hannah blew a whistle and ordered them to stop. Michella clicked the stopwatch in her right hand and called them over to the four-wheeler. Sucking in air as fast as they could, the boys hurried back to their trainers. They stood there bent at their waists, hands on their knees, the chain between their collars swinging between them.

"Stand up straight," Michella said. "Hands behind your heads."

Each with a tired sigh, the boys obeyed. With critical eyes, the two women looked at the boys for a moment. Their young smooth bodies glistened with sweat from head to toe. Josh's blond hair was so damp now it had turned a dark brown. David looked as if he'd just stepped out of the swimming pool.

"Not bad, boys," Hannah said. She pulled two bottles of water out of a cooler behind her and tossed them to David and Josh. "Drink it slow," she warned them.

The boys twisted the caps and brought the bottles to their lips. It was so cold and they were so thirsty. It was hard to follow orders and not gulp it down, but both boys were experienced young athletes and knew the proper way to take in fluids.

"God that's cold," Josh said to his partner.

"Yeah, mate. I needed that."

"Thanks, ma'am," they both said to their trainers at once.

The two women smiled at their polite little boys.

"How are we doing, ma'am?" David asked softly.

Michella checked her stopwatch. "Just over one hour and ten minutes. Seeing as neither of you are runners, that's very good."

"How far have we run?" Josh asked between sips. The cold water felt so good in his mouth.

"You're at fourteen miles [23km] right now."

"Wow!" Josh said with wide eyes. "I never thought I could run that far."

Hannah smiled, somewhat wickedly. "Well good for you. But don't get cocky, little man. You've still got nine miles [14km] to go."

"That's enough water for now," Michella told them. The boys obediently handed back their bottles. "You'll get more later. Now stand still. You're both starting to get red. We don't want you sunburned on camera."

Hannah nodded her agreement. "We're going to put some tanning oil on you."

The trainers stepped off the four-wheeler and stood in front of their boys with bottles of oil in their hands. Hannah and Michella were about the same height. A good foot taller than David, and more than eighteen inches [45cm] over young Joshua. They removed the chain that connected the boys' collars and let it fall to the ground.

Josh looked up at Hannah with a mixture of fear and determination. He wanted to win. He always won. He hated losing, especially to his brother. He was afraid of his trainer, and with good reason after spending a few hours with her in the training room the night before, but he also knew she was there to help him do his very best.

"I am going to push you, Zero-Two," she'd told him last night, just before Josh received his first whipping. "And you are going to take everything I give you. Most of the other boys are older and bigger and stronger than you are, but that is no excuse. I won't tolerate failure."

"Me neither," Josh had said, gritting his teeth as the first blow landed across his back. After letting out a loud scream he craned his neck back at her. "I hate losing."

"That's one thing we have in common then," Hannah had said.

Now she was gently applying the cool oil to his naked body. Her hands were a lot softer than he thought they'd be and she wasn't rough with him at all. "Put your arms at your sides." She covered his back and rubbed the oil over his shoulders. She gently massaged it into his chest. "You've got nice little muscles, Zero-Two."

He smiled up at her. As much as he was afraid of her, he also wanted her to like him. She worked slowly down over his stomach. Josh began to get a tingly feeling inside his chastity belt. He could feel his penis starting to swell up against the metal plate that kept his young genitals tightly constrained and permanently out of reach. As Hannah began working the oil into his thighs he could not help but let a soft moan of pleasure escape his lips.

Hannah laughed. "Is that horse-dick of yours trying to get hard in there?" she asked, tapping a finger against the metal covering.

"Yes, ma'am."

"You are a naughty boy, Zero-Two."

"Yes, ma'am," Josh said. He rather enjoyed the feelings he was having. His penis wanted to get hard, but it couldn't do it. It felt strange and intoxicating, knowing he couldn't touch himself. He was almost giddy. He wanted Hannah to keep touching his legs like that, but by now she was done. He sighed in disappointment.

"Don't worry, my little colt," Hannah told him, "you'll get a chance to exercise your cock when you get to medical this evening. Now, go over and sit down under that tree. You have ten minutes before you start running again."

Josh walked over to the tree, looking down at his body, which now had a fine sheen of oil on it. It seemed to really define his young muscles a lot more clearly. He liked the way it looked, and it had a nice scent too. He smiled at himself, and ran his right hand over the metal cover of his chastity belt. His penis had softened somewhat, but it was still all tingly. He sat down in the grass under the shade of the tree and crossed his legs. He looked up at the cloudless blue sky. It was really hot out here, but it was pretty. He wished he could go into the ocean. That would have been neat. He could hear the waves far off in the distance.

David came over a few minutes later. Josh could see that the older boy's penis was straining inside its cage, and the fourteen-year-old had the same dreamy look on his face that Josh had worn just a few moments earlier.

"You too, ay mate?" David asked as he folded his long legs under him and sat down.

"Yeah."

"It totally sucks not being allowed to have a boner," the young Aussie observed.

"Sure does, dude."

"I think those two are totally hot!" the fourteen-year-old said with a nervous giggle.

Josh shook his head. "I think they're scary."

"Yeah, yeah they're kinda scary too."

"I'm glad they let us stop," Josh admitted quietly. "I was getting really tired."

"I could tell."

"Oh, like you weren't."

David looked at him with friendly eyes. "Didn't mean anything by it, mate." He reached over and patted Josh on the leg. "I'm like three years older than you, right. Got longer legs, you know. This is easier for me. I think it's cool the way you just keep running. You got balls, mate."

"Yeah, I guess I kinda do, don't I?"

Hannah blew her whistle when their break was up. The two boys quickly got to their feet and once again stood at attention in front of the two young women.

"No more talking," Michella said as Hannah reattached the chain between the boys' collars. "You've got nine more miles [14km] to cover and we expect you to do it fast. We're going to be right on your little butts the whole way. If you slow down, you'll get the prod," she pulled the long stick from between the seats. "No breaks. If you have to piss, just go while you're running."

Again they heard Hannah's whistle, and the two boys started running just like before, with their trainers following close at their heels on the four-wheeler. They were the first pair on the course, and their trainers expected them to set a high standard. The four other pairs would follow before the day was over.

Meanwhile, back at the main production facility, William Durand was having breakfast with Jason Sanborne, and several members of the film crew, including the director, Michael Brussard, who had worked on most of XB1's earlier hits, including the still popular 'Enslaved.' Lara Tomlinsin, who was not due to arrive on the island for several days, was participating via video conference from the network's headquarters in New York.

"So, Bill," Lara said, now on a first name basis with her boss, "what do you think of our little project so far?"

"Simply brilliant, my dear," the experienced media mogul said, raising his glass to her. "The facilities here on the island are exceptional and the staff and crew could not be of higher quality."

"And the boys?"

"Marvelous. They're all adorable, and they're all muscular little gods. See that your team in recruitment receives an extra bonus for finding them. Any problems with the indentures?"

"None, sir. Every boy, or at least his parent's, signed up willingly. None of the families demanded more than the five million we offered them."

"So we are on budget."

"A little under, sir," Lara reported proudly.

"Very good. Now I believe you had a few other items on the agenda."

"I do, sir. Minor little details we should clarify before things go too much further."

"Such as?"

"Well, first and foremost we need to make sure that we all understand the safety limits we've put in place for the boys. They are company property and constitute a major investment in time and money." She looked primarily at Jason Sanborne as she spoke. As head trainer, overseeing the boys and ensuring that all the trainers and staff obeyed the rules was his responsibility.

"You don't have any reason for concern, Lara," Jason said, staring at her image on the screen.

"I'm sure I don't, but more than a few of our trainers may be a little too enthusiastic, if you know what I mean. I want to make sure we're all on the same page here. Aside from the obvious economic loss, we have to remember these boys are indentured. The ICSC in Geneva does have established guidelines regarding their general treatment and we are required under the law to follow them. Indentured boys don't have rights in the sense that free boys do, but there are certain protections that must be guaranteed. No mutilations. No blows to the head. No beatings outside of established punishment and discipline procedures. Humiliation in any and all forms is perfectly acceptable and encouraged, but the boys are not to suffer any lasting injury."

"I'm fully aware of the statutes, Lara," Jason said, "and so are my trainers. We've already had this discussion. No one wants to see these boys get hurt, at least not in that way." He shifted his gaze to William Durand. "We'll keep them safe, we'll keep them in top shape, and we'll keep them ready to compete every day. You have my word on that."

"Good enough for me. What else do you have for us, Lara?"

"Well, sir, I know we did not discuss this during our initial planning sessions, but we need to ensure some education for the boys. Their indentured status requires us to provide a maximum eight hours of schooling per week for the boys thirteen and older. Sixteen hours per week is required for those twelve and under. I've taken the liberty of hiring a tutor. He'll be arriving early next week, after the first weekend of competition is over. His qualifications are impeccable. We can easily adapt some space in the training facility for use as a classroom."

Durand nodded that this plan seemed prudent. The company had very wide latitude in dealing with their ten young slave boys, but there were internationally accepted rules that had to be respected. It was simply good business to do so.

"What do you think, Mike?" the XB1 chief asked, turning to the show's director after Lara had concluded her report.

"Gladiators is going to be a huge hit. I've already looked at some of the rough film we shot yesterday. The boys are incredibly cute, and they all photograph well. Some of them seem to be a little too aware of the camera. We'll have to train them to ignore us. We don't want the audience at home to get the mistaken impression that anything has been scripted, or that the boys are acting."

"Once we get into the competition, that should take care of itself," Jason said. "The boys will be much too busy to even notice the cameras are there. Are we going to allow them to be interviewed?"

"I'm not sure, Jason," Mike said. "I don't think we want people developing too close an attachment to these boys. We're going to be doing some rather awful things to them after all. The show could lose ratings if one or two of them develop into stars."

"I disagree, Mike," Durand said. "I think the viewers need to invest in these boys. The more they feel they know them, the more intense the show will become, especially once things really start to get difficult for our little gladiators. And if a few of them do become stars, so much the better. When we're not in competition, we can put the boys on public appearances all around the world."

"That's all good," the director said, "I'm just concerned that people will start to feel too much sympathy for them if they know them too well."

"I don't think we have much to worry about there, Mike," Lara said thoughtfully. "These boys were all champion athletes in their own sports. They're not used to losing. And you know how competitive boys this age can be. They all seem friendly with each other now, but once the stakes get higher, and the cost of losing becomes more and more painful, we'll start to see these boys turn into little animals. Trust me, they won't show any sympathy to each other, and I don't think the audience will show much for any of them."

"Alright. We'll include the interviews then. If nothing else it will give the audience a chance to see the boys' bodies close up. That should be worth a cheap thrill and a few extra points in the ratings."

"I'll be meeting with our marketing people tomorrow to begin getting teasers on the air," Durand explained. "Mike, can you pull together some footage for me?"

"No problem, boss."

"Excellent. I think we're going to have a big hit on our hands."

Back in the medical suite, Chris and Alexei were still attached to the milking machine. It had been almost forty-five minutes and the two boys were both sobbing quietly as the machine continued to stimulate their young prostates and coax more and more sperm from their testicles. Neither boy had achieved anything close to an orgasm and both of them remained hopelessly and helplessly aroused and frustrated and very embarrassed at being hooked to the machine, watching their milky white sperm flow through the clear plastic tubes.

Up until now, neither of the two young teens had even known it was possible to make a boy shoot his sperm without letting him ejaculate, but now they were experiencing it first hand. Christopher's balls were starting to ache, like someone had kicked him between his legs. His cock was still half-hard and it was hurting too, the way it did whenever he'd jerked off too much back home, even though he hadn't jerked off at all.

The plugs in their butts continued to vibrate at varying speeds, but the current that had run through the sheaths around their penises had been off for the last ten minutes. The boys' prostates were so overstimulated now that no stimulation of their penises was necessary to produce a continual flow of boyish fluid.

Chris felt his arms going weak and rested his head on the metal table. There he was with his butt up in the air, his big thirteen-year-old balls dangling loose and low between his hairless legs, his cock trapped inside the metal sheath. It was then that he noticed the cameraman for the first time.

'How long has he been in here?' he wondered to himself. He didn't like the idea of people seeing him like this, with that plug in his butt and his balls hanging down and everything else, but he knew he didn't have a choice anymore. Mostly he just wanted to get off that horrible table and as far away from that machine as possible.

After another five minutes, the fluid that was coming out of him started to turn clear. The machine made a loud noise and the suction increased dramatically, as did the electrical current being sent to the butt-plug.

"Oh, jeezus 3; " Chris groaned. He felt as if the machine was trying to suck him inside out. "Turn it off! Aaaaghh! Turn it off, please 3; !"

"You're almost done, Zero-Seven," the doctor said. "We just need to make sure you're dry. Just a few more minutes."

A few more minutes turned out to be more like twenty as the machine continued to pull the clear fluid from the poor kid's body. Finally, Chris achieved what amounted to a dry orgasm, just like the ones he barely remembered having when he was nine or ten. He gasped and felt all the muscles in his abdomen tense up. It hit him hard, but of course it was not the cum he wanted, just that intense agonizing tingling feeling that shook his entire body and was almost as painful as it was pleasurable. He let out an anguished sob and collapsed flat on his stomach.

"Stay on your hands and knees until you're told," Terri reprimanded him with a sharp swat to his behind.

With a tired groan Chris returned to the humiliating position, only to discover the camera was now pointed directly at his face, recording the tears that fell from his eyes. He wanted to reach out and slap it away, but he was afraid of what might happen to him if he did that. Instead he just put his head down on the table again and closed his eyes.

Next to him, Alexei, younger and less well endowed was nonetheless still producing an active flow of sperm. He was crying and begging them to stop the machine. Anna stroked the Russian boy's hair gently and spoke soft words of encouragement to him. It took another five minutes before he too experienced a shuddering dry orgasm.

The machine went silent. Doctor Trench cut the power. "Now lie still boys. We're going to get the sheaths off you and take your plugs out. I don't want to hear a word from either of you."

Chris felt Terri working between his legs, loosening the leather straps that held the cock-sheath in place. She pulled it off slowly, revealing the thirteen-year-old boy's now flaccid four-inch [10cm] long penis.

"That's a good boy," she said, tenderly rubbing the backs of his thighs. "Keep it soft now."

"Yes, miss."

"I'm going to take the plug out of your butt now. Spread your legs a little wider."

Chris did as he was told.

"Take a few deep breaths for me, ok, and try to relax."

"Yes, miss," Chris said, his voice embarrassingly high and child-like at that moment. He took his breaths and felt Terri begin pulling on the end of the plug.

"Try to push it out. Not too hard 3; that's right 3; here it comes 3; "

"Aaaahhhh!" Chris cried as the plug came out of his butt with a loud slurp. One last glob of semen drooled out of his dick at the same moment and fell onto the metal table.

"Well, looks like we didn't get all of it after all," Terri said in an amused voice. "I won't tell the doctor if you won't."

"No, miss."

Terri disappeared for a moment and returned with a warm damp washcloth. She gently cleaned the young teenager's genitals. Chris sighed happily when the warm cloth touched his penis. He thought back to the last time that his mother had given him a bath when he was seven. How good it felt when she washed his little one-inch [2½cm] wienie. How he laughed and giggled and got a weird tingly feeling between his little legs. Of course he sprouted a little boner. His mother had smiled at him, ignoring the hard little stick between her son's legs. Since then, no one had washed his dick for him.

"That feels nice, miss," he whispered, resting his head on the table again.

"You're keeping it soft," Terri praised him. "Looks like you're starting to learn some self-control."

"Alright, boys," the doctor said, interrupting the pleasant ministrations, "we're going to take your temperatures now. Keep still."

Terri pulled a thermometer from the pocket of her lab coat and pushed it into Christopher's butt. Anna did the same for Alexei. It was icy cold. Chris shivered and let out a little yelp of protest. It was so embarrassing. He hadn't had his temperature taken this way since he was four years old.

"Rectal thermometers always give more accurate readings," Trench explained to the humiliated boys. "You'd better get used to it."

The thermometers were left in for about two minutes. Terri pulled it out quickly and read off the number. "Ninety-eight point nine degrees [37.1°C], doctor. He's a little warm."

"That's to be expected after a milking."

Alexei's temperature was ninety-nine degrees [37.2°C] exactly.

"He's younger and smaller, so he's bound to be a little bit warmer," Trench explained to her young assistants. "Now, let's put their chastity devices back on."

The doctor helped Terri get the ring around Christopher's dangling genitals. "Measure his penis for me, dear, before we put the cage around it."

"Yes, doctor." Terri quickly grabbed a flexible ruler and began calling out numbers while the doctor recorded the data on her chart. "He's four inches [10cm] long, just over one inch [2½cm] wide, girth is 3; nearly three inches [7½cm]."

"Good. We need to make sure he gets the proper dosage in his pills. We want his penis to be seven inches [18cm] long before he turns fourteen. Can you get the cage on him without my help, dear?"

"I think so, doctor," Terri said with confidence.

"Excellent."

Terri did not have any problems with Chris at all. The boy remained perfectly still as the metal chastity device was once again placed around his penis. He could feel the ends of the spikes just pressing into the flesh of his boyhood. The device felt tighter than it did before, and he thought maybe they'd gotten mixed up and put Alexei's smaller cage on his much bigger dick. Terri seemed to notice the boy's concern and soothed him.

"Your penis is still a little swollen from the machine. It'll go back to normal in a few hours."

"Yes, miss."

The padlock was again fed through the hole in the post that held the device together. Chris heard it click with finality and he knew that once again his penis was locked up and off limits.

"Ladies," Doctor Trench announced, "we still need to select permanent anal-plugs for them, give them their pills and record the last of their measurements. We've got eight more boys to do today, so let's finish up."

They left the boys on the tables, still on their hands and knees, and followed the doctor over to a wall cabinet. Trench unlocked it and her young assistants surveyed the contents.

"Keeping a boy plugged, especially when his penis is locked in a chastity device, is a very effective method of control, ladies," she instructed them. "His prostate will be constantly stimulated, resulting in constant sexual arousal, which of course, the boy cannot possibly achieve. He will be much more obedient and much more focused on his required tasks. Terri, please select one for Zero-Seven. Anna, Karin, you will choose one for Zero-Four."

All of the plugs were metal, but the sizes varied greatly. Terri chose a very large and heavy one for Christopher.

"Are your sure, dear?" Trench asked. "That one is rather big for a boy his size."

"He'll get used to it, won't he?"

"Yes, but I am afraid we would damage him trying to get it in. Go down one size and you've got it."

Terri selected a slightly smaller plug, which met with the doctor's immediate approval. Anna and Karin chose one considerably smaller than that for Alexei. "He'll need a bigger one before too much longer," the doctor advised, "but that one is acceptable for a starter. Apply some lubricant and insert them into the boys' rectums. I'll make notes in their files that Zero-Seven has been given a size five plug, and Zero-Four has a size three."

The boys were not at all happy when they learned they would have butt-plugs inside them at all times. Alexei, whose butt was still very sore from the machine, started to cry and begged them not to do it. He received two demerits for his misbehavior. Chris stayed quiet while Terri began to force the large plug into his small thirteen-year-old boyhole. He gritted his teeth and grunted and finally had to let out a loud scream. The plug was only halfway in and it was tearing him painfully.

"Relax, boy," Terri warned him. "It has to go in and it's going in rather you like it or not."

Chris spread his legs even wider than before and tried to relax his muscles back there. Terri continued pushing and finally the plug slid inside him all the way until the base was snug against his butt. Chris' penis immediately swelled inside the chastity device, driving the spikes into his thickening tube of boyflesh.

"Get them up and get them on the scales," Doctor Trench ordered.

Chris and Alexei quickly discovered that walking with a metal plug up your butt was a rather uncomfortable prospect. Both boys pranced around for a moment, trying to get used to the sensation. The plug in thirteen-year-old Christopher's rectum was applying constant pressure to that special spot inside him. Every step he took resulted in a little massage on his teenaged prostate.

"How does the plug feel?" Terri asked him. She was truly curious, as she really had no experience in how young boy slaves were normally treated.

"It's ok, I guess," Chris answered honestly. The feelings he was having were becoming very confusing. It didn't hurt. In fact it felt kind of nice. "I feel all full up there. It's pushing on something inside me, that same spot the machine kept touching."

"That's your prostate."

Chris had heard Doctor Trench say that word, but he'd never heard it before and didn't really know what she'd been talking about.

"My what?"

"Your prostate. All males have them. It's a part of your reproductive system. It's a little gland up inside your butt."

"It feels weird."

Terri smiled as she put the boy on the scale and recorded his weight and height. "You're just starting puberty. A boy's prostate is especially sensitive at that age. When something touches it, it sends signals to your balls and your penis and gives you an erection. Your penis is trying to get hard right now, isn't it?"

"Just a little," Chris admitted. He could feel his dick swelling just bit inside the cage, not enough to feel the full bite of the spikes though.

"You'll probably stay like that for a few hours, but after a while you'll start to get used to having the plug inside you. It'll still feel weird, like you really need to cum, but it won't make your dick want to get hard all the time."

"Like the machine."

"Smart boy!" she said praising him as he stepped off the scale. "That's exactly how we made you cum without letting you ejaculate. I think the scientific term for it is prostatic orgasm. I'll have to ask the doctor about that though."

"That wasn't really fun," Chris said.

"It's not supposed to be. Your genitals aren't there for your pleasure. Now that you're a slave they're really pretty much useless. We just need to drain your balls every so often so you don't have health problems. There's no reason for a boy like you to ever have an orgasm."

"Ever?"

"When does your indenture expire?"

"Not 'til I'm sixteen," Chris said with a glum expression.

"Well then I guess you won't be having any until then," Terri said matter-of-factly. She then handed an index card with Chris' measurements to the doctor.

Allison Trench fed the information into the computer. "Well, Zero-Seven, you are about average height for a boy your age, and you are slightly underweight, but that is normal for a swimmer, am I right?"

"Yes, ma'am. I don't want to get above one-hundred-ten pounds [50kg]. If I do it could really slow me down."

"You won't be gaining much weight while you're here, I can almost guarantee that," she told him. "But we do want to help you add some muscle."

"I'd like that, ma'am."

She walked over to the medicinal cabinet, looked over its contents for a moment, and returned with two bottles. She neatly wrote Chris' full name and number on them. "You'll be taking one dose of each every morning. Your trainer will administer them before you leave the barracks."

"What do they do, ma'am?" Chris asked, unable to pronounce the names of the two medications.

"The first is an endorphin/adrenaline booster. It will help your body use calories more efficiently. You'll build muscle faster, you'll have a lot more energy, and you won't tire out as much."

Chris wrinkled his nose and looked at her darkly. He was only thirteen but he was a serious athlete. "Isn't that like cheating? I mean 3; isn't stuff like that illegal?"

"Not for slaves. We can administer any drugs to you any time we want as long we don't allow you to become addicted. And it isn't cheating since all the other boys will be getting precise doses based on their age and physical development. Satisfied?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"This other one," she said, smiling rather amusedly, "is intended to force your pituitary gland to send more growth hormone to your penis. Your body will still grow at its normal rate, but your penis will grow a lot faster and a lot longer than it normally would."

"How 3; how big am I going to get?" the thirteen-year-old asked, looking down at his ample cock locked away in its metal cage.

"I'd say at least seven inches [18cm], soft," Trench replied with a smile. "We'll stop the dosages after that.

"Wow," Chris said. So, he'd be carrying around a huge seven-inch [18cm] dick and not even be allowed to use it. That was definitely going to suck.

Alexei received his meds as well and the boys were ordered to take their first dose under the doctor's watchful eye. Chris was happy he didn't have any problems getting the pills down this time, unlike last night in the training room with Jason.

"You'll feel a little light-headed at first," the doctor explained, "and then you'll feel the adrenals kick in."

Christopher's head was just starting to spin when Jason and Natasha came for him and his twelve-year-old partner.

"Did they behave themselves?" Jason asked.

"For the most part," Doctor Trench replied. "Zero-Four gets two demerits for whining a little too much. Other than that they were obedient young men."

Natasha clapped Alexei on the back of the head. "You straighten up, boy. I won't have you finishing last the first week. The competition hasn't even started yet and you're already behind."

"Sorry, ma'am."

"Start acting your age or you will be."

Chris was happy he hadn't gotten any bad marks. He looked up at Jason and received a little private smile from him.

"Alright then, boys, lets go. We're going to the hippodrome to train you on the chariots."

The boys stood at attention, arms at their sides while their trainers locked the shackles around their wrists and ankles. The heavy chain was attached between the boys' collars once again and they were marched out of the medical suite. "When do you need to milk them again, doctor?" Natasha asked.

"We can go every two weeks with both of them to start."

"We'll work it into their training schedules."

"Good-bye, boys," the doctor said, her assistants smiling beside her. Neither Chris nor Alexei were looking forward to seeing them again.

Chapter 12
'Now You're the Horsey!'

"I didn't like that machine," Chris whispered to his new friend.

"Me neither," the twelve-year-old said. He still felt like he needed to cum, and the butt-plug was making it worse. He was a little bit jealous of Chris' much larger penis, but he did remember that he was the one who produced the most fluid, even though his balls were smaller too. He was kind of proud of that. "I beat you, you know 3;"

"Huh?"

"I made more stuff than you did."

Chris had noticed that, but didn't really think it meant all that much. "It probably wasn't sucking yours as hard as it was mine," the thirteen-year-old said, "I mean, mine's a lot bigger."

"Ok, boys, that's enough talking," Jason warned them.

Chris and Alexei quieted down right away. They walked past the arena, and along the outside of the grandstand that surrounded the swimming pool. They could see Illya and Ian standing at the edge of the pool with their trainers behind them giving them orders. The boys had been freed of their collars and shackles. Illya's chastity cage had been removed, allowing the hairless thirteen-year-old's exceptionally large penis to swing freely between his legs. Eleven-year-old Ian remained locked in his leather chastity belt, the metal cover tightly encasing his genitals, forcing his testicles up inside him and keeping his little dick permanently pointed straight down.

Turning his head to watch as they marched by, Chris saw Illya's trainer, Sergei, strap several lead weights around the boy's forearms and calves. Sergei was a tall, blond-haired nineteen-year-old Russian gymnast who looked remarkably like an older version of Illya. In fact, Sergei was Illya's older brother, something only Sergei, Illya, and Jason Sanborne happened to know. Ian's trainer, brown-skinned Anthony was applying similar weights to the little Australian boy's arms and legs and another set went around his waist.

"What are they doing, sir?" Chris asked, pointing in the direction of the pool.

"Water endurance, Zero-Seven. You'll get a chance to show me just how good a swimmer you really are later this afternoon."

With a loud splash Illya and Ian went into the water. Their challenge was to swim ten laps of the pool with nearly half their own weight attached to their bodies.

As Chris and Alexei approached the hippodrome, the saw Miles and Philippe leaving the building with their trainers. Fourteen-year-old Philippe was covered in dust and dirt and fresh bruises and looked like he was totally exhausted. His knee had been taped up in a rudimentary way and he was limping noticeably. Ten-year-old Miles was a lot cleaner and still full of energy. Chris wondered why they looked so different from each other.

They entered the hippodrome from a tunnel beneath the grandstand. The hard-packed dirt track was hot against the boys' bare feet. Their trainers led them across the track to the pavilion in the center. There were seven different chariots there, some larger some smaller, all of them with the XB1 logo painted on their sides.

Jason let the boys walk around and get familiar with the two-wheeled carts. Natasha went to make sure all the necessary equipment for the training session was in order. "Every chariot is a little different, boys," Jason explained. "You can see they come in different sizes, but they also have different weights. The big ones aren't always the heaviest."

The boys were standing in front of the largest one and together they pushed on it. It rolled rather easily and turned out to be quite light. They smiled at each other and moved on to the one right next to it. It was smaller, but much harder to get rolling.

"Today we're going to practice one driver, one pony."

Chris remembered the tour from yesterday. That Durand man had told them there wouldn't be any horses, that the boys would be pulling the chariots themselves. The reason for Philippe's dirty bruised appearance was now rather clear, as was little Mile's virtually spotless body.

"I'm the pony, right, sir?" Chris asked, staring at the line of chariots.

"Correct, Zero-Seven," Jason said as he removed the chain between their collars. Their shackles were taken off as well. "When you two compete as a team, you'll be pulling. Zero-Four will be driving. You're bigger than he his, and older, so it's your job."

"I will be driving?" Alexei asked, excited at the idea and also glad he wasn't the one who had to be the pony. That didn't sound like it would be a whole lot of fun.

"You're the driver. It's your job to control your pony and make him run as fast as he can. I'll teach you what you need to do. Now listen closely, Zero-Seven," Jason turned his gaze to Chris, "all you have to worry about is running fast and not falling down. You don't think. You don't talk. You don't do anything unless Zero-Four tells you. That starts right now. Hand me the bit, please, Natasha."

Natasha eagerly handed over a thick wooden bit wrapped in leather. Jason made Chris open his mouth and strapped it tightly in place behind the boy's head. "We'll get you harnessed and reined in a few minutes. Go out to the track and give me three laps. You need to get used to running on hot ground. I have a few instructions to give Zero-Four."

Chris looked at his twelve-year-old partner for just a moment then walked out of the pavilion and onto the track. It was hot on his feet, especially if he stayed in one place too long. He started running, and instantly felt the butt-plug inside him touching his special spot. His dick swelled up in the chastity device. It was really uncomfortable, every step sent a tingle though his body and the plug kept on pressing his insides. Chris decided he had to focus on just running around the track and not think about what was going on in his butt and between his legs. That proved easier said than done for a thirteen-year-old boy.

"Come over here, Zero-Four," Natasha said in Russian. Her twelve-year-old charge obeyed instantly. She freed his wrists from their shackles. The ones around his ankles remained. He was given a pair of thick leather gloves and told to put them on.

"Those will keep the reins from burning your hands," Jason explained.

Alexei put the gloves on and held out his hands while Natasha tightened the straps for him. The gloves had holes cut out for his fingers to stick through so he could still get a good solid grip. Natasha put kneepads on him, and then a set of elbow pads. "In case you fall off," she said. The boy watched as Jason rolled one of the chariots forward. It was black with red and white trim, the XB1 logo on the left side panel, the Roman numeral IV on the right side. The front and side panels all had handgrips on them wrapped in leather. The two wheels were made of some solid composite material, painted silver to look like metal. The chariot seemed to be just the right size for him.

"Climb up there, boy," Natasha ordered as Jason held it steady.

Alexei had to take a big step up to get onto the driver's platform. He found himself standing about eighteen inches [45cm] off the ground. A few inches under five-feet [1.45m] tall, the twelve-year-old was suddenly eye-to-eye with his trainers. That was a rather good feeling. With Jason still holding the chariot steady, Alexei moved around a bit to test his balance.

"Pay attention, Zero-Four," Jason said. The boy stood straight and still. "Whenever you two race as a team, you're going to be the driver. Zero-Seven is your pony. That means you're in charge of him from the time you both enter the hippodrome until the competition is over. If he runs fast and obeys all your commands, you'll do well. If he runs slow and doesn't follow your lead, you'll lose. You need to make sure he always obeys, understand?"

Alexei nodded. "Da. I understand, sir."

"If he finishes last, you finish last," Natasha spoke to him in their native tongue, "and you both receive the same punishment. He has to do all the running and all the pulling, but you have to do all the thinking. You need to learn every inch of this track."

The twelve-year-old nodded. There was a look of serious concentration on his face. Natasha put a helmet on his head, styled like those worn by the charioteers of ancient times. Alexei was quite pleased with it and imagined he must indeed look like a boy gladiator. "I'm ready," he announced strongly.
Jason called Chris back to the pavilion after the boy finished his third lap. The young teen couldn't help but smile when he saw Alexei standing in the chariot with that funny helmet on his head. He wanted to tell his friend how silly he looked, but the bit in his mouth kept him from talking.

"Front and center, Zero-Seven," Jason ordered sharply.

Chris stood in front of the chariot, still looking up at Alexei.
"Time to put you in your harness," his trainer said. "Keep still."

Jason selected one of the specially-made harnesses and held it in front of the thirteen-year-old with a critical eye. "This one should fit you nice and snug," he said. The harness was made of leather and Chris thought it was rather heavy when it was first placed over his shoulders. Jason adjusted the wide shoulder straps, which came down to a central ring in the center of the boy's chest. The ring had another set of straps that went around his torso from front to back. Jason pulled these tight so the harness would not move around on Chris' body, but not so tight that the boy would have a hard time breathing once he started running. Next a thick leather belt went around the boy's waist and was pulled taut from behind. It rested just above the boy's slender hips.

"We're going to chain you to the chariot now, Zero-Seven. Face forward. Don't move unless you are told."

Chris turned around. His back was now to Alexei and he was standing about four feet [1.20m] from the chariot. He was between the two long wooden poles that extended from the front of the two-wheeled cart. He heard and felt but did not see a series of chains being fed through the various rings on his harness and belt and attached to the front of the chariot. The harness had four attachment points, two at the boy's shoulders and two in the center of his back. The belt around his waist had three more attachment points. After a few minutes of tugging and rather rough handling by his trainer, Chris found himself tightly secured to the cart.

"Pick up the hand-rails," Jason told him.

The thirteen-year-old saw that the two wooden poles had soft leather strips wrapped around them about six inches [15cm] from their ends. He bent down and put his hands around the grips. The chariot rocked back slightly and as Chris stood up straight again, he felt just a hint of its weight for the very first time. This was not going to be easy.

"Now for the reins," Jason said. He attached two long leather straps to the ends of the bit in Christopher's mouth and handed them to Alexei. The twelve-year-old took them in his hands and looked down at his thirteen-year-old partner's back. Chris was bound so tightly to the chariot that it was impossible for him to turn around without getting his chains tangled. The reins were quite long. Alexei twisted each one around his hands to pull them taut. Chris could feel the gentle but insistent pressure forcing his head back.

"That's good, Zero-Four," Natasha said. "Pull his head back a bit more, keep his eyes forward."

Alexei tugged a little harder. Chris stood up as straight as he could and arched his back. Jason meanwhile connected a series of wires between the pony boy's belt and the chariot.

"Do you see that little button in front of you?" he asked Alexei.

The young Russian looked down and saw a tiny box mounted to the front of the chariot. It had a small black button on it. "Da. I see it."

"Push it."

Alexei had seen the wires being attached to Chris' belt. He had a good idea what would happen when he pushed that button. "I don't want to," he said softly.

"Of course you don't, malchik," Natasha told him, "but once the competition starts, you will."

Chris tightened his grip on the poles. "Just do it, Alexei. You're gonna have to anyway."

Alexei hovered his finger over the little button for a few seconds, then pushed it and held it down.

Chris jerked against the chains and shouted into his bit. The electrical current was muted by the leather against his skin, but it was still sharp and it hurt and it was getting stronger as Alexei held the button down. Desperate to make it stop, Chris pulled forward and moved the chariot several feet, groaning and shouting with every step. Jason and Natasha had to scramble out of the way to avoid being run over.

"Let it go!" Jason ordered. Alexei released the button right away. Chris stopped, dropped the poles and stood there whimpering and gasping and staring at his trainers in surprise. Jason ignored the older boy's distress and continued to focus his instruction on Alexei. "If he makes a mistake or moves too slow, use the button to motivate him. The longer you hold it down, the stronger the shock. He's not going to want to feel that too often, so he's going to try real hard, aren't you, Zero-Seven?"

Chris nodded rapidly and wiped his runny nose with the back of his hand.

"Get back in position," Jason ordered him. Thirteen-year-old Chris gripped the poles in his hands again and stood straight and still.

Jason continued the lesson. "When he's chained to the chariot, he should always be at attention awaiting your commands. Never let him drop the poles. If he does, you know what to do."

"Da," Alexei said. "I push the button."

"That's right. If we find you going easy on him, we can always chain you to the chariot instead."

Alexei shook his head and frowned. Up front, Chris smiled through his bit. He liked that idea a lot. It seemed very unfair that he should have to be the pony-boy every time, just because he was a year older and a little bit bigger. But he also knew this was a competition, and when it came to this particular event he and Alexei would win or lose together. He was stronger, and he knew he'd do a better job pulling the chariot than Alexei would. He tightened his grip on the poles and pulled the two-wheeled cart and its twelve-year-old pilot forward just a bit.

"Looks like the little horse is ready to run," Natasha observed.

"When you want him to start moving," Jason explained, "flick his reins. When you want him to stop, pull back hard. Pull left for a left turn, right for right."

Alexei was listening very carefully. He wanted to make sure he got this right.

"When you go into a turn, you can help him by shifting your weight the opposite direction. That will keep you from toppling over and make it easier for him to keep his speed up."

"How fast will we go, sir?" Alexei asked.

"A human being, on level ground, can usually make ten miles per hour [16km/h], at a fast pace. Boys your age can go a little faster than that, for short periods anyway. Of course you and the chariot together weigh about a hundred-fifty pounds [70kg], plus his harness, belt and chains add another fifteen [7kg]. Its not going to be the Kentucky Derby, that's for sure, but you boys are a lot more interesting than horses."

"The race may not be about who is fastest, malchik," Natasha told him in Russian. "Which driver controls his boy best 3; that is the winning team."

"Let's get them onto the track," Jason said, "and put Zero-Seven through his paces."

Alexei flicked the reins. Naked and harnessed, Chris grunted and pulled the chariot forward. Getting the thing moving seemed to be the hardest part.

"Take him out to the track, Zero-Four," Natasha told her young gladiator.

Alexei tugged the reins and Chris slowly turned the chariot to the right, leaving the shade of the pavilion and pulling it onto the hard-packed dirt track. The starting line was a long strip of white concrete in the dirt. He stopped with his toes just behind it. The surface of the track as he stood there chained to the chariot was blisteringly hot under his feet. More incentive to move his strong teenaged legs as fast as he could.

"It's three-quarters of a mile from the line. Four laps," Jason ordered. "Start off slowly until you get your balance."

Once again Alexei flicked the reins, harder this time, with a cry of "Let's go, Chris!" on his lips. Chris shuffled his feet for a moment to dig them in, then biting down hard on his bit and with a loud groan, he pulled the two-wheeled racing cart forward, picking up speed with each step. In spite of its weight, the boy discovered that the chariot rolled quite easily. He quickly figured out that if he leaned forward a bit it didn't take as much effort to keep his legs moving.

Balance was the hardest part for Alexei. Even on the long straight-aways, the chariot rocked forward and back with each of Christopher's steps. When they came to the first turn, the twelve-year-old pulled on the reins, but forgot to shift his weight. Chris stumbled and the cart nearly toppled over. Alexei uttered a curse in his native Russian and pulled back on the leather reins to slow Chris down.

As the boys were working out the kinks on their first lap, the camera crew arrived along with the director. They set up quickly in an open area along the south straightaway, eager to get their first footage of the cute naked thirteen-year-old harnessed and chained to the chariot, trudging along as fast as he could, while his equally nude twelve-year-old partner drove him forward.

Michael Brussard, a veteran of XB1's programming was quite pleased with what he saw. The older boy was struggling and straining, his young muscles were fantastic, and his perfectly smooth and hairless body glistened in the mid-morning sun. The look of determination on his face was one that would win audiences immediately. The smaller boy on the chariot was starting to get into his role as the older boy's master, pulling the reins hard when he needed to and shouting commands at the young teen in the harness as if he were merely an animal, which of course, legally speaking, he was.

"We'll put this in the teaser spot that airs tomorrow night," Brussard told his team. "Make sure you get their faces. Those expressions are priceless."

His two cameramen readily agreed. Brussard looked through his monitor at the filming in progress. "Looks great. The older boy is number Zero-Seven. Give me a close up 3; start at his feet and pan up, slowly 3; that's good 3; stop at his middle, let's see his cock locked up in the chastity cage 3; good 3; now pan up again, give me a few seconds on his abdomen 3; kid's got a six-pack I'd kill for 3; ok, now the face, closer 3; good 3; good 3; perfect."

Neither Chris nor Alexei were aware of the cameras as they went by. They were both so focused on their roles. After the first two laps, Alexei got a little braver, and Chris soon learned that his new friend was not going to hesitate to push the button whenever he did something wrong or slowed up to catch his breath. Chris shouted into his bit when the electrical current shocked him. It was just a short burst, but it got his attention.

"Move closer to the inside," Alexei ordered, pulling on the reins for the second time. "We go faster there, right?"

Chris groaned in agreement.

"And pay attention next time!" Alexei shouted at him.

Chris moved down the track and hugged the inside edge. They did finish their third and fourth laps in almost half the time of the first two.

"Good, boys, very good," Jason said as Alexei yanked hard on the reins and brought Chris to a stop. "You've got the hang of it already."

Natasha tossed Alexei a bottle of water. Jason loosened the strap that held Chris' bit in place and let it fall to the boy's chest. He held a bottle to the boy's lips.

"Just pour it over my head, sir," Chris said with a tired smile. It was still embarrassing, being naked and collared and all that, but this chariot thing was sort of fun in a weird kind of way. He felt proud knowing he could do it. He was really going fast on the straight parts of the track.

"Drink a bit first," Jason said returning the boy's grin.

Chris took five man-sized gulps. Jason obligingly followed the boy's request and poured the rest over the young teenager's head. Then he forced the bit back into Chris' mouth and tightened the straps from behind. He checked the harness and the belt to make sure they were still snug. "Okay, boys," he said, swatting Chris on the behind, "a full race will be fifteen laps. We want to see how you do on the full distance. Zero-Four, take him out. I want him running full speed the whole way, understood?"

Alexei smiled and nodded and rested his right hand over the button, just in case he needed to give Chris a reminder who was in charge. He flicked the reins and they took off again down the track.

Brussard and his crew filmed for a few more minutes, then they departed. The first boys would be coming in from the marathon course shortly and he wanted to be there to capture the exhaustion on their faces and film every inch of their bruised and sweaty and vulnerably naked bodies.

Chapter 13
That's What I Call Boy Gladiators!

Just as they reached the arena, Hannah blew her whistle. The boys stopped abruptly, almost tripping over their shackled feet. With his legs unable to hold him up, Joshua dropped to all fours, gasping and panting. David was bent at the waist, his hands gripping his knees. The heavy chain that bound the two boys together was swinging between them.

"Nice running, boys," Michella said, clicking her stopwatch for the final time. "We'll make sure you get more practice out there tomorrow."

Josh and David looked at each other in disbelief.

"I 3; can't 3; do it 3; again," Josh said to the older boy between gaping breaths.

"Don't think I can either," David admitted.

"Oh, you'll do it," Michella told him, "and you'll be three minutes faster, even if you have to carry Zero-Two on your back."

"He won't 3; won't have to carry me, ma'am," Josh said. He was still on his hands and knees and still trying to catch his breath.

Hannah knelt in front of him and grabbed a fistful of the boy's hair, forcing his head up to face her. "Look at me, kid. Do I have your attention?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Not bad. You're a strong little animal. That's good. But we need to work on your breathing. You were getting real sloppy those last few miles. That would have cost you if this had been a real race."

"I 3; I kept up with David 3; "Josh protested.

"Only because he kept slowing down for you. If he does that again, he'll be punished. And if I see you flailing around like that again tomorrow, you'll be punished, got it."

"Yes, ma'am. I am trying real hard, ma'am."

"I know. That's why I'm giving you a break. I'll teach you what you need to do. It's your job to learn it."

Josh smiled at her. Hannah couldn't help but smile back. The little kid was certainly charming and very cute, she had to give him that much.

"Get up. The director wants to talk to you."

Still chained by their collars, the boys stood up and saw the director coming toward them with a cameraman walking close behind.

"Look at me, boys, not the camera," Brussard said, giving David and Josh their first lesson in reality television. "Never look into the camera unless someone tells you to. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," David said in his crackling adolescent voice.

"Yes, sir," Josh repeated in his high boyish soprano.

"Good. I'll be interviewing you boys once the competition starts next week. And we'll be doing special interviews with you once or twice a month. The rules are simple and I want you to learn them right now. Only answer the questions I ask you. No saying 'hi' to your friends back home, or your moms. You'll be polite and respectful and you won't use any bad language when you're in front of the camera. You're all supposed to be good clean-cut boys, and I expect you to act like it. Little boys cursing like sailors would be bad for ratings. You can smile if you want, that's up to you. Understand so far?"

The boys nodded sharply.

"Now lets start with the little guy first. Give me your first name and your number."

Remembering not to look into the camera, Josh grinned and pointed at his bare chest. "I'm Josh. Boy Zero-Two."

"What does your number mean, Zero-Two?" the director asked.

"I'm the second youngest boy here, sir," Josh answered with easy confidence. "I'm eleven."

"And how old is your partner?"

"I'm fourteen, sir," David said. "I'm David. Boy One-Zero." The fourteen-year-old smirked a bit with pride. "That means I'm oldest."

"Where are you boys from?"

David naturally took charge of his younger partner and went first. "Brisbane, Australia," he answered, his youthful smile lighting his face as he thought of home.

"Me I'm from Bowie, Maryland. That's in the USA," Josh chimed in.

Michael Brussard grinned in satisfaction. These two boys were naturals in front of the camera. Great smiles and winning personalities. Hopefully the other eight would be just as charming. And these two were an adorable pair, their young bodies perfectly shaped and proportioned for their chosen sports. David long and lean, Josh small and muscular. Brussard knew without even checking the files that One-Zero had to be a swimmer, and his younger counterpart a wrestler. He stood back to admire their cute earnest faces and attractive athletic youthful builds.

"You must be Zero-Seven's brother," Brussard observed as his cameraman zoomed in for a close up on young Josh.

"Yes, sir," the eleven-year-old said with enthusiasm. "We both got letters! Chris wasn't so sure about it, you know, but I wanted to come here and be a gladiator and stuff," the boy said, conveniently forgetting that it was, in fact, his older brother who had talked him into doing it.

"So you're the brave one?"

Josh blushed, not wanting to be caught in a lie. "Uh 3; yeah, I guess so. I ain't scared, that's for sure. Hey, have you seen Chris today?"
Brussard nodded. "Sure have. He was pulling a chariot when I left him."
Joshua's eyes got big. "A chariot? Like with a horse and stuff."

"Chris was the horse," Brussard said with a wicked laugh.

"Wow!"

"You two will get your turn on the track before the day's out," the director explained, "I'll make sure I'm there to film it." He was already imagining how One-Zero would look harnessed and chained to the chariot while his energetic little partner stood on the cart in his helmet and gloves, reins in hand. David was the oldest boy gladiator, as evidenced by his rather thick bush of brown pubic hair, but he was by no means the biggest or strongest. His best events would be those involving pure speed and agility. He was definitely going to struggle pulling the chariot.

"Good luck, boys," Brussard said with a friendly wave as he and his cameraman returned to their four-wheeler and drove off toward the arena where hand-to-hand combat was on the agenda.

"Which boys are in the arena, boss?" his cameraman asked, gazing back at the two naked young gladiators he'd just had the joy of filming.

"Schedule says its Zero-Five and Zero-Six. They're both twelve so it should be an even match." He quickly checked his stat-sheet, updated just that morning. "Zero-five's a wrestler, so he'll have a slight advantage."

"He's the red-head, right?"

Brussard smiled. "Yep, that's him. Danny O'Hanlon. He stands out with that hair, doesn't he?"

"Sure does."

"You like red-heads, Jack?"

"Can't say I'm too particular. But I know a handsome boy when I see one."

"He's Canadian, you know," Brussard observed nonchalantly. "From Hamilton, as a matter of fact. I'm the one who picked him for this little production."

"I guess I know who you'll be rooting for then."

The director gave his partner a look of mock surprise. "I'm not permitted to display any bias one way or the other. Can't play favorites now, can we?"

On the floor of the arena, Daniel O'Hanlon was busy pinning his partner for the fourth time. Gabriel Shelton strained to break free, but aside from the unsportsman-like option of forcing his knee into Danny's balls, he knew he was stuck again. The lights blared down upon two muscular young boys as they writhed about, and they seemed dwarfed by the cavernous empty stands that surrounded them. The twelve- year-olds had been freed of their chains and shackles. Only their iron slave collars remained around their slender necks. Their chastity devices had been removed as well, allowing their genitals to bounce around freely as they grappled and struggled against one another.

Both boys were circumcised, but young Gabriel's penis was considerably larger than Daniel's, longer and substantially thicker and decorated with a sparse light dusting of pubic hair. Red-headed Daniel was still completely bare, and his penis could only be described as tiny for a boy his age. The two twelve-year-olds both sported nice plump balls hanging low in soft pink hairless sacks, thanks to the heat and their intense physical exertion.

Gabriel was also, at the moment, fully erect, although Daniel didn't seem to notice.

"Got you again, Gabe," he said cheerfully as he sat on the struggling English lad's chest. "You really suck at this, don't you?"

"I ain't never wrestled before," young Shelton said in his defense. He was smiling, but there was a fierce look in his eyes. He hated losing. "Wait'll I get you on the pitch, then we'll see who sucks."

"Hah! I don't think soccer's on the list, ay, but I'd beat you at that too!"

"Balls you would! Now let me up."

Danny jumped up and stood over his slightly older partner, straddling the boy's middle. It was only then that he noticed Gabriel's turgid erection. He laughed and pointed down at it.

"Hey, your dick's hard. Didn't know you loved me so much!"

"Why are you staring at it?" Gabriel smirked, sitting up on his elbows. "You wanna suck it or something?"

"No way!" Daniel shouted, even as he was secretly wondering what that would be like. He felt his own little dick twitching just from thinking about it.

The boys' attention was quickly diverted from their misbehaving dicks when their trainers blew their whistles. Gabriel had been assigned to Roger Bramley, a former star for Manchester and probably young Gabe's biggest idol. The twelve-year-old was at once thrilled and terrified to have the big powerful forward as his trainer. Daniel was the charge of Calvin Mayfair, an Olympic decathlete who had already started Daniel on a strict and exhaustive regimen of physical training designed to further tone the twelve-year- old's already trim tight little body. Calvin required Daniel to run everywhere they went. This meant that Gabe and Danny were the only pair of boys who were not routinely chained together.

Having already learned the hard way to respond instantly to their trainers' whistles, the boys stood next to each other at attention, eyes forward, feet apart, hands behind their heads. Roger clapped Gabriel on his behind.

"I guess we know you're not a wrestler, don't we?" he asked with a stern expression.

"Yes, sir," the boy answered, somewhat embarrassed at losing to his partner.

"Let's see if you do any better with the pummel."

Calvin handed each boy a four-foot [1.20m] long rod with a round rubber ball at each end. Danny and Gabe held them out in front of their bodies. The rods were made of a flexible composite and were very lightweight. The twelve-year-olds would have no problem handling them.

"You two are almost the same size, so you've got the same size rods," Bramley explained.

"I think my rod is bigger, sir," Gabriel said with a sly grin. Daniel jabbed his pummel into Gabe's side.

"Very funny, Zero-Six," Bramley replied. "I wouldn't be too proud of that little thing if I were you. And it's still halfway hard. Get it down and behave yourself."

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

Beside a very contrite and still semi-erect Gabriel, young Daniel was giggling happily. Served Gabe right for making fun of him.

"What are we supposed to do with these things, sir?" Gabe asked.

"Use your imaginations," Roger said. "First boy who hits the ground is the loser. There's only one place on your bodies that's off limits."

The boys didn't need any further explanation on that one. Daniel wasted no time, taking a broad swing at Gabriel's chest. Gabe blocked the blow and quickly landed one of his own on Daniel's thigh.

"Ouch!"

Danny quickly discovered that the hard rubber balls at the ends of the rod carried quite a painful sting.

Gabriel, a little taller and a little stronger than his younger partner smiled at him. "I think I'm going to like this 3; a lot!" Two more quick harsh blows were delivered with all of Gabriel's twelve-year-old strength, one on Danny's shoulder, the other catching him in the side.

"Dammit!" the young redhead cursed, trying to retaliate but always being blocked.

The boys had been going at it for about fifteen minutes when Brussard arrived with his cameraman. Danny was certainly getting the worst of it, already covered in bruises, dropping his pummel twice and having to scramble away as Gabriel chased him around the arena, shouting wildly and swinging his own rod like an ancient Saxon warrior.

"Now that's what I call boy gladiators," Brussard said.

Chris groaned with every step as he pulled the chariot behind him. Alexei had already driven him through the first fifteen laps when their trainers demanded ten more. It was hot and sticky. Sweat dripped from his hair into his eyes. The bit in his mouth made it hard to swallow correctly and so a steady stream of drool and spittle was trailing down onto his chest. The thirteen-year-old had tried to control it at first, but discovered it was impossible. The bit kept him from closing his mouth, so he just dug his teeth into it and let nature take its course. His naked body was filthy. He didn't think he would have kicked up so much dust and dirt with just his bare feet and two wheels behind him, but from the waist down he was covered in a fine coating of yellow grit and dirt. The track ahead was hazy with airborne dust, and as he breathed more of it in, his nose started running. He was miserable. He was a mess. He was also surprisingly fast and a lot stronger than he ever thought he was.

He'd done well on the first fifteen laps, keeping his legs moving at a fast pace. The plug in his butt made it very humiliating and very uncomfortable, but he was starting to get used to it. He was still having a hard time getting used to the plug's effect on his penis though. It was leaking more now than it had before he was milked. Even as he pulled the chariot with Alexei yanking on the reins, Chris had been thinking about his dick and the chastity cage presently locked around it.

Alexei used the button just once during the first fifteen laps, shouting at Chris to speed up and run harder. Now, on the second set of laps, Chris was really starting to get tired and Alexei was getting more and more demanding.

"Come on, Chris," he yelled from the chariot, snapping the reins urgently, "we have five more to go. Run or I'll zap you!"

'What's this 'we' shit?' the thirteen-year-old thought to himself. Just a little pissed, he jerked forward sharply, trying to knock Alexei off his platform.

"Hey!" the twelve-year-old shouted at him, tugging at Christopher's reins. "You did that on purpose." Alexei wasted no time pressing the button and holding it down.

Chris shrieked as the electric current shot through the belt and into his body. He peed himself and took off at a frantic pace, as if he could somehow outrun the electricity. Pleased with the results and rather enjoying his control over the older, larger boy, Alexei administered one shock after another until Chris was tearing around the track shouting and screaming and crying hysterically. Alexei held on with all his twelve-year-old might, shifting his weight to keep the chariot from rolling over.

"Yessss! Keep running, Chris!" Alexei shouted, having a great time as the dare-devil pilot of this boy-powered vehicle.

"Fuck you, Alexei!" Chris growled back, but of course his intended words were nothing more than unintelligible grunts thanks to the bit strapped firmly in place around his head.

The end result of all this was that the boys' second set of laps was actually faster than their first. Chris actually couldn't stop running when Jason finally called them back to the pavilion. Alexei had to pull hard on the reins and knock Chris off his feet for a moment.

"I think you can stop now," the young Russian said.

Chris moaned, dragged himself up off the dirt track and slowly pulled the chariot under the pavilion roof. The shade felt so good. He stood there bewildered and exhausted as Alexei hopped off the two-wheeled cart and received congratulations from their trainers. They left Chris chained to the chariot, the bit still strapped in place, while they went over everything that Alexei did right and the many things he did wrong.

"But we were fast, right?" the boy asked hopefully.

"Very," Natasha said. "Thanks mostly to your pony," she pointed at the harnessed boy. "He is very strong. If you can learn to drive him better, you'll be even faster. But you did a good job. No demerits for you."

Alexei beamed. He'd already lost points for his erection that morning, and he'd earned still more demerits for his behavior in the infirmary, so it was a small victory to know he hadn't fallen any further behind.

"It's your job to get him unharnessed," Jason told him. "Start with the belt, then the chains. You can figure out the rest. You're still in charge of him until we leave the track. When the competition starts next week those stands will be full. They won't stop watching you just because your race is over. You'll keep him in his bit and harness between races. You can tether him to one of those posts." Jason pointed to six wooden posts just outside the pavilion where the pony-boys would be kept until their next race. "For now just take everything off him."

Alexei followed Jason's instructions, removing the leather belt around Chris' waist and releasing the chains from his harness. Chris knew he should have been really mad at Alexei for using that button on him so much, but he was so tired he really didn't care. He also felt strangely proud of how fast he'd run. Everything seemed so confused. He was an indentured slave. He'd signed the paper himself. Why did he ever do such a crazy stupid thing? And his parents had gone along with it. He was thousands of miles away from home. In fact he didn't even really know where Gladiator Island was. No one had told him. No one would. He was wearing an iron collar around his neck and that horrible cage around his dick. In another week, people all over the world would be seeing him naked, doing all sorts of dangerous and painful things. If he messed up, he'd be punished, and he already had a taste of how rough that would be. It was all terrible, a boy's worst nightmare, but somehow Chris was really excited about everything. It was going to be a big adventure. A chance to test himself and prove himself against all these other boys and against everything and anything Gladiator Island was going to put him through. "We are still friends, right?" Alexei asked quietly, starting to feel a little ashamed about how he'd behaved.

"Da," Chris said, the only Russian word he'd managed to pick up so far. It felt good to be out of the harness and no longer chained to the chariot. He was amazed how heavy all that stuff had been and how quickly he'd learned to manage wearing it all. The thirteen-year-old stretched his arms over his head and arched his back. He was already sore and tired and it was still morning. His stomach was growling.

'Must be getting close to lunch time,' he thought, before remembering that he was only fed two times a day. His next meal was yet hours and hours away. He rubbed his belly with a forlorn look in his eyes.

"You better get used to feeling hungry, boy," Jason told him as he and Alexei were chained together once again. "Don't worry, you won't starve. It'll just feel like it most of the time."

"Thanks for telling me," Chris replied smartly.

Jason gave the young teen a sharp smack on his cute little naked butt. "Smart-ass. Let's go. You two are up next in the pool."

Chris might have been happy about that, but he'd already seen Illya and Ian with those weights around their waists, wrists and ankles. This was going to be a swim like none the boy had ever tried before. Somehow he didn't think he was going to be enjoying it all that much.

Chapter 14
The Scoreboard

Gabriel had more than made up for his poor skills at wrestling. He was only three inches [7½cm] taller than Daniel, but he was a lot stronger and completely tireless. He was used to running full speed across a football pitch for ninety minutes at a time. The twelve-year-old wasn't even winded, and aside from a dark bruise on his thigh where Danny had landed his first and only hit, there was not a mark on the boy's lean athletic frame.

"Just quit, Danny," Gabe said as he landed his pummel across the backs of the young red-head's thighs. "They won't let me stop hitting you until you give up."

Daniel crawled away again. He knew Gabe was right, but he wasn't ready to admit it. He couldn't understand how he'd ended up in this mess. When the two of them wrestled, Gabe hadn't shown any quickness or agility at all, he was slow and clumsy and all arms and legs. Daniel couldn't possibly imagine it might have just been from the fact that his partner had never actually wrestled before. He'd never heard of such a thing. After all, wrestling was his life. Didn't every one know how to do it? Based on that innocent boyish thinking, it came as a great shock to him when Gabriel proved so handy with the pummel stick. In the few seconds it took him to learn that important lesson, he was already on his heels.

On the other end of the stick, Gabriel was quite pleased with himself. He'd done so badly at the wrestling bit, he really needed to show his trainer and everyone else that he was every bit the boy gladiator his partner was. He was the only football player here. There were three wrestlers, three swimmers, a diver, a gymnast, and little Miles, his fellow Englishman, was a terrific young runner. Gabriel was the only boy who played an exclusively team sport, and the only one who didn't have boxes full of trophies with his name engraved on them. He'd been feeling a little self-conscious about it. At least this was one thing he'd be good at: beating the crap out of the other boys.

He hit Daniel again, this time in the ribs. The blow knocked the twelve-year-old wrestler on his side. Daniel didn't try to get away. He was done and he knew it.

"Okay, okay! I give," he said.

Gabriel used his foot and rolled Daniel over onto his back. He rested one of the round ends of the pummel on the Canadian boy's chest and stood there triumphantly.

"You win, Gabe," Daniel said, wiping blood from his nose.

Their trainers were quickly beside them. Up until now they had simply watched and let the boys fight, offering shouts of encouragement and little else.

"Fine job, Zero-Six," Roger said. "Five bonus points for a good fight."

"And as for you," Calvin frowned, staring down at his vanquished and bloodied boy, "get on your knees." Daniel instantly complied and knelt there in front of the two trainers and the victorious boy. He bowed his head ashamed, expecting to be given demerits for getting his ass kicked so badly.

"You lost, but you didn't exactly quit," Calvin proclaimed. "No demerits for you, but here in the arena, boys who lose do get punished."

"Yes, sir," Daniel muttered softly.

Calvin turned his eyes to Gabriel who was still holding the rod. "Give his balls a good shot, Zero-Six."

"What, sir?"

"You heard me. He has to pay the price for losing."

"But he lost when we wrestled," Daniel said, glaring at Gabriel, his voice suddenly very high. He was looking up at them with fear in his eyes. This was totally unfair.

"Zero-Six is not my responsibility," Calvin said, smacking Danny on the back of the head. "You are. And you get punished every time you lose."

Gabriel wasn't sure what to do. Danny was right. He'd lost and lost bad when the two of them wrestled, but nothing happened to him. He looked at his own trainer, not sure if he should defend his partner or not.

"I've got something else in mind for you, Zero-Six," Roger Bramley said sternly. "Now do as you're told 3; or I'll give your balls a good whack."

Young Gabriel looked down at his fellow twelve-year-old. Daniel did have a very small cock, but his balls were fairly average for a boy his age, two grape-sized orbs dangling vulnerably in a soft hairless bag. They would certainly be an easy target. "I'm real sorry, Danny," Gabriel said.

"I think I'm the one who's gonna be sorry," Daniel replied.

"How 3; how hard should I hit him, sir?" Gabriel asked his trainer.

"Just give the pummel a good swing, kid."

"OK."

Gabriel moved so he was standing to one side. In this position it would be a lot like swinging a cricket bat, a game he was quite familiar with but not very good at. Danny's eyes were locked on him the whole time.

"Here we go 3;"

He swung easily and lightly. The end of the pummel did make contact with Danny's dangling sack, but it was barely a tap, just enough to set the twelve-year-old's balls swinging between his legs. Danny still screamed his little red head off, simply out of fear.

"That wasn't good enough, Zero-Six," Calvin said with almost cold detachment, "and you can stop screaming, boy, he barely touched you. Do it again."

"Yes, sir," Gabe said softly. There was no way either of them were getting out of this, so he might as well just do it. Danny looked at him and his expression told him his partner was thinking the same thing.

"Just hit 'em, Gabe. I can take it. I'm a gladiator, right?"

Gabriel held the end of the pummel against Danny's balls. Danny's chest was rising and falling in rapid nervous breaths, the muscles in his tight lean torso all clenching. He bit his lip and closed his eyes. Gabriel bit his lip too and drew the pummel back. He hesitated for a few seconds. As a football player from Liverpool he'd certainly been in his share of scraps, and he'd kicked and been kicked by more boys than he could count, but this was different. He'd already beaten Danny, beaten him good. Having to do this while the other boy just stayed there on his knees didn't seem right.

But he also wasn't about to get demerits for disobeying his trainer. He wasn't here to be nice. He was here to win.

He swung the pummel hard this time and smashed it into his fellow twelve-year-old's defenseless dangling balls.

Danny's brown eyes shot open. His mouth dropped, but at first he made no sound. A split second later he found his voice and shrieked in agony. The boy's high-pitched scream echoed around the empty arena. Daniel grabbed his balls and curled himself up on the arena floor, clutching his hands desperately between his legs. He fought the urge to cry. It was the last thing he wanted to do, especially in front of his trainer. Calvin knelt down beside him and whispered something into his ear, running his hand softly through the boy's red hair. Daniel slowly got back to his knees and then stood up, still holding his hands between his legs. His eyes were wet, but he hadn't cried.

"What's next?" he asked, trying to pretend he didn't care how much it hurt.

"The chariot," his trainer answered. "You'll get a chance to get even once you two are on the track."

Roger blew his whistle and the two twelve-year-olds quickly stood at attention, hands behind their heads, legs spread wide apart. Their trainers put the boys back into their chastity devices and locked them in place. Daniel protested quietly.

"But my balls still hurt, sir," he said as Calvin snapped the padlock closed.

"Let me see them," his trainer replied, kneeling down and resting Daniel's testicles in the palm of his hand. The boy's scrotum was an angry shade of red, but that seemed to be the extent of the damage. Calvin gently rolled the twelve-year-old's balls between his fingers. Daniel gasped and hissed and stood up on his toes, but it really wasn't all that bad. "They're going to be hurting a lot from now on, Zero-Five, so you might as well get used to it. It won't kill you. Just keep taking deep breaths like I told you. They'll feel better soon."
They were already feeling better actually. Daniel had simply hoped he might get out of wearing the chastity device for a little bit longer. No such luck. The redheaded boy was ordered to run to the hippodrome and wait for them.

"You can run with him this time, Zero-Six," Roger Bramley said. "You two are on your honor. Go straight there and don't mess around."

The two boys stood side by side and smiled at each other. A few brief moments of freedom without anyone shouting at them or telling them what to do.

"Race ya?" Gabriel challenged.

Daniel nodded slowly. "On three."

Gabriel dug his feet in, ready for a fast start. "Set."

"One 3; two 3; " Danny abruptly took off in a flash. "Three!" he shouted behind him as he ran out of the arena on his shapely well-toned legs.

"You are so dead, cheater!" Gabriel hissed as he stumbled to catch up.

Roger and Calvin smiled at their two spirited young gladiators. Neither of them were the biggest, or the fastest, or the strongest, but they were both smart, and both fierce and fearless competitors. With discipline and training, they would both hold their own quite well.

As the two men walked leisurely toward the hippodrome they shared notes on the boys' performances. "Did you notice that Daniel did not have a single erection while the chastity cage was off?" Roger observed.

"I did," Calvin responded, somewhat curious about that himself. "He wasn't hard this morning either. In fact he was the only one."

"Gabriel was stiff the whole time they were wrestling. Did you see the way that boy's cock was leaking? Little hornball."

"Young Danny doesn't seem to get horny at all. He told me last night that he doesn't masturbate."

"And you believed him?" Roger laughed incredulously.

"Actually I did. I think he's just a very late bloomer. He is still completely pre-pubescent as far as I know. And his penis is rather small."

"Maybe you should put him in a chastity belt like the younger boys wear. The cock cage does seem a bit big for him."

"That would be very humiliating for him 3; being grouped with the little ones."

"And how is that a bad thing? These boys are meant to be humiliated as much as possible. I love the idea."

Calvin smiled wickedly. "So do I. I'll make the switch tonight in the barracks so everyone can see it."

In the medical suite, Philippe Dulac was on his hands and knees, sobbing miserably as the machine coaxed yet another thick glob of sperm from his aching frustrated fourteen- year-old penis. The French boy did not have as much between his legs as the other young teens in the group, a soft three inches [7½cm] that blossomed to a nice gently curved five-inch [12½cm] erection. It was a delicate and beautifully shaped appendage whose growth had simply not caught up with the rest of him. His balls were another matter entirely. Large, plump and heavy, the biggest among all the boys and currently the source of young Philippe's anguished groans as they dangled low between his legs, being methodically and cruelly drained by the relentless machine.

The teenaged boy's cock was strapped into the milking sheath, and the largest of the vibrating plugs was stuffed firmly up his butt. At first he'd rather enjoyed it. The machine had induced a powerful erection in the boy, and just like Chris before him, he'd assumed he would soon be having an amazing mind-blowing orgasm. The realization that he could not and would not cum, that the machine would not let him, dawned on him very slowly. Naturally none of the boys had ever experienced a milking, or even understood what it was until they were forced to endure it. Philippe was learning this lesson now, much to his extreme distress and misery.

"Ah, god," he said in fractured English, "why can't I 3; aaggh 3; oh no, not again 3; "

Yet another batch of the teenaged boy's pure white seed had just spilled from his now only semi-erect penis and was being relentlessly sucked down the clear plastic tube. The vibrating plug in his anus slowed just enough to allow the boy's fluid to flow out of his dick without inducing a spontaneous ejaculation. Just a few seconds later it was pulsing again, rapidly and strongly, stimulating the boy's already overactive adolescent prostate.

"Please, miss," he moaned to Karin who was standing beside him, "please make it stop. I can't have another one 3; I can't 3; "

His French-accented English was so endearing. Karin was actually quite taken with the handsome youngster. He had a winning smile, dark soulful eyes that made him seem almost exotic, and of course a lean and coltish young body. He was now completely smooth, his once soft wispy bush of pubic hair washed away forever. It was the only hair he'd ever had on his slender five-foot-four-inch [1.63cm] frame.

"We have to keep going, Zero-Nine," Karin said tenderly. "We have to get all that nasty sperm out of you. Won't that feel better," she continued, gently caressing the boy's balls, "when these things are nice and empty the way they should be."

"Yes, miss," Philippe agreed rather half-heartedly.

On the table next to Philippe, ten-year-old Miles Harris was also on his hands and knees, attached to the boy-milking machine in the same manner. His experience however was proving to be quite different and, if possible, far more agonizing.

The machine had a special setting for pre-pubescent boys who could not yet ejaculate. Unlike Philippe who was not being permitted to have even a single orgasm, young Miles was being forced to have one shattering dry orgasm after another, often in such rapid succession that it was impossible to distinguish when the last one ended and the next one began. The tiny metal sheath that encased the naked ten-year-old's penis was barely two inches [5cm] long. The vibrating plug in his cute little butt was the smallest one available but more than large enough to stimulate the boy's immature prostate.

Miles had never actually considered the fact that something could be put in his butt. In his sexually innocent ten-year- old mind things only came out of that particular hole. He naturally had no knowledge of that tiny gland inside his body and how easily it could be used to make him have these powerful dizzying things called orgasms. The first one he'd had while on that table was the first one he'd ever had in his whole life. He was amazed and terrified the first time it happened, he screamed and shouted and started to cry, certain something had gone terribly wrong deep inside his little body. But then, after the fear passed, and a quick reassuring lesson in boy's anatomy from Doctor Trench, he began to enjoy them, at least at first. It is generally known that the dry orgasm experienced by pre-pubescent boys is uniquely agonizing in spite of its immense pleasure. When the pre-pubertal boy is forced to have several of them in a short period of time, it can easily become torturous for him.

That was what young Miles was experiencing at the moment. Pleasure so intense, so blinding, so mind-numbing, so without release and without relief that it was actually terrible. Miles Harris was being methodically tortured by his own orgasms. His young body was trying desperately to climax, but his testicles were still dormant, his little penis would pulse and throb and strain, he would gasp and pant and every muscle in his body would clench uncontrollably, and then it would start all over again. And so he cried and wailed and sobbed, unable to understand how something could feel so amazingly good and so horribly bad at the same time.

"How many orgasms has Zero-One had in the last hour, Anna?" Doctor Trench asked as the boy let out another series of frantic hysterical squeals and squeaks.

"It's hard to tell for sure, doctor," the young aide replied. "I'd say at least twelve. Is that high?"

"If we were stimulating him by hand, yes. But for a ten- year-old on this particular machine, not at all. Actually the exact number is probably closer to twenty at the moment. Several of them have occurred too rapidly to distinguish them."

Anna stared at the little naked ten-year-old in amazement. Twenty orgasms. How was this kid even still conscious?

"Check his pulse-rate, please," the doctor instructed. "We don't want his little heart to give out. It is actually possible to kill a pre-pubescent boy on this machine."

"Really?"

"There are two documented cases that I know of. Both of the boys were slaves of course, both under the age of eleven. We may be entering dangerous territory with him."

Anna made a quick check of Miles' pulse, placing her finger over the inside of the boy's wrist. Miles stared at her with glazed eyes. "It's racing, doctor. And his breathing is starting to get erratic."

"Lower the settings on the machine, dear," Trench instructed. "Bring him down slowly."

The ten-year-old couldn't see the adjustments being made, but he felt their results almost immediately. The pulsating of the metal sheath around his penis finally stopped. His cute little two-inch [5cm] boner, which he'd had for the last hour, at last began to deflate. The vibrating thing in his butt was also going slower. Miles took a deep breath and then let out a sigh of relief. Anna reached under him and released the straps that held the sheath in place. Venturing a curious look at the boy-parts between his legs, Miles saw that his little pickle was once again soft and slender. Only now it was very red and very sore. And his balls, which normally were drawn up close to his body, were currently dangling in his soft little sack, two tiny almonds in a thin fleshy bag.

"Take a deep breath, cutie," Anna told him as she began to pull the vibrating plug from the ten-year-old boy's butt.

Miles gasped sharply and let out a little squeak of protest. It hurt almost as much coming out as it had going in.

Keeping the boy on his hands and knees, Anna put the chastity belt back on him, making sure his little penis was properly constrained inside the metal plate so he could not have any erections. She pulled the belt snug around his slim waist, pulled the strap up under his legs and over his adorable little butt-crack and then attached the two padlocks. The ten-year-old's genitals were once again locked away, neither to be seen nor touched by their unfortunate little owner.

At the other table, Karin and the doctor where finishing up with Philippe, removing the vibrating prostate probe and locking him into his chastity cage. The fourteen-year-old was busy rubbing the tears from his eyes. He was humiliated and ashamed of himself for crying, but he was certainly not the first teenaged boy to break down in tears on the milking machine, and he was not going to be the last.

"Alright," the doctor said to her enthusiastic young aides, "that's four boys down, six to go. Let's get these two plugged and drugged and on their way."

By the time the boys were returned to the barracks for their evening meal, all of them had experienced their first visit to the infirmary and their first hour on the milking machine. Each of the teams had completed the marathon course, taken their laps at the hippodrome, survived a grueling challenge at the pool (except for young Miles who had yet to have his first swimming lesson), and beaten their partners senseless in the main arena. They were tired, bruised, sore, dirty and generally miserable, yet the barracks was a lively place as they sat at the long table and ate their dinner.

Every one of the boys had a butt plug inside him, causing each of them to squirm uncomfortably on their seats. None of them were too happy about having those things stuffed in their rear ends. For Miles and Josh, who could not yet ejaculate, and Daniel and Ian, who were as yet producing only tiny amounts of clear semen, the plugs were mostly just a humiliating nuisance, a painful reminder of their new status as slaves. They perhaps felt a mild arousal from the constant stimulation of their still immature prostates, but mostly they just felt full and embarrassed.

It was quite different for the older boys. The plugs in their butts, combined with the chastity devices locked around their now perfectly hairless genitals, resulted in six very leaky boy-cocks and six very frustrated young teens. Milking the boys had done very little to relieve their intense adolescent sexual needs.

When they'd all first returned to the barracks, the less developed boys took a certain amount of delight in teasing and taunting the older ones about the loss of their pubic hair. David, Philippe, Chris, Alexei, Gabe, and even little eleven-year-old Ian, had all woken up that morning with hair around their dicks. Now it was gone, leaving their young bodies completely hairless. Its absence was particularly striking on the two fourteen-year-olds who'd arrived on the island each with a fairly thick patch between their slender shapely legs. Josh took particular interest in pointing out Christopher's smooth bare pubis. He'd been at first exceedingly curious and then exceedingly jealous when Chris sprouted his first sparse hairs down there, back when he was twelve. Chris for his part had made a rather big deal of it, teasing his brother for still being a little kid while, he, clearly, was already a man. 'Men have hair,' he'd told Josh at the time, 'and boys don't. So what does that make me?'

'I dunno. An asshole with hair?'

Naturally Josh had spent the next half-hour running through the house with his brother chasing after him. Now, the two brothers were once again equal, at least in that particular department.

"Now you look just like me, Chris!" Josh had chirped happily when Chris, chained by his collar to twelve-year-old Alexei, was marched into the barracks.

"Shut up, squirt," Chris said. After the initial humiliation of having it removed, the boy was actually starting to enjoy how it felt to be smooth and hairless again. It seemed to make his cock and balls look bigger, and that was certainly a plus in the thirteen-year-old's estimation. But he wasn't about to let his little brother give him a hard time.

Of all the boys, only Illya Casparev was left out of the teasing. The thirteen-year-old had a huge dick, a long fat six-inch [15cm] tube of boyflesh that swung comically between his legs when it wasn't locked away in the chastity cage, but he had yet to develop any pubic hair. So he was neither teased for having lost it, nor a teaser of those who did since he didn't have any to begin with. He sat quietly at the table, eating rapidly and darting his hazel eyes around the table.

Talk amongst the boys turned to the milking machine. Most of them gave an involuntary shiver at the mere thought of it.

"That totally sucked, mates," David said to the others. "I mean I wanted to cum so bad. I wished I could'a 3; " the handsome fourteen-year-old got nods of sympathy and whole- hearted agreement, from all that is but Miles and Josh. Their experiences on the machine had been quite the opposite.

"And I wished I could'a stopped cumming!" Josh exclaimed.

"Yeah," Miles added, not wanting the conversation to pass him by. Being the youngest and smallest in every way was not an easy thing to be, and he didn't want them forgetting he was there. "Doc said I must'a had like twenty-two organisms before she turned it off."

"Orgasms," Gabriel said, rolling his eyes and jabbing the ten-year-old in the ribs.

"That's what I said."

Josh gave Miles a look of camaraderie. He'd finished up with eighteen mind-bending dry orgasms by the time the machine shut down. He never even knew his body could be forced to do that, or that anything that felt so good could end up being so terrible. The eleven-year-old had decided that even if they took the belt off him right now, he would not dare touch his dick.

"I thought that thing was gonna suck my balls out through my cock," Chris said, getting a round of loud boyish laughter from everyone.

Some debate was held as to which event, so far, was the most difficult. Daniel, Josh, and Ian voted for swimming. Aside from Miles, who hadn't participated, they were the three smallest and lightest boys, so having to do all those laps with lead weights strapped around their arms, thighs and waists proved very unpleasant and just a little frightening. Naturally the five boys who had ended up pulling the chariots unanimously chose the hippodrome track as the worst. Alexei didn't like the marathon course very much, mostly because it was the last thing he and Chris had done and he was already exhausted before they even started. Miles voted for the marathon as well, since he was pretty much dragged from one side of the island to the other by Philippe.

"You promised you would keep up," the French boy said, feeling rather guilty about what a beating the little kid had taken during their afternoon run.

"I tried," the spirited ten-year-old replied in his own defense. Of course he'd taken his opportunity for revenge as he piloted the chariot and forced the older boy around the track. He rather enjoyed pushing the button and watching Philippe shriek and scramble forward, helplessly harnessed and chained to the cart.

The trainers returned just as the boys were wiping down the table and sweeping the floor. Keeping the barracks clean was their responsibility.

"Alright, boys," Jason Sanborne called, "line up. Toes on the black stripe." He pointed to a long black line painted on the floor.

The ten boy gladiators scurried about for a few seconds but quickly formed a straight line facing the large tally board at the front of the room, their cute little boyfeet precisely positioned on the black stripe. The naked boys took up their already well-practiced stance, clasping their hands behind their heads and spreading their feet wide apart. They stood silently waiting, their eyes forward.

The tally board had been there since the boys first entered the barracks the day before, but it had been blank. It was electronic, and now it was active, each boy's number and name in glowing letters. Some boys' names were in blue, some in were yellow, most were in red. Some boys had positive numbers after their names, some had negative numbers and some had a single letter 'E'.

"Look at the board, boys," Sanborne ordered. "These are your scores so far. Worldwide Boy Gladiators does not officially begin until next week, but we started keeping score the moment you were taken off the plane. Boys in blue have positive points."

Gabriel Shelton and Illya Casparev were the only two who fit that category at the moment. They both smiled.

"Boys in yellow are even as of right now."

That was Chris, Gabriel, and David, who all seemed relieved not to be on the bottom of the pack.

"Boys in red have negative points."

Josh, Miles, Alexei, Daniel and Philippe all saw their names in red. Josh, with a negative 15 points, was dead last, much to his dismay.

"Man, I'm last already and it ain't even a whole day yet." It was mostly because of the ten points he lost because of his erection that morning.

The other boys chuckled, but the scores were close. The boys in first place could find themselves in last without even trying.

"I'm going to give you boys some advice," Jason continued. "The only time you should worry about this scoreboard as at the end of the week. If you try to get bonus points, or try not to get penalties, you'll just mess up even more. Try your best. Somebody's going to be the loser each week. That's just a fact. Sooner or later it's going to be you. Now, pair up."

"Yes, sir!" the boys shouted in unison. They found their partners quickly and remained at attention while they were chained together. Their trainers marched them out of the barracks. Evening on the island was not unpleasant. The sun was still shining, but it had lost its sweltering midday strength. There was a breeze blowing in off the ocean. The boys all breathed in deeply. They were taken to the arena and down into the holding area. There the chains were removed and each boy was given a set of knee and elbow pads and a soft rubber mouth guard. The boys strapped the pads in place quickly, and then ran up the stairs through the boys' entrance and found themselves on the arena floor.

The lights were low. The trainers were nowhere to be seen, but scattered on the floor were pummels, nets, heavy rubber balls and maces, leather whips, ropes and chains. The boys all stood there in silence, not sure what was expected of them.

Suddenly the lights came up, bright and blazing, illuminating the arena floor. A voice boomed out from above. "Melee! Last boy standing gets twenty points! Show no mercy!"

Chapter 15
Melee!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On the arena floor, the chaos continued. Gabe and Philippe were trading blows with pummels, each determined to bring the other boy down. There was only a one-inch [2½cm] difference in their height despite almost two years between them. The fourteen-year-old Philippe however outweighed twelve-year-old Gabe by more than ten pounds [5kg]. Diving had made the French teen lithe and agile, with superior balance and coordination. It was only young Gabe's fierce brawling spirit that allowed him to stand toe to toe with the older boy. They were so focused on each other that neither boy took notice when the young trio of Ian, Josh and Miles closed in around them. Miles picked up two of the rubber balls that had so far been ignored by everyone else. With a wicked grin he flung the first one at Philippe's chest, the second at Gabriel's legs.

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

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

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

"The little ones," he said between gaping breaths, "they're working together 3; "

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

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

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

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

"Those little shits!" Chris said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A boy of fourteen waited in the doorway, his head bowed, a tray of coffee resting in his slender arms. William Durand's personal houseboy was naked except for a black leather slave collar around his neck and a black thong tied around his waist. This was his regular uniform for working around the house. He stood about five feet two inches [1.57m] tall, close in height to the oldest of the gladiators, but he had a thin, delicate build with slim narrow hips. His skin was pearl- white and utterly flawless. His hair was a dark auburn, worn shoulder length. His body otherwise was completely hairless. Curiously, there was no burgeoning teenaged bulge beneath the skimpy black thong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The boy blushed, embarrassed that his feelings were always so transparent to his master. "I guess. Kinda. I mean, I'm strong 3; and real fast. I could beat most of those boys. I know I could."

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

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

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

The boy nodded. "Yes, master."

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

"Yes, master," Trevor replied, not entirely sure just how grateful he should be. His master had owned him since he was ten years old. He had started the injections when Trevor was eleven. By the time of his thirteenth birthday, those things between his legs, his little boy-parts, had shrunken away to almost nothing. His tightly circumcised penis was barely an inch [2½cm] long. His testicles were not much bigger than marbles and were held close to his body by his tight smooth scrotum. He never had erections. In fact, Trevor's penis had not been hard in more than three years. He still received the shots each week, ensuring that his genitals remained small and dormant. The procedure itself didn't hurt. The most painful part was the shots themselves, administered directly to his penis and testicles.

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

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

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

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

"Yes, master," Trevor replied softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You might beat me," Chris suggested.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"They never said we had to fight everybody," Daniel said, walking forward and swinging his pummel lazily. "They said we had to be the last boy standing. And I'm gonna be the last one 3; 'cause you're goin' down!"

"Don't think so."

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

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

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

"Dammit!" Josh growled.

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

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

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

NEXT PART