Worldwide Boy Gladiators The Boys: Christopher Andrews, boy zero-seven, age 13, American Joshua Andrews, boy zero-two, age 11, American Daniel O’Hanlon, boy zero-five, age 12, Canadian Gabriel Shelton, boy zero-six, age 12, English Miles Harris, boy zero-one, age 10, English Philippe Dulac, boy zero-nine, age 14, French Alexei Graznikov, boy zero-four, age 12, Russian Illya Casparev, boy zero-eight, age 13, Russian David Brown, boy one-zero, age 14, Australian Ian Cloverdale, boy zero-three, age 11, Australian Chapter 1. Extreme Action Broadcasting had its global headquarters in New York City, with satellite offices in London, Paris, Toronto, Moscow and Sydney. Completed in 2035, the building was one of the tallest in the world and all of the company’s administrative and production offices were located on the upper floors, overlooking a most unusual media empire. Today known around the world simply as XB1, it began inauspiciously in the fall of 2025 as a low-rated, fifth tier wireless broadcasting network featuring a twenty-four hour cavalcade of shock reality programming. First re-running vintage episodes of Survivor, Fear Factor and other similar fare, the XB’s viewership showed little growth for the first year of its existence and it seemed certain the network would join the ever expanding list of defunct and forgotten media ventures. That was before William Durand purchased a controlling interest in the failing company and began adding original programming to the line-up. Unique original programming designed to attract a very small but very wealthy and influential segment of the population. Durand had a deep personal interest in his network’s development of new entertainment, and he knew without a doubt that audiences worldwide were simply waiting for his brand of reality television to come along. In an earlier century, even an earlier decade, perhaps Durand’s XB1 would have remained a small underground sensation, catering to very small but enthusiastic market. However that all changed when the United States became a signatory to the International Child Slavery Act, which was passed and ratified by the World Assembly of Nations in 2027. Within twelve months of the passage of this euphemistically labeled “social engineering” law, Extreme Action was offering fare such as “Bully my Middle-schooler”, in which college-aged jocks put twelve and thirteen-year-old boys through all sorts of brutal hazing and humiliation. “Little Guy’s Fight Club” in which boys aged nine through eleven essentially beat the crap out of each other in front of a live worldwide audience. And of course the controversial but highly rated “Enslaved” which followed thirteen-year-old Mark Davis through his first year of servitude under the government’s newly enacted child slavery act. The small underground network exploded into the mainstream, and people around the world, men and women both, discovered something terribly shocking about themselves: They enjoyed watching young teenaged boys being humiliated and subjected to all manner of suffering. The network is now one of the most-watched around the world, but in the cut-throat world of reality broadcasting, you are only as popular and credible as your latest epic spectacle of human misery. William Durand understood this, and he understood the somewhat remarkable but not exactly shocking truth that viewers of all ages, classes, races and orientations enjoyed watching boys nine to fourteen suffering all manners of tortures, humiliation and degradation. For his newest program, in the coveted Saturday prime-time slot, he needed something amazing, astounding, utterly and totally shocking. Something that would raise the bar for all future shows to come. Lara Tomlinsin was sure she had the answer. She’d only been at XB1 for a few months, and while she personally had no great fondness for her employer’s programming, she appreciated the addictive nature of voyeuristic television. She also had no particular moral apprehensions about developing a concept that would make all of Extreme Action’s previous efforts appear tame by comparison. “I don’t normally make time for personal meetings with junior producers, Ms. Tomlinsin,” Durand began as he looked out over the city from his office on the 121st floor. “But you were quite insistent. This had better be worth it, or you’ll find yourself over at Fox.” Lara smiled at the open insult, but quickly and efficiently set up her presentation. The office lights dimmed, and William Durand stared at the large viewscreen at the far end of the room. Lara began her pitch, flashing a single picture onto the screen. Durand immediately sat forward and laced his fingers. “What am I looking at there, Ms. Tomlinsin?” “This is a detail taken from an ancient Roman fresco. Pompeii, I believe, though that hardly matters.” “Those would be gladiators, would they not?” The attractive brunette nodded, her long hair flowing easily with her graceful movements. “They are, sir, but they are much more than that. Take a closer look.” She magnified the image. Durand was amazed at what he saw. The smooth slender limbs, the beardless faces, the youthful expressions. “Those are boys.” “Yes, sir. Boy gladiators.” “I didn’t think the Romans ever sent children into the arena, not as gladiators anyway. Women yes, but boys . . . “ “Oh, they sent them. In fairly large numbers if recent re-evaluations of frescoes like these are to be believed. There are a great many details about the ancient world that conservative history texts tend to overlook. This happens to be one of them. I suppose it would have all been too shocking for early twenty-first century moralists, but of course, our standards have changed somewhat in the last ten years. Thankfully.” “We would not be in business if they hadn’t.” “And it’s my job to ensure that you remain so. I call my concept ‘Worldwide Boy Gladiators’.” “I’m interested already.” “I thought you might be.” “Details, Ms. Tomlinsin.” The young woman brushed her hair back. “Please call me Lara.” “Very well, Lara. You have my attention.” “Well, sir, my concept is really very simple, and based upon XB1’s proven successes. As the show’s title indicates, we will subject a group of boys to various trials and tests of strength and endurance, they will, of course fight one another . . . “ “Little Guys Fight Club. We already have that show.” Lara nodded but was not deterred. “Gladiators will be significantly more . . . intense . . . and considerably more creative in its execution and production.” “I’m listening, Lara.” “The boys we recruit for the show will all be between the ages of ten and fourteen. In order for them to participate, they and their parents will have to sign a contract of indenture, which we will hold exclusively until the boy’s sixteenth birthday.” Durand’s eyes lit up and he nodded slowly in approval. Lara Tomlinsin had done her homework. It was a brilliant idea. “So we will own each of them.” “Precisely. And since the boys will become the bonded property of Extreme Action Broadcasting, we will have the widest discretion imaginable.” “Limitless, I would say.” “Under the terms of a standard contract of indenture, the only stipulation is that the boy not be killed. I think we can safely guarantee that.” “Tell me more about the program. What can I expect to see if I tune in on Saturday nights?” “As I said, sir, we will feature extreme tests of strength and endurance. The boys will also be subjected to constant and extraordinary physical and mental . . . duress . . . “ “You may use the word ‘torture’, Lara, for that is what it is and that is why people will be watching each week.” “Yes, torture. There will be competitions each week, with the boys pitted against each other either in teams or individually. And also, since the boys will legally be slaves, we can introduce certain, shall we say, sexual elements into the program without risk of government fines or cancellation.” “That would be a first for us.” “And a sure ratings bonanza.” “How will we handle eliminations?” Durand asked. Lara smiled. “We won’t. Remember, sir, for all practical and legal purposes we own these boys until they turn sixteen. We don’t eliminate anyone. Oh, there will be winners and losers each week. The winners will receive some reward, the losers will be punished. In addition, we will keep the boys on a competitive points system. Pluses for achieving, demerits for failing. The boys with the lowest scores will of course be subjected to far worse ordeals and humiliation than those with higher scores.” “I assume the rankings will change constantly.” “That’s the plan. Certainly you can expect the youngest boys to be at or near the bottom most of the time, but we’ll set things up so they get a fair chance at winning at least some of the time. I can virtually guarantee that every boy will spend some time on the bottom. This system will help create rivalries between them. We don’t exactly want them hating each other, but we don’t want them becoming best friends either.” “What’s in it for the families? I mean I don’t think we’re likely to find too many families willing to indenture their sons just for the mild celebrity status they might possibly attain.” “Don’t be so sure about that, Mr. Durand,” Lara said with a smile. She then flashed up the first of the pertinent financial charts and figures. “But you are right of course. The chance to be on television for a few years is a rather steep price for selling a boy into slavery, so we will be offering financial incentives to each family.” “How much incentive are we talking about here, Lara?” “Five million into a trust fund for the boy, accessible upon the expiration of his indenture. And an additional half-a-million paid immediately and directly to the family upon the signature of the indenture contract.” “That’s not a great deal of money for us, is it?” “Our advertising income for the first season alone should net us far more than we will ever pay out in trust.” “How many boys?” “Ten is a nice round number, don’t you think. We don’t want too many or people will get them confused with one another. With ten its big enough to allow for some real competition, but small enough that viewers worldwide will get to know them.” “I’m sure the odds-makers will have a field day with this.” “Yes, and since we hold majority shares in several of the major wagering parlors and casinos, we should net a tidy profit there as well.” “So, we’re looking at about sixty mil to acquire the boys.” “Yes.” “Facilities? Where do you plan on producing and filming this gem?” The screen flashed once again at Lara Tomlinsin’s command, this time showing an aerial photograph of a small island. “Recognize it?” Durand smiled. “That’s my island, Ms. Tomlinsin.” “Yes. Durand Island, formerly San Miguel. A tiny little paradise in the Caribbean. Present population: One very wealthy and very bored part-time resident. You.” “It’s the perfect location.” Lara laughed in agreement. “Somehow I thought you would not object to being close to the production facilities on this one.” “Indeed I don’t. What did you have in mind?” “Well, sir, of course your private manor will remain untouched and off-limits to everyone, but the entire southern two-thirds of the island is completely unused. Perfect for the development of this project. And since you personally own the entire island, there’ll be no licensing or permits required. We can begin immediately.” “What do you propose?” “Let me show you,” Lara said. A new graphic was superimposed over the aerial view, showing an extensive complex of buildings clustered in the southern area of the island. “Of course here in the center you have the main arena. It’s designed to seat five hundred people. XB1 can invite clients, advertisers, or personal associates to attend the events. Of course to support visitors we will need to enlarge the current landing strip, as you see here,” Lara pointed to a runway running perpendicular to the shoreline, several miles away from the complex she was proposing. “Next to the arena you have the training facility. Toward the east you have the housing area for the film crew and island staff. This building next to the housing units is the administrative and pre and post-production facility. It also has a cafeteria, and medical facilities for the XB1 staff. Everything is state of the art, of course.” Lara then indicated a small structure, which appeared to be surrounded by a fence. “Over here, to the north of the arena, we will have a maximum security barracks for the boys. We don’t want any of them deciding they’d be better off swimming home once they get on the island. When they’re not competing or in training, they will be kept under strict control.” “Excellent. The barracks seems rather small.” “It is, Mr. Durand, intentionally. The boys will be permitted no comforts, no television, no outside contact except a weekly call home. The barracks contains five separate cells. Two boys will be housed in each. It is more than adequate to meet their needs.” “Again, excellent. What is the cost and timetable for construction?” “Assuming you give me a green light today, Gladiator Island can be up and running by the end of the summer. I anticipate having the boys arrive in August to begin their training, with the premiere episode airing live worldwide on September 7th. Total construction cost will be approximately thirty-two million dollars, US. The sale of box seats in the arena should net twice that amount within the first six months.” “Several times now you’ve mentioned the need for staff. Explain this to me, Lara.” “Well, Mr. Durand, Gladiator Island will be a new venture for us, something XB1 has never attempted before. Not only will we have a large on-location set and broadcasting facility, but we will also have to deal with ten boys who will be the legal property of the corporation. To do this right, we need to have a doctor, a team of nurses, at least six individuals trained in juvenile corrections and a separate trainer for each boy, to manage them on a day to day basis. Not to mention the film crew, the commentators and a master of ceremonies for the broadcasts.” “You are talking about a sizeable outlay for payroll, my dear,” Durand said, shaking his head. “Not as much as you might think. It is not terribly hard to imagine that there are qualified individuals out there who would be more than happy to relocate to the island and oversee the boys for limited or no salary.” “I’d do it in a heartbeat.” “And you’re not alone. I’ve already taken the liberty of having our recruiting office begin the search for suitable candidates for the island’s full-time positions. Travel, room and board would of course be provided by the company for the duration of their employment.” “That seems fair. Do we have prospects for all open positions at this time?” “We do, all except master of ceremonies. But I have someone in mind for that.” “Indeed. Who?” Lara flashed her boss her winning smile. “You, sir. Who could be better?” Durand was flattered, and quite pleased with the idea. “I humbly accept, Ms. Tomlinsin,” he said with a dignified bow of his head. “Now, tell me about the boys. Have you begun recruiting them as well?” “Not yet, sir,” the young woman answered, knowing she had the world’s most powerful media mogul sold on her idea. “But we naturally want slim, handsome, athletic boys . . . and since we’re calling it ‘Worldwide Boy Gladiators’ we need to recruit from outside the United States as well.” “How will you find them?” “I’ll start by having recruitment search the web for elementary and middle school athletics pages. We need boys who are champions. We’ll focus on swimmers, wrestlers, soccer players, maybe runners and gymnasts too. Boys from those five groups should all have the physical characteristics we’re looking for.” “You have your green light, Lara. Make this show a reality.” “Thank you, sir. You won’t be disappointed.” Chapter 2: Six months later. Bowie, Maryland. USA. Thirteen-year-old Christopher Andrews stood in front of his family’s mailbox, holding the plain brown envelope in his left hand. Chris never got mail, at least not addressed directly to him. What was even more amazing was that his younger brother Josh also had an identical envelope. “Mr. Joshua M. Andrews,” the blond-haired eleven-year-old said, holding the letter up to the sky. “That’s me alright. You got one too, huh, bro?” “Sure did, squirt,” the equally blond-haired young teenager replied. “Let’s get inside and open ‘em up.” “Race ya!” Josh shouted, bolting toward the front porch without further warning. “No contest, baby brother,” Chris laughed. It took his slender five-foot frame about seven steps to pass that of his four-and-a-half foot tall brother. “No fair,” Josh yelled as he tromped up the wooden steps. “You’re legs are longer ‘n mine.” Chris gave Josh an affectionate little punch in the shoulder and they went inside. The two boys were about as close as brothers could be. Josh was just old enough not to be a pest to his big brother, and Chris was still young enough that he didn’t mind hanging out with Josh. They certainly looked like brothers. Both boys had blond hair, which they wore shoulder length. Chris had blue eyes, like his mom, Josh’s were brown like his dad’s. They were both were lightly tanned from summer days spent outdoors. Chris had a few freckles across his nose. Josh did too. They were slender, athletic, muscular young boys who loved, and played, practically every sport ever created. Chris was the state swimming champ for his age group. Josh carried the same title in wrestling. Their medals hung proudly on the family mantle above the fireplace. Young Chris was in his first year of puberty, his voice always crackling and breaking at the most embarrassing moments. Josh was still prepubescent, but he was starting to get taller and would probably start noticing other changes about his body in the next few months. “Mommmm, we’re home,” Chris called as he shucked off his shoes and put his envelope down on the kitchen table. Josh copied his brother precisely. Lindsay Andrews came up from the basement carrying a basket of laundry. She smiled when she saw her two sons. “Hi, boys. What did you two get up to today?” “Nothin’, mom,” Josh answered. “Just rode our bikes ‘n stuff.” “Someone sent me and Josh a letter,” Chris said. Lindsay set the laundry basket down on the table and examined the two identical letters. The return address was a post office box in New York City, but there was no name for the sender. “Can we open ‘em?” Josh asked. “They’re your letters, boys,” mom answered. “Don’t see why not.” The two boys tore open the envelopes. Inside each was a single page letter bearing the XB1 logo in the top left corner. “XB1!” Chris whistled in admiration. The thirteen-year-old loved ‘Little Guys Fight Club’ and often practiced moves on Joshua. The boys weren’t allowed to watch any of the networks other shows, but Chris had sneaked downstairs a few times when everyone else had gone to bed to watch ‘Enslaved’, which this year featured a fourteen-year-old named Ryan. That show gave Christopher a rather funny feeling in his gut, and his teenaged dick always got hard when he watched it. He didn’t really know why. After he read his letter, he looked over at his brother who was busy staring back at him. He looked down and read the letter again. Josh did the same. “Fuckin’ shit! Oh, fuckin’ shit!” “Christopher!” his mother shouted. “Watch your language!” “Sorry, mom,” the young teenager said, “but look. Just look what it says! They want us to be on TV!” “Yeah, mom! TV!” Josh echoed his brother’s excitement, thrusting his letter in front of his mother’s face. “Calm down, boys,” their mom said. “Let me see your letters.” She read them both, then handed them back. “Well?” the two boys asked in unison. “We need to talk about this as a family, guys. Let’s wait ‘til your dad gets home. “ “Are they for real?” Chris asked. “Yes, Chris, they are.” “Wow!” Eleven-year-old Josh started jumping around the kitchen, unable to contain his excitement. “We’re gonna be TV stars!” Matthew Andrews pretty much had the same initial reaction to his sons’ letters as the boys themselves did. The family celebrated by ordering pizza. Lindsay Andrews however was a little worried. “I just don’t understand why they’d pay us so much money to put Chris and Josh on television, before the show is even on the air. And I don’t think I like the title very much.” “Oh come on, Lin. The least we can do is hear whatever it is they want.” “Says right here they’ll pay us, mom,” Chris said, pointing to the number with all the zeroes after it. “How many is five with six zeroes after it, dad?” “That’s five million dollars, sport.” “Freakin’ awesome.” “I get that much too, right?” Josh asked. “Sure do.” “What would we have to do?” Chris asked, shoving a piece of pepperoni pizza into his mouth. From his limited experience with the network’s programming, he had a vague idea that some unpleasant things might happen to him if he agreed to be on the new show. “That’s the question, boys,” their father said. “XB1 does some pretty extreme stuff . . . “ “Duh, dad!” Josh, always the family smart-ass replied. “Extreme is like in their name.” “I mean they’d do extreme stuff to you,” their father said, “and make you do things you probably won’t like. I’ve seen some of their other shows, the ones you two aren’t allowed to watch. Come to think of it, five million dollars each might not really be enough. They’d do some pretty nasty things to you boys.” “But it’s so much money,” Chris said, “plus you get to keep some of it right now, don’t you?” “That’s what it says, honey,” Lindsay Andrews replied. “You guys could . . . like . . . pay for the house and stuff, right?” “With money to spare, sweetie,” his mom answered. “but this isn’t about your dad and me.” “Sure it is, mom. Its about the whole family, you, dad, me an Josh. It’s so much money,” Chris repeated for the fourth or fifth time since the family’s debate began. “Look,” Matt Andrews told them, “it says if we’re interested, we should call them and they’ll send someone out to meet with us. We don’t have to decide until we talk to them and find out what this is all about.” “Let’s call right now, dad, pleeeease,” Josh begged. “Chris, you’re the oldest,” their father said. “Why don’t you call for yourself and your brother.” “Can I? Really?” It was such a grown-up thing to do, make the call all by himself. Josh gave him a big smile. The thirteen-year-old took a last gulp of Pepsi then got up and went to the phone. A few moments later his family heard him talking to the person at the other end of the line. “Hi. This is Christopher Andrews . . . yeah . . . you guys sent me and my brother Josh a letter . . . yeah . . . yeah that’s us . . . yeah I am a real good swimmer . . . you bet we are . . . okay . . . when . . . tonight . . . uh, sure . . . hang on a sec, k?” Chris covered the receiver with his left hand. “They wanna send a guy to see us tonight, all the way from New York City! Private jet or somethin’ . . . can I say okay?” Mom and dad nodded slowly, a little concerned at how fast things were moving. Josh was practically bursting. Chris turned back to the phone. “Okay. My folks said it’s cool. Eight o’clock. Okay. You guys need directions or somethin’? Okay. Bye.” “They’ll be here at eight,” Chris said, sitting back down and taking another piece of pizza. He looked up at the clock. “Shit it’s five-thirty now!” “Alright,” mom told them, “why don’t you both get showers and put on some clean clothes.” Eleven-year-old Josh, who still believed baths and showers should be optional, rolled his eyes. Mom scolded him gently. “Don’t give me that look, mister. Besides, you want to make a good impression, don’t you?” “Yes, mom,” the boy said as he followed his brother upstairs. The boys were dressed in cargo shorts and pullover shirts when the doorbell rang. Both of them were barefoot. There was a large Hummer parked in the family driveway. The man at the door was young, in his early twenties to judge by appearance. He was dressed business casual with a laptop and briefcase at his side. It was Chris who got the door, and so unknowingly met for the first time the man who would become his trainer on Gladiator Island. “You must be Chris,” the man said with a smile. The five-foot tall boy standing in front of him was even more attractive in person than he was in his picture. The word cute definitely came to mind and described Christopher Andrews perfectly. “My name is Jason Sanborne. Extreme Action Broadcasting. I’ve got a business card here somewhere. May I come in?” “Yes, sir,” Chris said enthusiastically. The boy offered to take one of the cases from the man’s hands, but was politely refused. The thirteen-year-old led their visitor into the living room to introduce him to the family. Along the way Jason Sanborne enjoyed the view of the trim athletic young teenager in his beige shorts. The boy’s calves were fantastic. His bare boy-feet were adorable. His little butt covered in light summery cotton was a thing of almost poetic beauty. “Everybody, this is Jason,” Chris said, trying to sound as grown-up as possible. The man set his briefcase and laptop on the coffee table and met the parents of the two Andrews boys for the first time. “And last but not least this must be Josh,” Sanborne said when the sandy-haired four-and-a-half-foot-high eleven-year-old offered his small hand. “Pleased to met you, young man.” Jason Sanborne was in fact very pleased. Chris Andrews’ eleven-year-old brother was every bit as cute as the older boy, with a pair of the deepest darkest brown eyes the man had ever seen. The two Andrews boys were going to be stars. If he could convince their parents to let their sons become boy gladiators. Sanborne removed several folders from his briefcase and set up the laptop. “Shall we get down to business then?” he asked in a friendly tone, his eyes casually wandering over the slim bodies and handsome faces of the two young brothers. “Your letter has us all very excited,” Lindsay Andrews said. “It all seems too good to be true.” “Oh, it is all quite true. We’re looking for ten strong, smart, athletic boys for our newest program.” “What exactly is the program about?” the boy’s father asked, not trying to sound too interested. “Well as you know, we are calling the show ‘Worldwide Boy Gladiators’. I believe that name probably speaks for itself. It is certainly meant to. I can only assume you are familiar with some of our other programs. This one will make them all seem rather dull in comparison.” Matthew and Lindsay Andrews were much more aware of the content and extreme nature of some of XB1’s programming than their thirteen and eleven-year-old sons. The thought of willingly allowing their precious boys to be involved in something so potentially traumatic was certainly troubling to them. But the money being offered would secure a wealthy future for Chris and Josh and help pay off all the family’s mounting debts, which were beginning to become a real problem. In fact, just a few weeks ago, Matt and Lindsay had sat up half the night arguing. Matthew had gently raised the possibility of selling one of the boys into slavery. Lindsay went ballistic at first and threatened to leave and take the boys with her. Matthew calmed her down. ‘Just hear me out, Lin. It is something we might have to consider. Other parents do it. The Wildesins down the street sold Timothy last summer.’ ‘I never liked that boy anyway,’ Lin confessed, ‘but still its horrible. Do you know the kind of things they do to boy slaves?’ ‘I do. I also know we’re in way over our heads. If the government steps in, they’ll take both boys from us.’ ‘Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that . . . ‘ And so the conversation went on while their two sons slept blissfully in their beds down the hall. Now a man from one of the biggest and richest media companies in the world was sitting in their living room offering them enough money to never have to worry again. They looked at their boys for a moment, ushering away the thoughts of what might befall them should they agree to take the money. They then returned their attention to Jason Sanborne in his casual shirt and tie. “We’ve done extensive research for the past two months and your sons appear to meet all of our physical requirements. They both fall within the right height and weight range for their ages, and, to be quite frank, they are very attractive boys. I won’t pretend it is not a major criterion for selection. Good-looking boys draw viewers. But mostly we need boys who are champion athletes. Boys who like to win at all costs. You are both good athletes, right?” “Yes, sir,” the boys answered in unison. “Good. That’s why we want you. I’ve brought two contracts with me with your names on them. If you agree to participate, you’ll be competing in all sorts of events. Some will be familiar, like swimming and wrestling . . . “ “That’s what we’re best at,” Chris interrupted, boasting on behalf of himself and his brother. Jason smiled at the cute teenaged boy. “I’m glad to hear it, but that’s just the start, boys. There will be other events you can’t even imagine. Things you probably would not consider sports at all. We’ll be testing your strength, your speed, your endurance, your intelligence. I won’t lie to you. It’s not going to be easy, and most of the time it’s not going to be fun. You’ll have to do things you never thought you could do. Things you probably won’t want to do. But you will do them. You won’t have a choice. We’re going to push your bodies to their limits, and when you think you can’t take any more, it will get even worse. You will not be allowed to stop or quit. Not even for a moment.” “We’re not quitters,” Josh said strongly. “They wouldn’t have sent me here if we thought you were, young man. Now if you boys will stop interrupting and let me continue.” “Sorry, sir,” the brothers said, Christopher’s adolescent tenor mixing sweetly with Josh’s high unbroken boy soprano. “If you agree to participate, there will be no backing out. You will live on Gladiator Island with the other boys and your trainers. You boys cannot quit or go home. And you, mom and dad, may not remove them from our custody once the contract is signed. And I must tell you we expect a long-term commitment. Simply put, Mr. and Mrs. Andrews, the corporation needs your sons, and we are prepared to pay handsomely for them.” Matthew sat back on the sofa and looked over at Chris and Josh. The expression on his oldest son’s face told him that the thirteen-year-old vaguely understood Mr. Sanborne’s meaning. Young Josh on the other hand seemed not to have been paying a whole lot of attention at all. “Mr. Sanborne,” the boys’ father asked, “are you saying what I think you’re saying?” “I am,” Sanborne replied, at last flipping open the two folders he’d laid out previously. “And for the money being offered, I think you’ll agree the price is fair. If you want your sons to participate, you and the boys must sign a contract of indenture. The boys will become the property of the corporation up to and until their sixteenth birthday, at which time the indenture may be canceled or transferred to a third party at your discretion. The indenture is irreversible and non-negotiable. We would own all rights to your sons.” Chris definitely got it at this point. “Fuckin’ shit! You mean we’d be . . . like . . . slaves or something! “That is exactly what I mean, Chris. And there would be no something about it. You and Josh would be slaves. The corporation would own you and you would be our property. You would forfeit all your personal and physical rights. You will be kept on Gladiator Island and you will participate in the program until your indenture expires when you turn sixteen. That means we’d own you for three years, Chris. In fact, I’d be your trainer, if you and your parents sign the indenture. Josh, you’d be a slave on the island for five years.” “Don’t sell me, dad! Please!’ Josh burst into tears. Every boy in his sixth grade class had recently taken a trip to one of the state’s five slave processing centers, where boys his own age and even younger were being readied for their new lives as slaves. Juvenile criminals, boys whose parents were simply too poor to raise them or too greedy to care, third and fourth and fifth sons whose existence was now illegal due to strict population laws. They all ended up as slaves. There were girl slaves too, but very few. It was almost always boys. No one even knew how many boy slaves there were right now, but Josh knew he did not want to be one of them, not even for five million dollars. “I will remind you, it is only an indenture,” Sanborne said to calm the anxious parents. “You will get your sons back, and they will be millionaires. They will be worked very hard during their time on the island, but once they’re freed, they will never have to work again.” It was Chris who sat forward, his hands on his knees, his eyes dancing. “It really doesn’t sound that bad, guys. I mean it’ll suck to be a slave an all that, but like he said it’s not forever. Come on, Joshie, we’ll be rich, totally filthy stinkin’ rich. All we gotta do is go to this island and live there for a few years. Plus we’ll be on TV. Everybody will know who we are, won’t they Mr. Sanborne?” “They certainly will. Weekly viewership is projected at close to thirty-six percent saturation. You boys will be quite famous.” “But they’ll be slaves,” their mother said sadly. What a horrible choice had been laid before them. A horrible, tempting, terrible, alluring choice. So much money. It would start as five million, but it would be kept in trust, invested by XB1’s own financial wizards. By the time Chris was sixteen in three years, he could maybe have twenty or twenty-five million. And Josh, he was only eleven, he’d have to be a slave for five years, but how much money might he end up with when he was freed? A lifetime of security for her two boys. What more could any mother wish for. But what price would they have to pay, living as slaves on that island, the whole world watching horrible things being done to them week after week. “I don’t need your decision tonight,” Jason Sanborne said. “You can have forty-eight hours.” Chris stood up and looked at his parents. “I’ll do it. I’ll sign the thing right now. Let me do it, guys.” “Chris, honey,” the thirteen-year-old’s mother said, “once we sign that paper, you can’t take it back. You’ll be a slave until you’re sixteen.” “Dad?” Chris turned to his father. Jason Sanborne sat back quietly enjoying the drama of this family about to willingly sell at least one of their sons into slavery. “Five million is a lot of money, Lindsay.” “Matthew! I can’t believe you’re making this about money. Do you really want to see your son on that awful show?” “Somebody’s son is going to be. Why not Chris?” “Yeah, mom. Come on. Let me do it. I’ll sign the paper right now.” Josh stared up at his brother. Chris was so brave and so cool. He wasn’t going to let him go away and leave him behind. “If Chris signs it, I’ll sign it,” he said. Lindsay stared at her youngest in pity and horror. Chris clapped his brother on the back. “That’s right, squirt, you and me.” “What do you say, Lin?” their father asked. “I’ll sign, if that’s really what the boys want.” Lindsay stood up and drew first Chris then Josh into her arms. “Are you boys sure this is what you want to do?” The two young brothers nodded. Jason Sanborne drew a black pen from his shirt pocket and held it to Chris. “This is your file, Chris. Sign the last page. Mr. and Mrs. Andrews, you’ll need to sign below your son’s signature. Then we’ll take care of Josh’s indenture. Since he’s under twelve it’s a little more detailed, but it will be equally binding.” Ten minutes later it was done. Jason closed the files and returned them to his briefcase. He did not close the case but instead pulled out a slim card-sized digital camera. “Before we finish here, I need to take some photographs of you both for our official records. Take off your clothes.” Chris and Josh both stared open-mouthed at Jason Sanborne, not sure they heard him correctly. “You two are now slaves. Slaves do exactly as they are told. Now take off your clothes.” “Right here, in front of mom?” Josh asked, already blushing. Jason smiled at the boy’s modesty. “Mom, dad, perhaps if you were to go into another room this would be easier.” “Sure,” Matthew said, dragging his wife into the kitchen. “Okay, boys, I gave you a break. Now strip.” Chris and Josh slowly pulled off their shirts, revealing their slim, muscular, well-tanned torsos. Chris was already shaped like a young man. Josh still had some of the softer curves of a little boy, but he was every bit as lean and athletic as his older brother. Sharing a nervous glance, the boys then lowered their cargo shorts. Chris was wearing black boxer-briefs, Josh had oversized boxers with cartoon characters on them. “Underpants too, boys. You’ll be kept naked on the island, so you’d better start getting used to it.” Josh looked at Chris and Chris looked at Josh. Neither boy was too happy about that last piece of information. Josh was particularly upset. Like most eleven-year-olds he was very modest. He wouldn’t even let his mom see him in his underwear. In fact the only person who’d seen him without his clothes on in the last three years was his big brother. “Let’s just get it over with, Josh,” Chris said, digging his fingers under his waistband and pulling down his underwear in a swift graceful motion. Spurred on by his older brother’s courage, Josh did the same. The two boys stood naked in their own living room. Jason Sanborne looked on, pleased with what he saw. Thirteen-year-old Christopher was slender, with nice shapely thighs, lean arms and a tight muscular abdomen. His chest was developing nicely, his pectoral muscles beginning to define themselves. His small dime-sized boy-nipples had been tanned a pleasant brown from exposure to the sun. He had a sparse patch of wispy blond pubic hair just above his penis. Aside from that he was still completely smooth and hairless. Jason paused at the boy’s genitals. Chris’ penis was quite impressive for a boy his age. Uncircumcised and about four inches long. His balls were big and heavy and hung down surprisingly low in his pink hairless scrotum. Eleven-year-old Joshua was a nearly perfect copy of his older brother in miniature. He was of course completely hairless, but the great surprise was that his penis was nearly as big as his brother’s, a long thick sausage dangling between the eleven-year-old’s slim legs. His balls, though noticeably smaller, hung every bit as low as Christopher’s did, swinging back and forth between the eleven-year-old’s smooth shapely thighs. Chris, in spite of his nice endowment, seemed to be a little embarrassed, standing next to his little brother whose cock was in actuality only 1/8 of an inch shorter than his own. Sanborne made no particular comment about either boy, although he was greatly impressed at how beautiful they were and what perfect slaves they were going to be. And Joshua’s oversized penis was certain to make him a big hit with the viewers. “You first, Chris. Put your hands behind your head.” Chris did as he was told. To his horror, he felt his penis slowly starting to harden. By the time Sanborne had finished taking the pictures, his four-inch dick had grown to a full six-inch erection. Josh went next, bravely copying his brother’s pose. His penis too managed to erect itself, reaching an impressive five and ¾ inches. “I see we’re going to have to train those penises of yours not to get hard unless you’re told to,” Jason said to them quietly. “We have some very strict rules on the island, but you’ll learn all about that on Friday. Josh, you can call your parents back in.” “Can we get dressed again?” Chris asked. “Josh can. You can’t until tomorrow morning. I’m your trainer so we might as well get a head start. I want you to get used to being naked. You won’t be wearing regular clothes again for a very long time.” Chris blushed and shivered, but made no attempt to retrieve his clothes. His mom and dad both noticed that he was still nude while Josh was back in his shorts and shirt. They also noticed their thirteen-year-old son was having an erection. They didn’t ask, and Chris chose not to talk about it. He just stood there with his hard dick bobbing up and down. Jason shook both Matthew and Lindsay’s hands, then he turned to address Chris and Josh. “You two are now slaves. I am allowing you to stay with your parents for the rest of the week. You are not allowed to leave this house. You will keep yourselves clean. Mr. and Mrs. Andrews, as Christopher’s trainer I have given him orders to remain naked until the morning. He is not allowed to cover himself with his hands or anything else. That means no sheets or blankets tonight on his bed. Please see that he obeys my orders. We’ll be sending a collection team for them on Friday morning. I’m leaving them each a copy of the basic rules we’ll be expecting them to follow once they reach the island. See that they read them and start to memorize them. You have a lovely home. It has been a pleasure. Boys, I’m looking forward to seeing you on the island.” Chapter 3: Eleven-year-old Josh had a great time teasing Chris for having to remain naked for the rest of the evening, taking it upon himself to point out to everyone whenever the thirteen-year-old’s penis showed even the slightest signs of becoming erect. “Chris is getting a boner again, mom,” became the high-pitched giggling refrain that echoed through the house that whole evening. “Shut up, Josh. Jason said I had to be naked. He didn’t say anything about my dick.” “Don’t yell at your brother, young man,” their mom said. Were it not for the fact that their eldest son was nude, and that both of the boys were now legally considered slaves, it would have been just another normal night in the Andrews house, with two brothers teasing and taunting and tormenting each other. It was summer, so the boys didn’t have a set bedtime. Their father had retired around eleven-thirty. It was past midnight when Lindsay kissed her boys goodnight, trying not to think about the fact that she had only three days of goodnight kisses left before they were taken away. “Make sure you two start studying those rules,” she admonished them before going upstairs. With their parents both asleep, the brothers sat together on the couch, Chris naked, laying back, his hairless legs spread, his four-inch penis dangling soft over his big thirteen-year-old boy balls which rested upon the cushion. Josh had stripped down to just his boxers. His hand absent-mindedly found its way inside his shorts and he fiddled with himself as he watched TV, enjoying the tight feeling of his throbbing not-quite-six-inch erection. Soon that weird tingly feeling started to build up in his balls. He rubbed his boy-cock even faster until he gasped and cried out and his entire body writhed with a powerful dry orgasm. Josh lay his head back on the couch, exhausted from his latest effort. Chris smiled at his eleven-year-old brother and leisurely stroked his own penis. He got hard almost immediately, but he didn’t want to make a mess in the living room. He decided to wait until he was in his bed, then he’d jerk off as hard and fast as he could. With is erection still pointing up toward his belly, Chris picked up the paper Jason Sanborne had left him. “Guess we should read these, Josh.” “Yeah, guess so.” The boys took turns reading each rule on the list. There were ten of them. This is what they read: Chris: “You will address every adult on the island as ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am’.” Josh: “You will be naked at all times unless your trainer gives you clothes to wear.” Chris: “You will obey every order given to you and participate in every activity you are assigned to.” Josh: “You will not speak unless you are spoken to, except when you are in your barracks. Then you may speak quietly with the other boys.” Chris: “You will not touch your genitals or the genitals of another boy for any reason, at any time, unless you are told to by your trainer.” Josh: “If you think you are in danger of being injured, you will tell the nearest trainer immediately. He or she will decide if you can continue.” Chris: “You will eat only the food that is given to you each day. You will not share food with other boys and you will not eat food from the staff cafeteria.” Josh: “You will go to the bathroom only at your assigned times.” “Wow,” Chris said after they’d finished. “Some of those rules really suck.” “Yeah.” The two boys were suddenly very quiet and very subdued as the monumental weight of their decision began to set in. They were slaves. They were going to be treated like slaves. They were going to an island someplace they didn’t even know where. They would be boy gladiators. “Think we’ll have to fight each other, Chris?” Josh asked. “Probably. I’ll try not to kick your ass to hard.” “Thanks.” The two boys went upstairs around one in the morning. Josh crawled into his bed right away. Chris noticed that his parents had stripped his bed of its sheets and blankets, just as Jason Sandborne had ordered. Chris would have to sleep naked with no covering for his lean hairless body. “Good thing its summer, or I’d freeze my balls off,” the young teenager said. Josh laughed, quite happy it was his brother who had to be naked and not him. Josh rolled over onto his stomach and was asleep in a matter of minutes. Chris turned down the lamp beside his bed, lay on his back, spread his perfect thirteen-year-old legs and jerked himself off, sliding his left hand frantically over the length of his six-inch erection. He paid special attention to his foreskin, pulling it all the way up over the tip of his cock, then skinning it all the way down his shaft. He loved that tight wonderful feeling. It wasn’t long before the feeling started, deep inside him. Carefully, slowly, as he’d done for the last few months, he inserted a single finger into his butt. His cock got even harder. In the dim light of the lamp the boy could see the tip of it was wet and oozing with sticky clear fluid. “Oh yeah,” he whispered to himself as his balls drew up toward his groin. “Ugh, fuck . . . ooohh.” Chris shot his thin sperm in violent bursts onto his tight muscular stomach. It had never felt so good. To his surprise, the boy discovered he’d put a second finger into his rear end. He didn't remember doing it. “Damn,” he said quietly, grabbing a handful of tissue and cleaning the sticky mess off his body. “I’m gonna bust something if I keep doing that.” But then again he hadn’t busted anything yet in two years and counting of twice-daily jerk-off sessions. One during his morning shower. One at night right before bed, after Josh had fallen asleep. With his head still swimming, Chris fell asleep on his back, snoring softly, the lamp still glowing on its lowest setting. In the morning, Chris woke up first, as always, and roused his little brother. Josh opened his eyes to see Chris standing over him naked, his four-inch cock swinging back and forth as his big brother moved around. “You still gotta be naked?” the eleven-year-old asked, yawning. “I guess.” Josh got out of bed, pulled off his boxers and trotted naked over to his dresser. He picked out a clean pair of underpants, silky blue soccer shorts and a tank-top. His cock was as stiff as a nail, but Josh didn’t pay much attention to it. “See ya downstairs, bro!” he said as he tore out of the room they’d shared all their lives. Chris puttered around for a while, kind of enjoying the way it felt to be naked. He turned on his computer and played a video games for a while until Josh’s high voice shouted to him from the bottom of the stairs. “Mom says you’d better get down here for breakfast before its gone.” Chris then realized he was really hungry. He hurried downstairs, quite forgetting he was still in his birthday suit. “Well, I see my naked son has survived the night,” his mom said. Chris blushed and sat down to a big plate of pancakes. The phone rang a few minutes later. His mom answered it. “Its Jason Sanborne, Chris.” Chris took the phone and tried to remember how he was supposed to address his trainer. “Hello, sir,” he said quietly. “Good morning, Christopher. Are you naked?” “Yes, sir. I’m naked. Just hangin’ around, you know.” Sanborne laughed on the other end of the line. “You can put on shorts and a T-shirt today. No underwear. I will be calling you every morning until Friday and instructing you on what to wear. After you’ve eaten your dinner tonight, you will take off all your clothes and spend the rest of the night naked, just like last night. Oh, and one more thing. You are not allowed to masturbate. Do you understand?” “Yes, sir.” “Good. Have you and your brother read the rules I left for you?” “Yes, sir.” “Do either of you have any questions?” “Not right now, sir. Some of them seem kinda scary.” “They’re meant to. You aren’t free boys anymore. You and Josh are slaves. The sooner you start to think like a slave, the better off you’ll be.” “Yes, sir.” “Hang up the phone and repeat my instructions for today to your mother.” Chris did exactly as he was told. Josh giggled at the thought of his big brother having to be naked again after dinner. “Shut up, squirt.” Thursday evening, the Andrews boys last night at home, came quickly. Chris spent it naked. Thankfully his penis only got erect twice, and both times when his mom wasn’t around. The family ate a quiet meal. There really wasn’t much to say. Their mother was trying her best not to cry. Josh and Chris were trying to be brave for her. The boys had nothing to pack. They were told they were not allowed to bring any personal possessions with them. Just after eleven o’clock, the boys marched upstairs to brush their teeth. It was time for bed. The last night they would spend in their own beds, in their own room, in their own home until they turned sixteen. Chris realized he would not be coming back for three years, and Josh . . . Josh would have to be a slave for five years. He would be left behind on the island when Chris was freed. “At least we don’t have’ta go to school anymore,” Josh observed as he crawled under his covers. “Yeah, that’s totally cool. I never really thought about it. I mean, by time we’re free, we’ll be so rich it won’t matter. Fuck school!” the young teenager shouted joyfully. “Yeah! Fuck it!” Josh shouted. Any time Chris used a naughty word, young Josh took it as free license to do the same. Naked, Chris lay atop his bed, his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling, his tight, slim, muscular thirteen-year-old swimmer’s body stretched out in front of him. He looked down at himself, at his cute little bush of blond pubic hair and his soft uncut penis resting over his balls. He wiggled his boy-toes and took a deep breath. He suddenly realized his heart was pounding in his chest. He knew he wasn’t going to be getting much sleep tonight. Tomorrow their new lives would begin, and he had only the faintest idea what would happen to them. “Are you scared about tomorrow, Josh?” “Kinda. Are you?” “Yeah. Maybe we shouldn’t have signed the contracts.” “Yeah.” Their mom came in. Chris brought his trim muscular legs together and drew his knees up, trying to conceal his genitals from his mother. It wasn’t that he was particularly shy. He was getting used to be naked. It just seemed wrong to be lying flat on your back with your half-hard wiener hanging out when your mom was around. “One last goodnight kiss, babies,” she said sadly, kissing each of her boys on the forehead. “I’ll get you up early tomorrow. They’ll be coming to get you sometime around ten.” “Okay, mom,” Josh said. “We’re ready,” Chris added bravely. Lindsay Andrews gazed at her eldest son. “Chris, I want you to promise me you’ll behave yourself. Do everything you’re told and don’t cause trouble.” “I will, mom.” “And promise me you’ll look after your brother. Take care of him, okay?” “I will, mom. I won’t let anything happen to Josh, don’t worry.” Chris of course did not realize how utterly powerless he would be to protect his little brother when their new lives began on the island. Or how powerless he would be to protect himself. Friday morning came. The boys’ parents woke them up at seven. Chris and Josh showered and put on the same shorts and shirts they’d worn when Jason Sanborne had visited earlier in the week. At exactly ten o’clock, a white van pulled into the driveway. Two men in business suits stepped out and walked quickly to the front door. “Mr. Andrews?” one of the men inquired. “Yes.” “Mitchell Harwell. XB1Corporate Security.” The man produced a business card verifying his identification. “I’ve come to take Christopher and Joshua Andrews into custody in accordance with the contracts of indenture signed August 12, 2039. Are they ready?” “They are, Mr. Harwell. Please come in.” Matthew Andrews escorted Mr. Harwell and his assistant into the living room. Chris and Josh stood up immediately. “Good morning, boys,” Harwell addressed them, shaking both their hands. “I’m here to escort you on the first part of your journey to Gladiator Island. Are you excited about your little adventure?” “Yes, sir,” the brothers said in unison. Harwell nodded. “Good. Now I need you both to listen carefully. There are a few rules you must follow once we leave this house. You are officially slaves as of this moment. That means you must do exactly as you are told, do you understand?” “Yes, sir,” Chris said in his soft pubescent voice. “Yes, sir,” Josh said in his high pre-teen voice. “Neither of you are allowed to speak unless you are addressed directly by me, or one of my aides. If you must ask a question, you will raise your hand.” The boys nodded that they understood. “You will be sedated for this first part of the journey. Do you know what that means?” Chris shook his head yes. Josh shook his head no. “Christopher, please explain it to your brother.” “Yes, sir,” Chris said, then turned to Josh and told him. “He means they’re going to give us a pill, or something, to make us feel sleepy.” “Oh,” was Josh’s only response. “It simply makes the transition to your new lives easier. But before we give you your injections, we have to get you properly dressed for the trip. Strip.” The boys quickly obeyed. They’d already stripped for Jason Sanborne, so it wasn’t anything new for them. It didn’t make it any less embarrassing though, having to take your clothes off in front of total strangers and your parents. Harwell however did not seem like a very patient man. Chris and Josh were down to their boxers in a hurry, exhibiting their tanned, tight, slender young bodies. They looked at each other, and slid their last remaining source of modesty down their slim hips. The boys’ parents looked on helpless as their sons were made to remove their clothes in the family living room for the second time in a week. It marked the last time Chris would wear normal clothing for the next three years. For eleven-year-old Josh it would be five years. Once the boys were naked, Harwell addressed them again. “Put your hands behind your heads.” The young brothers obeyed. Harwell was very impressed at the slender, athletic, hairless young bodies now on display. He noticed the older boy had the sparse beginnings of pubic hair above his four-inch long penis. Both boys were uncircumcised and very well endowed, especially eleven-year-old Josh, whose penis was already nearly as long and thick as his teenaged brother’s. “As you are now slaves, you will be attired accordingly. If you are taken from Gladiator Island for any reason, you will have a uniform to wear at all times.” “We get to leave the island sometimes?” Josh asked. “Like go home ‘n stuff?” The company security man smiled at the two boys. “You won’t be allowed to go home until your indentures expire. You will, from time to time, be taken from the island for various public events sponsored by the company.” Harwell’s assistant handed him two paper-bound packages, which Harwell in turn gave to Chris and Josh. “Open them and put on the clothes you find inside.” The clothes they found consisted simply of a gray sleeveless tunic and a pair of white shorts. Chris was the first to put his on, and he was sure he’d gotten Josh’s by mistake. The tunic ended just above his navel. And the white shorts were very, very short, and very, very tight, making his penis and testicles bulge out in front of him in a rather obscene way. When he looked over and Josh though, he saw that his younger brother’s tunic also came to an abrupt end above the boy’s outtie-style belly button, and that Josh’s shorts were every bit as short and tight as his own. The shorts made the four-and-one-half-foot tall boy’s rather oversized genitals appear almost comically large as they bulged out in front of him. For the most part, Josh was unaware of just how big his penis was compared to other eleven-year-olds, but he did look down at his boyhood package jutting out so prominently in front of his shorts and giggle in his innocent boyish way. Each boy was then given a pair of shoes, plain simple white trainers. The boys never wore socks anyway, so they did not think to miss them. It was humiliating, being forced to wear the tunics and those small tight shorts. Chris and Josh were both blushing fiercely. They certainly didn’t want their parents to see them like this. “Say your final good-byes, boys. You have two minutes. Come out to the van when you are done. Do not make us come back in for you.” Chris and Josh hugged their mom and shook their dad’s hand. “Be good, guys,” Matt Andrews said. “Be brave. Be safe.” “We will, dad.” “Remember your promise, Christopher,” his mom added, holding back tears. “I will, mom.” Chris looked around his house one last time, then turned to his younger brother. “Ready, Josh?” “Yeah.” Clad in their slave tunics and their embarrassingly small white shorts, the Andrews boys left the house and walked quickly down the driveway. It was just after eleven in the morning. There were neighbors out and about, and more than a few of them stopped whatever they were doing when they saw the two boys in their scant skimpy uniforms. The back door of the van was open, and at Harwell’s instructions the boys climbed in. What they saw when they got inside made them both shiver. Their new lives had taken an immediate and frightening and unexpected turn. Christopher took in a sharp breath. Josh’s brown eyes widened. On the floor of the van there were the two iron cages placed side-by-side. “Crawl inside, boys,” Harwell ordered. It was too late to go back now. Chris and Josh had signed the indentures themselves. Their parents had signed them too. The boys knew they had no choice. Chris was the first to get down on his hands and knees. Josh quickly followed. The brothers crawled into the small cages. Harwell closed them and his assistant clicked heavy padlocks in place over the latches. Harwell double-checked the locks, pulling on the doors of the boys’ cages. “Give me your arm, Chris,” he then demanded. Chris fished his slender arm between the thick iron bars. His eyes widened when he saw Harwell draw a sharp needle and syringe from a leather case. The man jabbed the boy’s arm and injected the sedative. Ten seconds later, the thirteen-year-old’s head was already spinning. Thirty seconds after that, he had a mild drug-induced seizure and slipped into unconsciousness. Poor Josh had watched the whole thing and panicked when Harwell stood in front of his cage. “You ain’t stickin’ me with that,” Josh shouted, backing away as far as he could. “You killed him! You killed Chris!” Harwell smiled warmly. “I did no such thing. I merely put him to sleep for a while. And now I’m going to do the same to you. If you make me pull your arm out of that cage, I promise you I will break it.” Josh wiped the tears from his eyes. Chris rolled over onto his side and moaned softly in his sleep. That evidence that his big brother was indeed still alive seemed to calm the pre-teen. He bravely stuck his arm between the bars and received his injection, a considerably larger dose than his brother had been given. Josh’s seizure was sudden and violent and lasted for almost a full minute before he finally succumbed and passed out. Harwell reached through the bars, wiped the fluid from the boy’s mouth and with surprising tenderness rolled the little eleven-year-old onto his side. The van backed out of the driveway and slowly drove off, carrying Chris and Josh Andrews toward their harsh new lives as boy gladiators. Chapter 4: When Chris finally regained consciousness, he was still in the cage, but the cage was no longer in the van. His bleary blue eyes fluttered for a few moments and he slowly began to move his body. The cage he was in was small, but he discovered he could roll over and get up on his hands and knees. He stayed that way for a while, looking out through the iron bars. What he saw made him rather nervous. He was in a very large room, like a big warehouse or something. There were about thirty people walking around, carrying bags and boxes and talking and walking right by him as if it was perfectly normal to see a thirteen-year-old boy locked inside a cage. Most of the boxes had the XB1 logo on them, and they were being loaded onto carts. Chris couldn’t turn around to see what was behind him, but he could turn his head right and left. That’s when he saw Josh. His eleven-year-old brother was also in a cage, just a few feet to the right of the one he was in. Josh was awake too and had managed to sit up inside the cage, drawing his bare legs up to his chest and hugging his arms around his knees. The boys’ cages were the same size, and since Josh was considerably smaller than his brother, he had more freedom of movement. Josh realized his brother was awake and looked over at him. The younger boy was scared but trying hard not to let it show, especially in front of Chris. “Hey,” Chris said groggily, his head still foggy. “Hey,” Josh replied. “You okay?” “Yeah. I gotta pee real bad. I keep tellin’ them I gotta go but they won’t let me out.” Chris suddenly realized he had to piss too. His penis was fully erect inside the tight white shorts they made him wear. The boy often wondered why he always woke up with a boner and a burning need to pee. He always drained himself right before bed, but it never helped. “I guess we just have to hold it,” he said to his brother. Josh nodded. Of course his bladder was smaller and younger than his brother’s by two and a half years. ‘Holding it’ wasn’t going to be a viable option for him for too much longer. “Why are we in these cages, Chris? We said we’d do it . . . I mean go to the island and stuff . . . why won’t they let us out?” “Because you’re boy gladiators,” came a voice from behind. It was a man in an expensive suit. He came around and stopped in front of the boys’ cages. He had a goatee with a few distinguished flecks of gray in it and dark commanding eyes that made both boys shrink away from him. “You are both slaves, and slaves travel in cages just like animals do. I have spent a great deal of money for you and I will not have you running amok in my hangar or on my plane. Now I believe Mr. Harwell had already explained that you are not allowed to talk. Therefore you have both already broken one of the rules. One of you is going to be punished. Right now. Tell me which one it should be.” The man, of course, was William Durand, owner and CEO of Extreme Action Broadcasting, and also, ultimately, the owner of young Christopher and Joshua Andrews. He stared down at his newest pieces of property, enjoying the sight of two provocatively clad boys locked in cages. And they were property. The moment their boyish signatures were affixed to the indentures the Andrews boys ceased to be human beings. They had no rights, no freedom. In the eyes of society they were now merely animals, pets perhaps, though the average family dog was given far kinder treatment than these boys would be receiving for the next few years. “Well, boys? Who will it be? If I have to choose one of you, it will go far worse for the one who is chosen.” Chris looked at Josh and Josh looked at Chris. Thirteen-year-old Chris knew what he had to do. He was not going to let his little brother get punished, just for talking. “Its me, sir,” the young teenager said, his voice choosing that moment to break awkwardly and rise a full octave. Josh breathed a sigh of relief. Durand summoned one of the uniformed security guards over. “Unlock this cage,” he ordered, pointing to the cage in which Chris was confined. The guard quickly found the correct key and swung the cage door open. Chris had no choice but to crawl out on his hands and knees. “Stand up.” Chris obeyed immediately. Durand had a chair brought over by another guard and took a seat in front of the thirteen-year-old boy. “Take your pants off, Chris.” “Yes, sir,” the boy replied, shaking. It made him uncomfortable for some reason to hear this complete stranger using his name. Chris skinned the tight shorts off his hips and down his legs, stepping out of them in a graceful motion. His four-inch long cock flopped about and his hairless low-hanging balls swung from side to side between his legs as he did so. When he stood up again, he clasped his hands over his genitals. “We’ll have none of that, Chris,” Durand said. “You are not to cover your genitals, and you are never allowed to touch them without permission. You’ll be getting an additional punishment for that. Put your hands behind your head.” Chris was about to die from embarrassment. His state of undress was totally humiliating for the young teenaged boy. There he was in just a short gray tunic that didn’t even come down over his navel, his middle was totally naked and exposed, and his feet were still in his white Reebok trainers. Durand said nothing for a few moments, just sat there staring at the cute thirteen-year-old boy on display. “You’ve got a nice big cock there, don’t you, Chris?” “I . . . I guess so,” Chris replied. In fact he knew his penis was maybe a little longer than most boys his age. Being on his community swimming team he had seen lots of young dicks hidden behind tight speedos, and his always seemed to be one of the biggest. It certainly wasn’t huge though. Just a nice long thick teenaged boy-cock, in perfect proportion to his lean smooth hairless body. It twitched a little as it dangled soft between his legs. Chris could feel it starting to swell as the man continued to stare at him. When the young teen’s penis was semi-erect, Durand stood up. “Turn around.” “Yes, sir.” Chris turned quickly, showing Durand his perfect little butt. “Bend over and grab your ankles.” “Yes, sir.” Chris bent at his waist and gripped his hands around his ankles. It was a horrible, humiliating position. He knew his ass was on display to anyone who wanted to see it, and there was, by now, a sizeable crowd gathering around the two cages. The boy stood there, his balls dangling low between his legs, the tip of his penis was just visible to Durand as the man stood behind the slim boy. “Keep your feet still,” Durand warned. He raised his hand and brought it down hard on the boy’s butt. Chris yelped in protest and stood up, craning his neck back and glaring at the man. “Ouch, that hurt!” “You’ve never been spanked before?” Durand asked. “No, sir! Never!” “Well this will be a new experience for you then, won’t it? I can promise you it won’t be the last spanking you receive over the next three years. Now stand still. Don’t make me have you restrained.” The spanking was horrible. Chris was staggered with each heavy blow of the man’s hand. The sound of his smooth young butt getting smacked echoed through the hangar. Worst was the fact that everybody was watching. Everybody. Thirty people at least, all gathered round to watch the thirteen-year-old boy get his first spanking. Josh watched from his cage, feeling sorry for his brother but really glad it was Chris and not he who was the one bent over and being spanked. “Discipline is going to be a very important part of your life from now on, Christopher Andrews,” Durand said. “We have invested a great deal of time and money on you and you will learn to do exactly as you are told. You will obey every order that is given to you, immediately and without question. You will be punished for the slightest mistake. Do you understand?” “I think so . . . I mean, yes, sir!” Durand continued. Chris struggled to stay on his feet. All the while he knew everyone was watching him, watching his balls swing back and forth as he wiggled and tried to keep his balance. Between his legs he could plainly see he had an erection. His cock was rigid, stretched to its full almost six-inch length. As much as he wanted the spanking to end, he certainly did not want to have to stand up with his penis at full mast. Chris got twenty swats on his bare behind for talking. He was then given ten more for Joshua. In the end, the boy’s end was a fiery red. “Stand up.” Mercifully, Christopher’s penis had gone soft again. He stood up and instinctively reached his hands behind him. “Stop that, Chris. Keep your hands at your side. Now turn around.” He did, tears running down his cheeks, and saw that everyone was already going back to work. At least no one had laughed at him. “Stop crying,” Durand said. “Since you were so eager to get out of your cage, I have a job for you. Pull your pants up and follow me.” Before he led the thirteen-year-old away, he tossed the key to Joshua’s cage to a waiting security guard. “Let the little one stretch his legs for five minutes and let him use the bathroom.” Chris was happy that at least Josh would get to pee. He looked back. Josh was staring at him with a look of terror on his face. Watching your big brother get his butt whipped, hearing Chris cry . . . well it was almost too much for the eleven-year-old. Josh had never seen Chris cry. Ever. Until today. Christopher’s ‘job’ was to help unload the many vans and trucks that were still arriving, bringing supplies for the trip to the island, and transfer all the crates and boxes to waiting carts. Chris now understood that he and his brother were inside an airplane hangar and that everything was being readied for loading once the plane arrived. He was ordered not to say anything to anyone unless someone gave him an order to do something. Mostly he just carried boxes from place to place until his arms and shoulders were aching. Still, Chris was starting to get very excited. Overhearing everyone’s talk, he knew the plane would be landing sometime after midnight. The boy had never been in a plane before. He was looking forward to that. He also learned that several other vans were still expected, all of them delivering more boy gladiators. He worked hard and quietly, forgetting all about the skimpy uniform they’d made him wear, almost forgetting about his spanking except for the fact that his backside still stung fiercely. To the rest of the crew and staff he was an adorable and provocative sight, this strong, muscular young teenaged boy working alongside them in his gray tunic and white shorts. His taut stomach was fully exposed, the white shorts hugged his ample thirteen-year-old genitals and showed off the gorgeous curve of his rear end, his firm smooth legs ended in a pair of white trainers. He had to endure a constant barrage of good-natured smacks on his perfect little butt whenever he walked past one of the adults, men and women both, but he was glad to be out of the cage. It gave him something to do and helped the time pass. Chris was basically free to go wherever he wanted in the hangar as long he was carrying a box or crate in his young arms. He worked his way back to Josh’s cage, just to see how his kid brother was doing. Josh was sitting like he was before, his knees drawn to his chest. He flashed his big brother an ‘ok’ sign with his right hand as Chris passed by his cage. Chris returned it with a gesture of his own. Chris was put back into his cage after nearly six hours of hard labor. He was allowed to use the bathroom first and given a drink of water. He was a very tired young man when the door to the cage was closed and locked, but he could not lie down comfortably inside the cage. He stayed on his hands and knees as long as he could, then rolled over onto his side, folding his legs up as best he could and drawing his knees up to his chest. He hated the cage already. Two more vans bearing the XB1 logo pulled into the hanger. A forklift drove up to the back door of each and removed four more cages one at a time. Each cage contained a boy. Each boy was close in age to Josh or Chris and attired in the same skimpy uniform the brothers wore. The four newly arrived cages were placed next to the ones that held Chris and Josh, making a neat straight row of six. Neither Chris nor Josh could get a very good look at the other boys. Three of them were still unconscious when they arrived, and the boy who was awake had been given the same orders not to talk. One by one the others all woke up, struggled and in some cases cried for a moment when they realized they were still caged, then they too became quiet. There was a large clock directly over the hangar entrance. If Chris turned his head just right he could see it. It was nine-thirty at night. He could see outside. There were bright lights out there, and it was clear it had been raining. He could just hear it beating on the roof of the hangar far above his head. At ten o’clock the six boys were released from their cages to be fed. They crawled out together and were told to remain on their knees in front of their cages. A small bowl of soup and two cheese sandwiches were laid on the floor in front of them. “Eat up, boys,” the woman who brought their dinner told them in a kindly way. “That’s all you get until you’re on the island.” Chris and Josh hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Apparently none of the other boys had either. The six of them ate ravenously. Chris divided his second sandwich and gave the smaller piece to Josh. The younger boy smiled at him and gobbled it down. At eleven o’clock two more vans entered the hangar, and two more sets of cages were removed and set among the six already lined up and waiting. All ten of the boys who would soon be the reluctant stars of Worldwide Boy Gladiators were now securely caged and awaiting the plane that would take them to the island to begin their new lives. The four latecomers were all fed in the same manner, kneeling in front of their cages, gobbling down their sandwiches and drinking their soup directly from the bowls. Two at a time, the boys were then taken to the bathroom. Chris did not go with Josh. His little brother was taken first, with a boy who appeared to be younger than he was. When Josh returned his hair was wet and water still glistened on his skin. His tunic was plastered to his chest. Chris was taken with a boy about the same age as he was. Once they reached the bathroom they were told to strip. Both boys skinned out of their uniforms. Chris risked a guilty glance at the other boy. The boy was about as tall as Chris, and had a similar build, long and lean. Chris was sure he had to be a swimmer, just like he was. The other boy had a lot more pubic hair than Chris did, and it was brown to match the hair on the boy’s head. It formed a thick triangle over the boy’s penis, which was a little smaller than the one hanging between Christopher’s legs. Aside from the boy’s thicker pubic hair, he was totally hairless. The boys were given two minutes to relieve themselves. Chris had to do everything, and sat nervously on the toilet. He was given no privacy. ‘Damn, I can’t shit with those guys watching me!’ “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a shy one,” one of the security men said. “He’d better get over that real quick if he knows what’s good for him.” Chris finally managed to empty his bladder and his bowels and wipe himself just as time ran out. The two boys were then taken to a large open shower room. “Wet yourselves down, boys,” the security guards escorting them ordered. The two nude young teens stood over a drain in the middle of the shower room. There was only one large nozzle above their heads. The two boys shared a moment of hesitation, then Chris turned the faucet. The water was not exactly warm, but it wasn’t frigid either. Torturous icy showers would become the norm for Chris over the next three years, but this last warm shower in the country of his birth went by quickly without much appreciation on the young teenager’s part. Forced to stand shoulder to shoulder, back to back, front to front, the two boys were soon sporting erections. The guards snickered to themselves about the turgid state of affairs between the youngsters’ legs. “Alright, kids, time’s up. Get those cocks soft and get dressed.” Chris was back in his uniform and back in his cage all in less than ten minutes. He and his shower partner had not said one word to each other. He’d seen the other kid totally naked, felt the other boy’s boner accidentally rubbing up against his own in the shower, and he didn’t even know the other kid’s name. At midnight plus five minutes, a mid-sized jet rolled into the hangar. Chris’ heart leapt into his throat. This was it. He was in a cage and he was going to be put on that plane. There was no way to get out of it. No way to quit. No way back. No way to go home. He was a slave. He was going to be a boy gladiator. People all over the world were going to be watching him. Chris suddenly felt very scared and very small When all the supplies and equipment had been loaded in the cargo hold, and most of the crew and staff had boarded, William Durand appeared once again. He stood in front of the line of cages, now holding ten young boys between the ages of ten and fourteen. “Listen up, boys,” he began. “I know it’s been a very long day for all of you. I’m afraid it is about to get even longer. Once you’ve all been loaded onto the plane we’ll be taking off. It’s a nearly two-hour flight from New York City to the island. I’m told the weather is somewhat rough. If any of you feel the need to puke while we’re airborne, you will not be punished for it, though I am afraid if you soil your cage, you will simply have to live with it. The cargo compartment is not air-conditioned. You will each be given a bottle of water. I expect you to remain silent. There will be at least one guard in the hold with you at all times. Once we reach the island, you will be given an orientation where you will meet the staff, the crew and your trainers. You will then be fed and allowed to go to bed for eight hours. That is the most sleep you will ever be getting on Gladiator Island so I would enjoy it if I were you.” Each boy was given his water bottle. Then the forklifts began their work, loading the cages onto the plane. Chris and Josh were the last two boys to be put aboard. The hold was already hot, and when the cargo door was closed the air went still and stale almost immediately. The hold was dimly lit. The boys were kept all together in one area, their cages packed front to back and side to side. They could hear the roaring of the tires as the plane sped down the runway, then nothing but the drone of the engines and they all knew they were in the air. None of the boys got sick on the flight, but all ten of them were totally miserable. They were drenched in their own sweat. The water they’d been given had long ago vanished. It was too hot for the boys to sleep in their small cramped cages. Chapter 5: At four o’clock in the morning, the XB1 jet touched down on the newly extended runway of the newly renamed Gladiator Island. The cargo door was opened and the boys got their first breath of the sticky, hot, humid tropical air of their new home. All the boxes and crates were removed first, and finally, as the sun was just beginning to rise on Saturday August 17, 2039, the cages holding the ten boys were off-loaded onto the back of a truck. Chris looked out through the iron bars of the cage and saw the dark green vegetation rolling by as the truck sped down the road. There was a sweet smell in the warm air, and the sound of birds and insects filled his ears. In his thirteen years, Chris had never imagined he could ever be so far from home. But then he realized this was his home for the next three years of his life. The truck stopped in front of a large building with the XB1 logo over the entrance. It was the main broadcast and support building that housed all the production equipment and technology, the cafeteria and the infirmary for the staff. A smaller infirmary for the boys was located in the training facility. All of the cages were opened, and the boys were ordered to crawl out and jump off the truck. Five security guards in gray uniforms quickly surrounded them and marched them into the building, escorting them down a long corridor and into a large open room. Their trainers were there waiting for them, each with a metal box sitting on a small table beside them. Chris recognized Jason Sanborne right away. The boys were lined up in the center of the room, facing the six men and four women who were going to be their trainers. William Durand entered from a side door and called everyone to attention. “Good morning, boys. Welcome to Gladiator Island.” He walked slowly up and down the line of boys in their small slave tunics and embarrassingly tight white shorts. Ten sets of firm, shapely, athletic boy legs were on display, ten sets of young genitals protruded provocatively in the shorts. Some of the boys had much larger packages between their legs than others. Chris was actually quite proud that his and Josh’s were among the biggest. Ten boy bellies were exposed, lean and taut, some tanned a golden-brown, some pale white, all with adorable navels. There were five innies in the group and five outties, a pure coincidence. Durand addressed them as he walked, pausing for a few moments in front of each boy to stare into their young, nervous eyes. “You will be living and training and competing here until you are sixteen years old. For some of you that will be less than two years, for others it will be as long as five or six. The boy gladiators of ancient Rome were slaves, and so are you. You will be trained and disciplined and live your lives just as they would have done. Short of killing you, there are no limits to what we can do to you or make you do. You have no rights. You have no say. Make no mistake, little men, our viewers are interested in one thing: Watching you suffer in the most extreme ways imaginable. No part of your bodies is off limits. You will be punished for your failures and mistakes. You will be rewarded for your victories and successes. When you reach your sixteenth birthdays, you will be returned to your parents and you will be extremely rich. You and your parents agreed to this arrangement of your own free will. There is no escape.” Durand paused to let all of this new information sink in. All of the boys knew they would have to be slaves for a few years, few them grasped the extreme pain, humiliation and suffering they would each endure until they turned sixteen. “And now, we will handle the formalities of the roll call and assign you to your trainers. You will notice the cameramen in the room. You are always to ignore them. Never look directly into any of the cameras unless you are told to by your trainer. If you disobey, you will be punished. When I call your name, step forward, strip, and stand at attention. Your trainer will come to fetch you.” There was a moment of silence while Durand took his place at a podium behind the trainers. His laptop was already set up and waiting for him. He opened the necessary files and reviewed all the information his researchers had collected on each boy. “Andrews, C.” Chris was hoping he wouldn’t be the first boy to have to step forward and strip naked, but he had no choice. Blushing slightly he left the line and walked toward the waiting trainers. He saw a piece of black tape on the floor and cleverly figured out this was where he was supposed to stop. “State your name, age and nationality. Tell us what sports you are best at. Speak up so the cameramen can hear you.” “My name is Christopher Andrews,” Chris said, darting his eyes from one trainer to the next, finally resting his gaze on Jason Sanborne. “I’m thirteen. I’m from the USA. I swim and I wrestle.” With that, Chris pulled off his tunic, took off his shoes and slid his tight white shorts off his hips and down his legs, his boy-cock swinging back and forth as he stepped out of them. Now he was naked, the only naked boy in the whole room. The two cameramen moved in closer to him, filming his nude thirteen-year-old body from head to toe. “Your trainer is Jason Sanborne,” Durand said. Jason Sanborne stepped forward. “Put your hands behind your head and come over here to the table.” Chris immediately obeyed and walked forward to the small table his trainer had indicated. There was a metal box sitting on it. The boy tried to sneak a look inside, but it was closed and locked. “Stand next to me and don’t move.” Chris nodded that he understood. As frightened as he was, he was sort of glad he was first. Now he just had to wait for the others to endure the same humiliation he’d just been through. At least he’d get to watch. Josh was called next. He stood in the middle of the room, and repeated his brother’s performance. “I’m Joshua Andrews. Chris is my brother. I’m eleven and I’m from the USA. I’m a wrestler. Free-style’s my best, but I do Greco-Roman too.” Josh stripped much faster than his brother had done. He just wanted to get it over with. All of the trainers and film crew in the room couldn’t help but stare at the oversized organ that dangled between the eleven-year-old’s legs. It was already almost as big as thirteen-year-old Christopher’s, and Josh hadn’t even started puberty yet. “Your trainer is Hanna Dubose.” A tall young woman, barely in her twenties stepped forward. She wore the same gray jumpsuit as Jason Sanborne. Her hair was dark and cut very short. She was a lesbian, but took a certain delight in the idea of training and tormenting a young boy. She generally disliked males, and she took an immediate dislike to little Joshua with his not so little penis. “Put your hands behind your head and get over here, wiener-boy,” she sneered at him. The other trainers laughed. Not a terribly imaginative nickname, but it was certainly descriptive, and young Josh would be tagged with it for the next five years of his life. Already very much afraid of this very powerful and confident young woman, a very naked Josh scurried over to Hanna Dubose’s table. William Durand called each boy’s name individually. And each boy took his turn stepping into the center of the room, alone and frightened. Each boy stripped off his uniform and stood naked before the trainers and of course the other boys who’d gone earlier. The youngest and smallest boy was Miles Harris. He was English, a Londoner in fact, and excelled at running and cricket. “There won’t be much cricket on this island,” Durand said with a smile, “but you will have plenty of chances to show us all how fast you can run.” Miles had a very athletic build in spite of his young age. His legs were particularly muscular and well developed. His genitals though were very small, a tiny circumcised cock barely two inches long and balls that still hugged up close to his body. Naturally there was not a lick of hair on him, aside from the shaggy brown mop on his head. The oldest boy turned out to be the one Chris had showered with earlier. He was David Brown, age fourteen and six months, from Australia. He was taller than Chris, though not the tallest boy in the group. Like Chris he was a swimmer, and also competed in Australia’s junior lifeguard competitions. He had the most pubic hair of all the boys, and even had a few sparse hairs growing under his arms. The rest of his body was still perfectly hairless. The hair on his head was brown. His eyes were blue. His genitals were about the same size as Christopher’s, his cock a bit smaller, his balls a bit larger. The boy with the biggest cock and balls was Illya Casparev, a Russian and a thirteen-year-old about two months older than Chris was. His cock was a massive organ, nearly six inches long, and very thick, dangling down over a set of plump low-hanging balls. Illya’s genitals were made to appear even larger due to the fact that the thirteen-year-old did not have a single pubic hair. His entire body was as smooth and hairless as that of the younger boys. Illya was a gymnast. The muscles in his arms and legs certainly proved that. The remaining boys were all equally cute and equally athletic, and after the final boy was called, they all stood equally naked next to their trainers. All of them were curious as to the contents of the metal boxes on the small tables. They were soon to find out, although it is doubtful any of them would be too happy about it when they did. Durand addressed the ten trainers and their boys. “Now that you boys have met your trainers, we need to establish some rules about your behavior. Your trainers are your masters. If you remember that, you will do very well here on the island. You are to obey them without question. Your trainers will tell you what is expected of you each day. They will supervise your daily training sessions and prepare you for each contest. You will always try your best. This is a competition. You will be competing against each other, either in teams or individually. You will also be competing against yourself. You will earn points both inside and outside the arena for being obedient and doing things correctly, and you will be given demerits for misbehaving and for any errors you make. Winning a contest does not necessarily mean you will earn points in your favor.” Durand paused for a moment. The boys’ eyes were all locked on him, trying to make sense of everything they were being told. It was almost overwhelming for them. Some of the boys had been awake for more than twenty-four hours now, all of them were scared and exhausted. “Your trainers will help to ensure that you are in the best shape of your lives, and that you stay that way. They are here to help you endure hardships you cannot yet imagine. They are not here to be your friends or your counselors. Obey them. Never lie to them. Do exactly what they tell you, when they tell you.” Chris looked up at Jason. The young man gave him a brief smile. “Now, trainers, please unlock each boy’s box. Boys, go back and get your shoes and your uniforms. Fold your tunics and shorts and place them on the table.” Each of the trainers drew a ring of keys from his or her pocket and opened the boxes that lay on the tables. The nude boys meanwhile scrambled back to the other side of the room and picked up their cast off clothing, in some cases having a hard time figuring out whose was whose. After a few minutes of boyish chaos, everything was sorted out and all ten of the boys returned to their trainers, carrying their meager clothing in their arms. Chris deposited his uniform and his shoes on the table. “You won’t be needing these very often,” Jason explained. “You’ll be naked most of the time.” “I’m getting used to it, sir,” Chris whispered. Jason smiled, but then his youthful features grew stern. “No talking. Don’t open your mouth again or I’ll have to punish you.” Durand called everyone back to attention. Indoctrinating the boys was a carefully orchestrated step-by-step process, intended to reinforce the fact that they were all slaves and would remain so until their indentures expired. “Trainers, it is now time to put your young gladiator in his collar and irons.” Jason Sanborne reached into the box and pulled out a thick iron collar. It opened with a hinge and had four iron rings on it, one in front, one in back, and one on each side. Chris stared at it with wide anxious eyes. “Stand still, Chris,” Jason said. He put the collar around the thirteen-year-old’s neck and locked it in place. He could sense the young teenager’s apprehension. “Slaves always wear collars. It will not come off until you leave the island.” Next, iron shackles were locked around the boy’s ankles. Like the collar, they had rings on them. Another identical pair soon adorned his wrists. Chris was totally silent, not even daring to breathe. Just a few days ago he was a free person, a normal happy kid enjoying his summer vacation. Now he was naked, and collared, with heavy iron shackles locked around his wrists and ankles. His summer vacation was over, but his schooling was going to be quite different from now on. He was a thirteen-year-old slave, a thirteen-year-old gladiator. He started trembling. He couldn’t help himself. At this moment he was more afraid than he’d ever been before. The other boys were equally subdued and equally frightened. All of the trainers sensed it. Durand at the podium sensed it. It was exactly the reaction he wanted. The ten boys were now all locked in their collars and shackles. “Trainers, attach the chains.” Sanborne went back to the box. He first produced a two-foot length of heavy chain, which he attached to the irons around Christopher’s ankles, securing it with a set of padlocks. A second chain followed it. This one was attached to the iron shackles around the boy’s wrists. Chris was now chained hand and foot. The chains were long enough that he could still freely move his arms and legs, but they were heavy, adding to the already substantial weight of the shackles themselves. Chris knew he could not get out of them. He bit his lower lip. If he could have quit, he would have done it right there. But he couldn’t quit. He’d signed the paper himself, making himself a slave. His only escape was his sixteenth birthday, nearly three full years away. “Get used to the chains, Chris,” his trainer explained. “Whenever you’re not in the arena, in the boys’ barracks, or at the training facility, you will be chained.” Chris swallowed hard and nodded that he understood. Just then Durand issued his next set of instructions. “Trainers, put your boys into their chastity devices.” Jason again reached into the box and produced a bizarre metal object. Chris could tell by the general shape and size of the object that it was meant to go on only one place on his body. He took a close look at the device in his trainer’s hands and tried to bolt. ‘No way they’re putting that thing around my dick!’ he thought to himself. He wasn’t the only one of the ten boys who had that reaction. Jason grabbed him under the arm and held him still. “None of that, Chris. If you do that again, you’ll be punished. You signed the contract. You’re a slave now. Deal with it. You will wear this at all times. Now stand still and let me put it on you.” “What the hell is it?” the naked thirteen-year-old asked, trying to regain his composure, staring at the shiny metal device. “Just like Mr. Durand said. It’s a chastity device.” Jason held it closer and turned it this way and that so Chris could get a better look at it. “This particular style has been around for over forty years, kiddo. They usually come in plastic, but we had these made from stainless steel. It has two main pieces . . . “ he removed the small padlock that held it all together. “Hold out your hand, boy.” Chris did as he was told and Jason put the biggest piece of the device in the boy’s left hand. It looked like a small metal cage, about three inches long from end to end and one inch wide. There was a small metal ring at the open end, less than an inch in diameter. Two metal posts stuck out on the back of the ring. Each post was about a ½ inch long. It was on the other side of this ring that things got interesting, scary interesting in young Chris’ opinion. Six metal bars were welded to the ring, held permanently in place, stretching down from the ring and attaching themselves about two inches further down to another even smaller ring about ¾ of an inch in diameter. The bars looked as if they passed through this ring, took a sharp forty-five degree downward angle, and finally attached themselves to the end of the device, which was closed off by yet another even smaller ring with its own set of tiny bars running in parallel lines across its diameter. The result resting in Christopher’s palm was a not quite three-inch long metal cage that curved wickedly under itself at its very end. “That part goes around your penis.” “Yeah. I kinda figured that out myself.” “Smart boy. Now this larger ring,” Jason held up the other primary piece to this puzzling device, “goes around the base of your cock and balls. There’s three little holes drilled through the top of the ring, see . . .” Again Chris got to inspect it close up. “There’s a post that slides through the hole in the middle,” Jason held out his hand and showed Chris the post with all the other as yet unidentified bits, “and the posts on the penis cage slide into the two holes on either side of the middle hole.” “What’s all the rest of that stuff.” “These little round things are spacers, to make sure it fits you nice and snug. And this,” Jason held up the last piece. It was a half-circle, shining steel like the rest of the device, and along its inner curvature there was a series of small metal spikes. It had a hole at the top for the main post to pass through. “Well, I think you’ve got the idea about what that piece is for. Now spread your legs a bit so I can get this on you. You’re not going to give me any trouble are you?” “No, sir.” “Good. Try your best not to get an erection.” Jason drew the thirteen-year-old boy’s low-hanging balls through the ring then slowly worked the boy’s penis through, pulling the kid’s genitals forward until the ring rested right up against Christopher’s pubic region. It was the first time any hand but his own, or maybe possibly his mom’s when he was very little, had touched his private parts. Chris couldn’t help but let out a soft moan as his cock slowly swelled to a semi-erect state. “Alright. Calm yourself down.” Jason ran his hands playfully through Christopher’s sparse little tuft of blond pubic hair. He didn’t have the heart to tell the young teenager that he’d soon be loosing it, along with every other pretty much non-existent wisp of hair on his slim muscular little body. “Now the post, the spacers, and the spikes.” Jason slid the post through the middle of the three holes, then slid the spacers down the post, followed by the half-circular spike attachment. Chris could feel the spikes digging into the flesh of his penis right away. “Ouch.” “Stop whining. Now the penis cage.” Jason lined up the three posts and slid the device on, using just the tips of his pinky fingers (the only ones that could fit in the spaces between the bars) to pull the tip of the boy’s penis all the way down to the end. Chris immediately felt his cock being curved back under itself. He started to get hard just as Jason was putting the padlock through a tiny hole at the very end of the center post. The trainer snapped the lock in place with a very ominous and final ‘click.’ He took the key and added it to the ring that already held the keys to Christopher’s collar and shackles. “Oh, shit . . . “ Chris whispered as his cock strained against the metal cage, the five tiny spikes digging even deeper into his swollen teenaged meat. “You can’t have an erection in that thing, Christopher. When you try to, you’ll feel the spikes even more.” In a total panic, Chris instinctively reached down and tried to pull the device off his genitals. It wouldn't budge. He looked up at Jason with a look of sheer confused terror in his watering blue eyes. “You can’t take it off, Chris. You need the key to do that. And you don’t have the key, do you?” “No, sir,” Chris hung his head as the stark reality of this situation sunk in. His penis was locked in a cage and there was nothing he could do about it. “I’m your trainer, Chris,” Jason said sternly, “and that means I’m in charge of you . . . all of you. From now on, I decide when you can have an erection. And I can promise you it won’t be very often. You’ll get used to it. You don’t really have a choice, do you?” “No, sir.” The only consolation Chris could find was that all of the other boys also had chastity devices locked around their cocks and balls. Looking around he did notice that Josh, and the two other younger boys were wearing a somewhat different contraption. Josh had on a thick black leather belt. Attached to this belt was a metal plate in the shape of a triangle with a slight outward and downward curve to it. The plate concealed and encased Joshua’s penis and testicles completely. They could not be seen or touched. The belt locked around the boy’s waist from behind with two heavy padlocks. A leather strap ran from the bottom of the plate, under Joshua’s legs and up the length of his little butt-crack, attaching itself to the belt and pulling the plate tightly against the eleven-year-old’s abdomen. It made him appear totally flat up front between his legs, no cute young genitals dangling softly. It was as if eleven-year-old Josh had no genitals at all. Chris of course did not know all the details, but Josh was currently experiencing the odd and not very pleasant sensation of having his testicles forced back up into his body, his penis pressed permanently downward between his legs. Joshua, Ian, and Miles, the three youngest boys, all wore these nasty chastity belts. None of the little boys would be having stiffies with the belts locked around their slender waists. William Durand again stood in front of the group. “Now boys, each of you will receive your number. This will make it easier for the staff and crew and the audience at home to identify you. Trainers, if you will take your boy’s identification tag and attach it to the ring on the front of his collar.” Jason reached into the box once again. This time he pulled out a small square metal ID tag. Chris looked at it closely. It was silver, with thick black lettering. It simply said: ‘Boy 07’ Jason attached it to the front of Christopher’s collar. “That’s your name from this moment on. You will never be called by your given name again. I will find a nickname for you eventually, but for now you will answer to Boy Zero-Seven.” Chris nodded and looked over to find Josh. He quietly and quickly flashed a seven with his fingers. Josh just as quickly flashed two fingers back at him. The numbers were not random, but in fact based on the boy’s ages. Boy number Zero-One was ten-year-old Miles Harris. Boy number One-Zero was fourteen-year-old David Brown, the oldest boy on the island, but not the biggest. Chris even though he was one of the tallest, was only the fourth oldest, and so he ended up with number Zero-Seven. It would be his name for the next three years. “Now we will put you in pairs,” Durand said, gazing out at the ten handsome muscular boy athletes. Aside from the wispy tufts of pubic hair on the older boys, their strong young naked bodies were all completely smooth and hairless. “In most cases you will be competing as team-mates, though there will be exceptions. To keep things fair, we will be pairing an older boy with a younger boy. When your numbers are called please pick up your boxes and step forward with your trainers. Then move to the other side of the room.” Durand looked down at his roster, made a few last minute adjustments and began reading out the numbers. “Zero-One and Zero-Nine.” That paired ten-year-old Miles Harris with fourteen-year-old Philippe Dulac. Philippe was the only French boy in the group. Diving was his sport of choice. He was long-limbed and lean, with an uncircumcised cock that was of just about average length for his age but very thick and crowned with a nice tuft of light brown pubic hair. The two boys and their trainers stepped forward and walked across the room, carrying their boxes in front of them. “Lift that box higher, Zero-Nine,” the older boy’s trainer, a woman, said. “You are not allowed to cover your genitals. Ever.” “Zero-Three and Zero-Eight.” Eleven-year-old Ian Cloverdale and thirteen-year-old Illya Casparev stepped forward. Their trainers were both men. Illya, a skim alabaster-skinned Russian, was actually taller than either of the two fourteen-year-olds. Ian was tanned a deep dark golden brown except for a striking pure white patch around his middle where his speedo would have been. Hidden within the confines of his chastity belt, was a cock that was still rather small, but his balls were quite large and hung lower than Josh's did. Ian already had some pubic hair, black like the hair on his head, forming a small wispy triangle above his penis. None of this of course could now be seen, since a metal plate covered the youngster’s genitals completely. Beside him, thirteen-year-old Ilya's huge man-sized dick, without a single pubic hair around it, was now confined by the metal cock-cage. It was a fairly comical sight, a boy so young with a cock so big. He and Josh probably should have been paired together. “Zero-Two and One-Zero.” Josh got David, the oldest boy in the competition, and the only one with a fairly thick bush of pubic hair above his penis. The rest of him however was a completely hairless as his four-foot-six-inch tall eleven-year-old partner. Josh looked back at his brother in fear. He was sure he’d get to be with his brother the whole time, he never would have signed the contract if he thought they’d be separated. Chris was also disappointed and worried. He’d promised Josh he’d take of him and look after him. He’d promised his parents the same thing. Now they’d be competing against each other. With his head down, prodded along by his trainer, the second of the four women in the room, young Josh followed David to the other side. The fourteen-year-old’s trainer was also a woman, much to young David’s embarrassment. “Zero-Six and Zero-Five.” That was a pairing of the two oldest twelve-year-olds, Daniel O’Hanlon, the only Canadian, and the only red-head among the boys, and the second English boy Gabriel Shelton who, based upon his age, had the strongest heaviest build of all the boys. There was no fat on the kid’s body at all. He was solid muscle. His sports were soccer and rugby, and his compact frame was perfectly proportioned for his chosen athletic endeavors. Neither boy had a lick of hair on his body. Gabriel’s genitals, before being locked away in the chastity device, were quite large for a boy of twelve. Daniel’s on the other hand were quite small, the smallest in fact of virtually all the boys, beating only ten-year-old Miles in that department. “Zero-Four and Zero-Seven.” Simply by elimination, Chris already knew boy number Zero-Four would be his partner. It was the other Russian, Alexei Graznikov. He was only a little bit bigger than Josh, and unlike the two older twelve-year-olds, he had slight dusting of pubic hair over a particularly thick three-inch long cock. He was trim, tight and muscular, and Chris knew just by looking at him that we was a wrestler the same as Josh was. If his younger brother could not be his partner, Alexei was probably the next best choice. The two boys stood face to face and shared a quick smile, remembering that they were not allowed to speak out of turn. Then they picked up their boxes and marched across the room with their trainers. Alexei’s trainer was a woman, which clearly did not make him, or Chris, terribly happy. “Alright boys, listen up,” Durand said. “This is the last time you will stand in this building. No slaves are allowed here. We’re going to march you outside and show you around the complex. Your first stop will be the arena. Trainers, chain your boys together, please.” Two-foot lengths of chain were brought out and attached to the iron collars around each boy’s neck, chaining him to his partner. “Whenever you are being taken from one place to another, you will be chained together,” Alexei’s trainer explained to them as Jason locked the chain in place. The chain was very heavy. Chris and Alexei were close in height, but they quickly discovered they had to stand close together to keep slack in the chain. “My name is Natasha,” she said to Chris, her accent clearly Russian. She was a very large and very frightening woman, a few inches taller than Jason. She gazed down at the thirteen-year-old’s strong athletic young body and a wicked leer filled her eyes. “You will address me as ‘ma’am’.” “Yes, ma’am,” Chris said. “Follow us, boys,” Jason said and the two boys fell in step behind their trainers. They walked out into the hot tropical sun. There were no trees close by to offer the boys any shade. They left the production building, passed the small resort-style hotel that had been built for special guests, crossed a neatly manicured dirt road and saw the arena for the first time. It was an octagonal building, not as large as the boys might have expected, but it was the biggest building on the island, with the exception of William Durand’s private estate. “This is the public entrance,” Durand said as the ten boys and their trainers marched around the front of the building. It was ornate and elegant and clearly intended for those of great wealth and influence. “It is strictly off-limits to you boys. Your entrance is at the back.” With their chains rattling and clinking with each step, the nude boys were led around the structure. A set of steel double doors marked the boys’ entrance to the arena. Jason and one of the other male trainers pulled the doors open and the boys were marched down a steep ramp into a large underground room. It was dimly lit, but the boys could see cages, and cells, and four ominous looking wooden tables with metal restraints and chains at each corner. “We are directly beneath the floor of the arena,” Durand explained. “Some of the events will require all of you to be in the arena at the same time, most of them will not. You will be held here until your number is called. Then you will ascend those stairs,” Durand pointed to one of two sets of stairs that led up to the arena. Over the arched opening the word ‘BOYS’ was painted in black letters. The other staircase had the words ‘Trainers and Crew’. The boys were given a few minutes to walk around the lower level. There were no windows at all. The four tables drew a lot of attention and a lot of frightened anxious looks. All of the boys wondered what might happen to them on one of those tables and all of them decided they did not want to end up there. The cages were larger than the ones they’d been put into for their journey to the island. Tall and narrow, it was obvious that each could hold only a single boy and that he would have to be standing the entire time he was in it. “Alright, boys,” Durand called them back to attention. “Up the stairs you go.” The five pairs of boys marched quickly and silently up the steps. The staircase was just wide enough to allow for a pair of boys chained together at the neck. Chris and Alexei where the first ones to reach the floor of the arena. Durand and the trainers had taken the other steps and were already there waiting for them. “You will run up those steps from now on,” Durand said. “When you reach the top, you will come to the center of the arena and wait with your hands behind your heads. Do it now.” The ten boys all crowded together in the center of the floor, assuming the required position. The area in which they stood was square, fifty yards by fifty, with a five-foot high wall on all sides. Hard unforgiving concrete was beneath their bare feet. Above the wall, the seating for the spectators began. The arena would hold five hundred people, and there was not an obstructed view in the house. The arena was enclosed, the roof covered in tiles which would amplify the sounds from the floor below. “The arena,” Durand said, gesturing wide with his arms. “Modeled after the coliseums of the ancient world. You will be shedding a great number of tears, and a great deal of blood on this floor.” The boys all shivered. Their chains rattled. “Live competitions will take place here every Friday and Saturday. All of you will always compete in the live events. There will be additional contests throughout the week. These will be more selective, designed to test your individual strengths and weaknesses. Not all events will be held indoors. Follow me.” With their trainers prodding them forward, the boys marched through an open archway at the far end of the arena, passed through a narrow tunnel and came out into the bright, sweltering tropical sunlight. There in front of them was a long oval track, with grandstands built along both straight-aways. The track itself was simply hard-packed dirt. It was forty feet wide along the straight sections, but narrowed considerably in the oval curves at each end. Inside the track there were two small open pavillions, each with a single wooden bench, more holding cages like the ones the boys had already seen below the arena, and five two-wheeled carts which immediately caught the young gladiators attention. “The hippodrome. Your foot and chariot races will be held here,” Durand explained as the ten boys were forcefully marched around the entire track. “The track is ¾ of a mile long. I see you’ve all noticed the chariots. They’ve been designed to be pulled by something considerably smaller than a horse. An animal with fewer legs. A boy, to be precise.” The naked boys gave each other nervous worried glances. The chariots, though small, looked to be very sturdy and no doubt very heavy. “I’ll never be able to pull something like that,” young Josh said, staring at the two-wheeled chariot with dread. Once they’d completed their circuit of the track, the boys were hurried along at a near run to the far side of the arena, where another out-door facility awaited their inspection. It was an enormous swimming pool. Olympic sized. Chris and the other swimmers in the group immediately got excited. “Is there any boy here who can’t swim?” Durand asked. Ten-year-old Miles was the only boy who raised his hand. “You will learn,” Durand said sternly. “Quickly. Boy Zero-Seven!” It took Chris a few seconds to realize Durand meant him. ‘Oh, that’s me!’ he thought. “Yes, sir!” he shouted as loud and brave as he could. “Our research tells us you are likely the best swimmer in the group. You will be responsible for teaching Zero-One here to swim. You will be punished if he fails to meet my expectations. Trainers, make a note of it.” Jason drew out his digital notepad and quickly entered these special orders. Chris suddenly did not feel so good about being such a good swimmer. “I’m sure you boys are thinking you will enjoy yourselves in the pool,” Durand continued. “I can assure you that will not be the case.” The boys were marched away from the pool and taken to the training facility right next door. There was a large common area in the center of the building with smaller special training rooms all around it. The infirmary and its examination room were also here. The main room looked like any well-equipped athletic training facility. There were weight machines, treadmills, rowing machines, free weights, medicine balls, jump ropes and even a climbing wall at one end. Everything was new and the boys were excited about being able to train on all that cool equipment. Their reaction to the six smaller special training rooms was considerably less enthusiastic. There were three on either side, opening onto the main room. They were each about twenty feet by twenty. All six of them had solid steel doors. There were no windows. The boys all gasped when they saw the contents of these rooms. There were contraptions and devices and pieces of equipment none of them had ever seen before. Most of them looked extremely scary and painful. Chris wondered just exactly what kind of training was going to be going on here. Once again the boys were allowed to walk around, exploring each room, studying the bizarre equipment close up. The puzzled unsure looks on all of their young faces was priceless, and of course the cameras, which were already following them everywhere they went, captured all of it. Some of the older boys were beginning to get some idea about what might be happening to them in this building. Strange things. Things that had nothing to do with athletics as they understood the word. There were nervous giggles and frightened awestruck gasps. Of course even the youngest boys knew what the whips and canes and paddles that hung from the walls of each room would be used for. None of the boys dared get too close to those. “Boys,” Durand addressed them as their trainers gathered them back together again. “You will now be taken to the barracks. You will be allowed rest until feeding time. After you have been fed, you will be brought back here and your training will begin. Move out!” They were marched toward a single isolated building sitting out on open ground, surrounded by a high fence topped with razor wire. The boys did not like the looks of it at all. A uniformed guard stood by the only gate in the fence. He spoke into his radio and the gate buzzed loudly for a moment and clicked open. The ten boys were marched inside by their trainers, and the gate closed and locked behind them. Another guard stood at the door to the barracks and buzzed it open for them. The boys were ushered inside to find five more guards on duty, two of whom were women. Durand had followed behind the parade of naked boys and told them all to gather in the common area of the barracks. The boys all stood there, collared, shackled, chained, their young genitals locked away in chastity devices. Some of them looked scared, all of them looked shocked, none of them looked terribly happy. “The guards are in charge of you while you’re inside the barracks,” Durand explained to the ten boys. “The gladiators of ancient times were slaves and so are you. You are, essentially, animals, and the guards are instructed to treat you accordingly. They will oversee your feeding, your daily showers and any routine punishments you earn while in this building. You will obey them the same you will obey your trainers. They are allowed to discipline you as they see fit. This common area, and your cells are the only places on the island where you will be allowed to speak freely to each other, but you will remain quiet and orderly at all times. You are not allowed to leave the barracks without a trainer to accompany you. Your daily routine is as follows: You will be awakened for breakfast at 0800 every morning. You will eat all the food you are given. You will then be taken to the shower area. The guards will supervise you closely to make sure your bodies are clean. Your trainers will come for you at 0900 to start your day. You will be returned here for supper at 1700, allowed to go to the bathroom then resume whatever activities you’ve been assigned. You will be returned to your barracks by 2130 each night and given two hours of free time. There will be no television, no video games. There is a small library from which you may borrow one book at a time. Lights out is at 2330 hours. You will be allowed to make one fifteen-minute telephone call home each week. Your trainer will schedule your call time for you. This is a privilege and not a right. You are slaves. If you break any rules, your call privileges will be taken away. Trainers, remove their chains.” The ten trainers quickly unlocked the chains attached to the boys’ collars, freeing them from their partners. The shackles around their ankles and wrists were also removed. Each set of chains and shackles was hung next to the doors of the five small cells that would be the boys sleeping quarters. Each pair was assigned to a cell. Chris and Alexei were placed in cell number three. It had two small metal slabs that folded down from the wall. Each was covered with a thin mattress. There was a pillow on each bed, a single white sheet, and no blankets. The cell had a window, covered by thick mesh screen and iron bars. Fresh air could come in, but the boys could not see out. Aside from the beds, there was nothing else in the tiny little room. The boys were put in their cells and locked in until supper was delivered from the cafeteria building. Chris was distraught. He hadn’t had one chance to say anything to Josh. He knew his little brother must be scared to death right now, but there was nothing he could do to help him. He sat on his bunk and swung his legs freely, his toes just barely grazed the floor. “You are scared?” Alexei said, his voice just showing the first signs of puberty. Chris looked up at his younger partner in surprise. Alexei smiled brightly. “Da. I speak good English. You are Christopher?” “Yeah. You can call me Chris.” “Chris,” the twelve-year-old Russian boy smiled, showing a rather endearing gap in his front teeth. “You are scared?” “Hell yes! Aren’t you?” “Da. I don’t . . . understood . . . why we wear these things . . . “ Alexei spread his slender muscular legs and pointed down at the metal device encasing his hairless genitals. “Me neither,” Chris sighed. “Guess I won’t be jerkin’ off for a while.” “You’re Alexei, right?” “Da,” the twleve-year-old said, pointing a finger at his chest. “Alexei Ivanovich Graznikov.” Chris held out his hand. “Nice to meet you. Guess we’re going to be team-mates or something like that.” “Team . . . mates. Yes. I like. Nice to meet you too.” “Sorry I don’t speak any Russian.” Alexei smiled again. “I will teach. If you help me with English? Good?” Chris couldn’t help but smile at the boy’s awkward way of speaking. But he was relieved the other kid at least understood what he was saying. “Deal,” Chris said, again shaking Alexei’s hand. “Natasha says we always will be naked. You think she says truth?” Chris nodded. “Jason told me the same thing. Just think, Alexei, millions of people are gonna get to see our big dicks an our naked butts every fuckin’ Saturday.” “Fuckin’ Saturday!” Alexei shouted with a big laugh, slapping his bare thighs with his hands. “Big fuckin’ dicks! I have a big fuckin’ dick! Fuck, fuck, fuck!” “Well, you’ve got that word figured out anyway,” Chris replied. “And you’re dick ain’t really all that big, buddy, sorry to tell you.” “Your little brother . . . he has big one.” “Bigger than yours,” Chris said with a certain amount of pride, and also a certain amount of embarrassment that Josh’s penis was already almost as big as his own. “Illya is like, totally huge, man. I mean damn.” “Illya, da,” Alexei said. “We are friends for very long time. He only got so big a few years ago.” “You’re a wrestler, right?” The twelve-year-old nodded with enthusiasm. “Very good wrestler. You?” “I wrestle, but that’s really my brother’s thing. I’m a swimmer. No one’s gonna beat me in the water.” “We will make a good team,” the young Russian said. “I think so too.” Chapter 6: Chris managed to fall asleep for about six hours before he woke up shouting. The boy’s four-inch long penis was trying its best to get hard inside the chastity device, driving the metal spikes into the thirteen-year-old’s flesh. “Fuck! Dammit!” he cursed as he shot up on his bunk and pulled the sheet off his body. He was covered in a fine sheen of sweat. The room was sweltering. There was only the faintest breeze blowing through the barred screen in the window. He dropped back onto his elbows and stared down the length of his body. He was panting, his muscular stomach rising and falling in rapid breaths. His was in a fix and that was sure. His penis was doing what it always did when he woke up, only now the young teenager’s normal six-inch erection was being squeezed into a metal cock cage only three inches long, and held down cruelly between his legs. Alexei rolled onto his side, opened his eyes and quickly discovered he was in the same predicament. The cameras should have been there. They missed the wonderful moment. Two horny pubescent boys realizing that they could not have erections. “Shit! I can’t get hard in this thing,” Chris moaned. “Damn, that fuckin’ hurts!” Twelve-year-old Alexei, whose cock was about an inch shorter than Christopher’s was suffering just as badly. His chastity device was a little bit smaller, and so it encased his smaller organ just as tightly and just as snuggly. “Spikes!” Alexei shouted, trying in desperation to pull the thing off his genitals. “We gotta get our dicks soft, Alexei,” Chris said, on his feet now and prancing around the tiny cell. “Da! Da!” The two boys did a comical dance for a few minutes until their pubescent cocks finally began to deflate. With a loud sigh of relief Chris and Alexei both sat down on their bunks, crossing their slim hairless legs and not daring to touch their chastity devices. “What the hell are we gonna do?” Chris asked. Alexei shrugged his sinewy wrestler’s shoulders. “We must not be getting hard,” he said. Chris shook his head. “Man, I have like ten erections a day. This thing is gonna kill me!” Alexei leaned his bare back against the wall and closed his eyes. He hated that thing around his dick. The fact that he thought the thirteen-year-old American boy was incredibly cute wasn’t going to make things any easier. Chris was thinking pretty much the same thing about Alexei. He wasn’t really sure if he was gay or straight, but he knew he liked looking at other boys, and that sometimes he’d get a boner when he did. Sometimes he’d dream about them at night and wake up with his stomach all crusty with his cum. Of course Chris was still a virgin, the only sex he’d ever had so far was with himself. He wasn’t entirely sure exactly how it was supposed to work with two boys, but he had a fairly accurate idea. Tab A into Slot B. That sort of thing. Alexei was definitely cute. He felt his cock stirring again as he looked at him. He leaned back against the cold cinder-block wall and closed his eyes too. ‘Don’t think about that stuff’ he told himself. His penis returned to its soft four inches, and thankfully seemed content to stay that way. The door to their cell was unlocked and swung open. One of the guards stepped into the cell. “Looks like everyone’s awake in here.” The man gazed at the two naked boys. “On your feet.” Chris and Alexei slid off their bunks and stood side-by-side, their shoulders touching in the tight space between the beds. The guard looked down at the metal chastity devices encasing the young boys’ genitals. “Having a hard time there, boys?” he asked with a wicked laugh. “No, sir,” Chris replied. “Go out to the table and sit down. You can choose your seat.” There was a single long table, five round stools on each side. Chris took a seat at the end. Josh scurried over to get the one next to him before another boy could take it. “Hey, squirt,” Chris said softly as Josh sat down. His little brother looked strange in his leather chastity belt, with the metal plate completely covering his genitals. “Hey,” Josh said. His face was pale. His body was glistening with sweat. He had a shocked look on his face. He didn’t know what to think about everything that had happened to him in the last twenty-four hours. “You doin’ okay?” his big brother asked. “Guess so. I don’t like this belt thing they put on me. My balls are like, way up inside me right now.” “Can you get hard?” “Nope,” Josh said, shaking his blond head. “Me neither.” “It tries to,” the eleven-year-old explained in his most studious manner, “but it can’t go anywhere. There’s little spikes or somethin’ inside this thing.” “Mine’s got spikes too. Hurts like hell.” “I wanna go home, Chris.” “Me too.” “But we can’t, can we?” “No, squirt. Not for a long time.” The guards wheeled in a cart and parked it close to the table. “Alright little boys,” one of the female guards, a tall muscular black woman, said in a strict yet somehow motherly tone, “line up.” The boys all left their places and stood in line in front of the food cart. Ten growling stomachs belonging to ten starving hungry growing boys. “Pour your own juice, grab the tray with your number from the box and sit down,” the woman said. “You’ll get your soup when all your little white butts are back on your seats. No one eats until you’re told. Hurry up now.” Josh was first in line and quickly got his food. Chris joined him at the table a few moments later. Alexei and Illya sat across from them. Philippe Dulac, the French boy, was on Christopher’s left. David Brown, Josh’s partner, sat at the far end of the table with Ian Cloverdale, his fellow Aussie. The two English boys and Danny O’Hanlon, the red-haired Canadian, took up the remaining empty spaces. The boys’ supper consisted of the small plastic glass of fruit juice, which each boy poured for himself from a cooler, two slices of brown bread, half of an apple, and a piece of something that appeared to be meatloaf. It was, in fact, a special mixture of soy, tofu, vegetable paste and lentils that was designed to ensure each boy remained on a high-protein, low-fat diet. A bowl of rice and noodle soup was ladled out and placed in front of each boy. This would be the boys’ supper for the duration of their servitude. The dinner menu would never change, although the younger boys would always receive less on their tray than the older ones. Sharing was not allowed. The boys sat still in front of their bowls and trays, waiting for permission to begin. Josh noticed there were no utensils and pointed this out to his brother. The female guard, who appeared to be in charge of the others, overhead the little boy’s comment. “That’s right, sweetie,” the black woman said. “You eat with your hands or you don’t eat at all.” The boys looked up at her from the table. She was tall, young, and very muscular. And she was indeed very much in charge of the barracks and everything that happened inside it. “Listen closely, little gladiators, I’m the matron here,” she said. “You don’t need to know my name. From nine-thirty at night until eight in the morning you boys belong to me and my guards. You will call me ‘Ma’am’. I don’t care what happens to you outside these walls. When you are in the barracks, you will follow my rules. You don’t want me giving a bad report to your trainers, do you?” “No, ma’am!” a chorus of ten boys shouted out. The matron smiled. “I see they’ve already put you in your chastity devices. Poor little naked white boys, little white penises all locked up.” The matron apparently found the boys’ state of affairs very amusing. “Alright, you can eat. You’re allowed to talk, but you are to keep your voices down. None of us here are interested in anything you boys have to say. Now eat. You have thirty minutes.” The boys didn’t do much talking at first. They were all starving and gulped their food down like ravenous animals. The matron and the three other guards on duty left them alone. “What kind of things you guys think they’ll make us do?” Danny O’Hanlon asked, darting his bright green eyes around the table. “Hope there’s lots of wrestling,” Josh answered with enthusiasm and a mouth full of food. They all went around the table, talking up their skills in their best sports. Chris, David, and Ian were all champion swimmers for their age groups. Josh, Alexei, and Danny were fierce wrestlers. Danny in fact had not lost a match since he was eight. Philippe was a diver who almost qualified for the 2038 Olympics at age thirteen. Miles was a runner, and of course a top-notch cricket player. Illya’s sport of choice was gynmastics. Gabriel Shelton, who seemed to be a boy of few words, excelled at soccer and rugby. Needless to say, all the boys hoped that their sport would be heavily featured in the competitions. Sadly, the boys’ definition of sport, and the definition favored by William Durand and Extreme Action Broadcasting would prove to be quite different. Every tray was clean and every bowl was empty when the matron announced that feeding time was over. The boys were made to stand beside their stools and hold their hands open, palms up, to ensure none of them were trying to keep any food with them. They were then ordered to line up once again and return their trays, glasses and bowls to the cart. “You have bathroom time for the next fifteen minutes. Do whatever you need to do.” Ian Cloverdale raised his hands. “Ma’am?” he asked, with his eyes lowered in embarrassment. “What is it, Zero-Three?” “How do I . . . I mean, how are Josh ‘n Miles ‘n me supposed to pee with these things over our privates?” The matron smiled. “Spread your legs, Zero-Three. Zero-Two, crawl down underneath him and look up.” Ian spread his legs wide. Josh dropped to his hands and knees and crawled beneath his fellow eleven-year-old’s legs. He looked up and smiled. “Hey, there’s a little hole in the bottom of it!” “That’s right. Your pee will just drip right out. You three have to squat over the toilet though, or it’ll spray all over the place. If any of you boys piss on my floor, you’ll be licking it up, got it?” “Yes, ma’am,” the three youngest boys in their identical chastity belts replied. “That goes for you big boys as well.” The older boys nodded somberly and as a group the ten boy gladiators hurried off to the bathroom. Two of the male guards went with them to keep the young teens and pre-teens in line. The urinal was simply a trench in the floor with water constantly trickling through it. Chris found he had to hold the metal cage around his penis with both hands to aim it properly. With the guards watching over him, it took him a few moments, but soon his strong yellow stream was splashing into the trough. “Aaahhhh,” he groaned as he took his piss. Similar sighs and moans of relief were heard right down the line as the seven older boys locked in their cock-cages finally got to relieve their bladders. Chris quickly discovered that it helped shrink his dick a little bit more, so that the chastity device was not quite so tight. Josh, Ian and Miles squatted over the three toilets, draining the urine from their young bodies. Josh could feel the triangular metal plate filling up with his warm pee. It felt neat, all that warm liquid against his soft penis. It emptied out quickly though. He could hear it dribbling into the bowl. While he was washing his hands he took a moment to try to splash some clean water up into the little hole at the bottom of the plate covering his genitals. He was uncircumcised and his mom and dad had drilled it into his head since he was five that he had to keep his penis very clean. It bothered him a lot that he couldn’t. He felt dirty. The older boys were able to splash water over their chastity cages and clean off their dicks. The younger boys could neither see nor touch their penises. It seemed rather unfair to Josh, especially since he could think of no reason why he should have to wear the thing in the first place. “Sir, what if I get an infection down there?” he asked one of the guards who was standing near him. He did not notice that the man was staring rather hungrily at his cute perky eleven-year-old butt and his slim, shapely, hairless legs. “You’ll get a chance to shower tomorrow, kid,” the man said. “And we’ll make sure you get your little pecker nice and clean.” Josh wasn’t sure he liked the way the man said that. The ten young gladiators returned to the common area and stood at attention as the guards locked the boys’ shackles around their wrists and ankles. The weight of the chains was still giving most of them problems. The boys were then told to stand next to their partner. They shuffled around for a few moments, the chains at their ankles clinking and clanking on the floor, until they were all once again in their assigned pairs. Chris once again found himself chained at the neck to Alexei. The four remaining pairs were connected in the same way. It was hardest for Miles and Philippe. The ten-year-old was very small, barely four feet high. Fourteen-year-old Philippe, while certainly a slim wisp of a boy, stood five feet four inches tall. The chain itself was only two feet long. Philippe had to bend down awkwardly, and Miles had to stretch his slender frame, almost standing on his toes. Josh and David had a similar problem although the difference in their height was not so pronounced. All of the other pairs seemed to be reasonably compatible in height, and as long as they stood shoulder to shoulder the boys could keep a comfortable amount of slack in the unforgiving chain. “I hope we don’t have to run in these things,” Philippe told his junior partner. His English was good, if heavily accented. Little Miles nodded. Like all proud Englishmen he was not particularly fond of things French, but Philippe was his partner rather he liked it or not. “Just don’t drag me along behind you when you start moving,” Miles said. “I’m a good runner. I’ll keep up. Deal?” The chained boys shook hands. “Deal.” The trainers entered the barracks in their gray military-styled uniforms. Each of them held an object in their hand. It appeared to be a baton, two feet long. Jason Sanborne, who turned out to be the head trainer, addressed the ten naked boys as they stood chained to their partners. “Has anyone seen one of these before?” he asked, holding up the baton and flexing it slightly between his hands. The boys all shook their heads. “It is called a prod. It is very useful for making sure boys behave themselves and do as they are told. I will demonstrate.” He stepped forward and stopped in front of Chris and Alexei. He locked his eyes on his thirteen-year-old charge. He spoke to him softly. “You’ve done nothing wrong,” he told the boy, “but I need to make an example for the others and its going to be you.” He opened the padlock that held the chain around Alexei’s collar. The chain fell free and now hung heavy from Christopher’s neck. Jason grabbed the chain and dragged Chris forward with it. Chris had to stand there in front of all the other boys and all the trainers and guards. He put his hands behind his head when he was told to. He spread his feet as far as the chains between his shackled ankles would allow. Jason then pressed the end of the prod into the boy’s taut stomach. A mild electric shock hit him and he yelped and jumped back. “Don’t move, Zero-Seven!” Sanborne yelled. “That was the medium setting. It gets worse.” He touched Chris with the prod again, this time in the abdomen, just above the thirteen-year-old’s little tuft of pubic hair. This time Chris squealed and shrieked. It was a good thing he’d just pissed, because he lost control of his bladder and a small sprinkle of pee sprayed out his penis. “Lick that up, you filthy animal!” his trainer shouted. Chris glared back at him in defiance. He was NOT going to lick up his own piss off the floor. “No,” he said softly. Jason wasted no time continuing the lesson in front of the boys. He swung the prod hard and cracked it across the front of Christopher’s thighs. The prod had a slight elasticity to it, much like a cane. It left an angry red welt. Chris shouted against the pain. “I won’t do it, sir! No matter how hard you hit me.” “You have no idea how hard I can hit you, boy.” Jason struck him again, this time across his shoulders. Chris was staggered by the blow and lost his balance for a moment. Natasha, Alexei’s trainer stepped in and grabbed him under his arm, holding him steady for the next blow, which fell across the backs of his thighs. Chris was screaming now as Jason began to beat him mercilessly with the prod, occasionally jamming the electrified end into his flesh. The rest of the boys stood in stunned silence. Josh was the first one to start crying, but soon all of them had moist eyes, watching the thirteen-year-old being repeatedly hit with that horrible stick. Finally Chris dropped to his hands and knees. He found the tiny little puddle of piss that he’d squirted out onto the floor. With his arms trembling he lowered himself until his lips touched the concrete. He licked up his pee with his tongue. It was the most humiliating thing he’d ever had to do. He was crying. “Stand up,” Jason said. “I . . . can’t, sir,” Chris replied. There was no defiance in his voice. He simply could not stand up. Natasha helped him, again gripping her strong hands under his arms and lifting him to his feet. A wicked grin crossed her face. “Naughty boy. Your penis is getting hard, isn’t it?” Chris didn’t know what she was talking about. He was scared and hurt and embarrassed and . . . ‘Oh my god!’ His cock was swelling up inside the chastity device. Chris was totally confused. How could his penis want to get hard after all that? He felt the spikes digging in to his boy-meat and groaned in agony. The other boys just looked on in silence. Sorry and embarrassed for Chris but really happy it wasn’t them standing there. “Do any of you have any questions?” Jason Sanborne asked. “No, sir!” the boys all shouted in unison. Jason placed the prod lengthwise under Christopher’s chin and raised the boy’s eyes to his own. “You’re confused about that, aren’t you?” he asked, gesturing down to the painful hardness cruelly caged between the thirteen-year-old’s legs. Chris nodded. “I will teach you.” He handed Chris a tissue. “Now wipe your eyes and blow your nose and go back to your partner. You were very brave. I am proud of you. But do not ever tell me ‘no’ again. I am the head trainer. Any thing you do wrong reflects badly on me. Understand?” “Yes, sir.” Chris did as he was told, handing Jason the soiled tissue with a meager smile. “Alright, gladiators,” Jason shouted, “your training begins tonight.” The ten naked boys were marched out of their barracks and into the training facility. The camera crew was already set up to record them being brought in, naked, collared and chained, each boys’ genitals locked in a chastity device. The crew made sure they good close-ups of each boy’s cute, innocent face, panning slowly, artfully, down the length of their slim, hairless nude bodies. The first live broadcast was still more than a week away, but ‘film everything’ was the general standing order for the camera crews. It would all be edited and compiled and incorporated into the live footage of the contests. There would be no aspect of the boys’ lives that would not be open for the consumption of a rabid public. The chains that bound each of the boys to their partners were removed, as were the chains connecting their shackles. The trainers then led the boys through an intense regime of calisthenics. Jumping jacks, toe-touches, deep knee bends, and sit-ups. Chris got to hold Josh’s ankles for him while the eleven-year-old completed the demanding set of one hundred abdominal crunches. Chris couldn’t help but notice how muscular his little brother had become recently. His stomach was now as flat and well defined as Christopher’s own. They switched places after Josh finished his hundred. Chris, being older, was required to do one hundred and fifty. All the boys were quite tired when they were made to do push-ups. Seventy-five for the boys twelve and younger, one hundred for the thirteen and fourteen year olds. The grueling exercise was made even more difficult as each boy had his trainer’s foot pressed between his shoulders. “I want to see those little muscles straining,” a very sadistic Hannah Dubose told a very sweaty and very tired Joshua. He’d already managed to do twenty-three push-ups with the grown woman’s booted foot pressing down on him. “Aw, come on, ma’am,” the eleven-year-old protested as he lay on his stomach trying to catch his breath. “Let me up! It isn’t fair.” “Poor baby. Keep going. And since you think it’s unfair, you can do one hundred just like the older boys.” “Awww,” Josh moaned, but he did keep going. He didn’t dare not to. His trainer was the most scary woman he’d ever met. “Stand up,” Jason ordered, removing his foot from Christopher’s back after the boy had finished his last push up. Chris groaned and got to his feet. From head to toe his entire body was covered with a fine sheen of boyish sweat. The training room was hot, the only relief coming from fans in the ceiling. They did little to cool the boys down after their intense warm-ups. Jason handed Chris a bottle of water. “Don’t drink it too fast or you’ll get cramps.” The boy swallowed in big desperate gulps. He was so thirsty. Jason pulled the bottle away from the boy’s lips. “That’s enough for now. You can have more later. Lets get you on the weight machine.” Jason had the thirteen-year-old sit down on the bench. Standing in front of his young charge, he locked the boy’s ankles to the leg press. “Lean back,” he said, resting his hands on the boy’s firm, smooth, hairless thighs. Chris sat back until he came in contact with the backrest. Jason drew a wide leather belt around the young teenager’s waist and tightened it. “Grab the bar over your head,” he ordered. Chris did as he was told and watched in silence as his trainer locked his shackled wrists to the bar with a pair of padlocks. “How many keys do you have for me, sir?” Chris asked, looking hard at large ring of keys in Jason Sanborne’s hands. He gave his trainer a little smile. “Enough to make sure you always stay exactly where I put you, Zero-Seven. Now lets see how strong you are. I’ll adjust the weights for you. Can you pull that bar down to your chest?” Chris straightened his back a little, gripped the ends of the bar with his hands, and pulled down in a smooth, fluid motion, his small firm young muscles barely straining. “Not a problem, sir,” he said with boyish teenaged confidence. “Didn’t think it would be. Now your legs.” Chris took a breath and raised the leg press with little effort, straightening his handsome legs and locking his knees before lowering them again. “Easy.” “Good. Let me add some weight . . . “ Chris heard the pins being pulled and replaced. “That should give those nice little muscles a good workout. Arms down, legs up, keep going until I tell you to stop.” Chris went to work with the machine, discovering that Jason had added quite a bit of weight, especially on his arms. After about ten repetitions, Chris was panting and sweating and struggling to keep his rhythm. “Alright. Slow down,” his trainer said. “You’ve never been on one of these before, have you?” “No, sir. I’ve done free weights with my dad. That’s about it.” “You need to learn to control your breathing. You’re wasting all your energy. You’re a swimmer. How do you breathe when you’re really racing hard?” “Depends on the stroke, sir,” Chris answered, still fighting to catch his breath. “Mostly I breathe between strokes.” “It’s the same thing on the machine. Breath goes in before you press, breath goes out when you go back up. Now try again.” Chris had better luck this time around. Soon he had established a good, quick rhythm. He could see and feel the strain in his muscles, but it wasn’t more than he could handle. In fact, as tired and scared as he was about everything that was happening, it felt good to be working his young muscles, tightening his already trim and athletic body. The machine was a temporary escape, and he was actually starting to feel pretty good about things. “Stop. Time to add more weight,” Jason said with a smile. Chris stopped and waited, taking time to look around the room. Danny O’Hanlon and Illya Casparev were on the other two weight machines. Josh, Miles, and Alexei, were all on the treadmills, running as fast as they could. Their wrists were chained to the handles of the three machines. Gabriel, David, and Philippe were strapped down to the rowing machines, struggling to maintain the rapid pace their trainers were shouting out for them. Ian Cloverdale was getting his first lesson with the free weights. His trainer, a young black man named Anthony, made sure the boy maintained a perfect posture by continually swatting the eleven-year-old’s rear end with the prod. “Stand up straight, boy,” Anthony said with an English accent. “You don’t want to find out what the end of this thing feels like, do you?” Ian, locked in his chastity belt with the metal plate snuggly covering his genitals, vigorously shook his head. Just like Josh and Miles, the chastity belt made the eleven-year-old appear to be completely flat between his legs, no little bulge at all, as if he didn’t even have a penis and testicles down there. Chris was brought back to attention by a sharp crack of the prod on his left thigh. “Don’t let your eyes wander, Zero-Seven,” his trainer said sternly. “I expect your full attention at all times. Now start again.” This time the weight was really too much for Chris to handle. He couldn’t budge the leg press at all. He managed three weak repetitions on his arms. Jason could see from the pained look on the boy’s face that this was beyond him. “That’s almost twice your body weight, boy,” he said, playfully tussling the thirteen-year-old’s blond hair. “You’ll get there eventually. I’ll set it back a bit. I want fifty reps, then you can have some water and take a break, before I chain you to the treadmill.” “Gee, thanks,” Chris said under his breath. “I heard that, Zero-Seven. You can give me ten extra repetitions for being such a little smart ass.” “Sorry, sir,” Chris said, casting his blue eyes to the floor. ‘Not as sorry as you will be,’ Jason Sanborne thought to himself with great pleasure. Chapter 7: After two hours the boys were almost finished cycling through all the equipment. Boyish grunts and groans filled the air, as well as the strong sweet scent of ten young bodies sweating and straining. Chris finished chained to the rowing machine. Standing over him, Jason could see the soft line of blue veins in the boy’s biceps and thighs, just a subtle hint, and a vein in the thirteen-year-old’s neck standing out beneath his soft smooth skin, the sign of a young boy pushing his slim body to extremes of exertion. There was no clock in the training room, so none of the boys had any concept of how long they’d been forced to work out, they only knew they were sore and exhausted. The trainers all wore watches, but the boys were told they were never allowed to ask the time. “You’re not to concern yourself with things like that, slave,” Jason informed young Chris. It was the first time his trainer had actually called him a slave. The word had been used a lot lately of course, but always in general terms. It was the first time that label had been applied to him directly and personally by another human being. It stung. It scared him, especially the way Jason hissed the word with contempt. Jason pulled a whistle from one of the pockets in his uniform and blew it loudly. “Stop.” All of the trainers made their boys stop whatever grueling exercise they were doing. All ten of the young gladiators were panting and sweating. The boys were released from the machines. They all stood doubled over, gripping their knees, trying to catch their breath, innocently and unknowingly providing a perfect display of their firm cute naked little butts. The cameras naturally captured everything. The trainers stood next to their boys. Chris felt Jason’s hands on his back as he bent at the waist, still breathing in short rapid gasps. Then his trainer’s hands moved down and caressed his rear end. No one had ever touched him there, not like that. It sent some rather confusing signals through his body. He shuddered involuntarily at Jason’s touch. He felt Jason’s fingers work slowly into his tight little butt-crack. A single finger then found his little hole. “Oh,” Chris whispered hoarsely in complete surprise. Jason kept his finger there, nestled firmly between the boy’s cute round cheeks, pressing gently on the young teenager’s small opening. Jason knew he could slide his finger inside the boy with little resistance, but the time was not yet right for that. He simply held his finger there, gently pushing against the boy’s tight anal ring. “Oh, shiiiit,” Chris gasped through clenched teeth. It felt good. Having Jason’s finger there. The boy wondered how it would feel to have it inside him. For the last few months he’d been sticking his own finger in there whenever he masturbated, but the thought of having Jason do it to him was strangely compelling. His young dick began to swell inside the metal chastity cage. Jason could tell the boy was becoming aroused and quickly pulled his finger away. Chris let out a soft groan of frustration. Sure it was embarrassing having a man stick his finger up your naked butt, but it felt amazing. Chris decided he wouldn’t mind at all if Jason did it again. Jason smiled wickedly, already enjoying the power he had over this boy. He made Chris stand up straight. The boy’s hands again went behind his head. Jason grazed his hand over the thirteen-year-old’s chastity device. By now the spikes were doing their work and young Chris was in a good bit of distress. “You have to stop having erections, Zero-Seven, unless I want you to,” Jason lectured the boy sternly. “I’m sorry, sir,” Chris said, wincing from the pain as the metal spikes dug into his misbehaving penis. “It’s just . . . when you touched me back there . . . I couldn’t help it.” “Learning to control yourself is going to be part of your training, Chris. When I want your penis hard, it will be. I expect you to keep it soft the rest of the time.” Jason turned his attention to the other trainers. “If you’ve scheduled your boy for special training, take him to the assigned room. If your gladiator is finished for the night, take him back to the barracks. Medical will be giving each boy a thorough examination tomorrow. Please be sure to check the schedules.” Philippe, Alexei, Miles, Danny and Ian were all chained once again and marched off to the barracks. Chris, Josh, Gabe, Illya, and David remained in the exercise room with their trainers. One by one they were led off to one of the smaller training rooms. Josh looked back nervously at his big brother as Hannah Dubose dragged him by the ring in his collar into room number four. She made the boy close the solid steel door himself. It clanged shut. Chris could hear it being locked from inside. Now he stood alone with Jason Sanborne. “Hannah is a lesbian, of course,” Jason said. “But she believes young boys should be taught to serve women and obey them. Be glad you’re not Josh.” Chris bit his lip. “Come on. Don’t make me drag you like your brother.” Chris obediently fell in line behind his trainer and followed him into room number six. Jason pulled the door closed and locked it. The naked thirteen-year-old now stood in the room with all this bizarre and unfamiliar equipment. There was a small computer workstation in the room. Behind it was the only chair in the room, the only normal chair anyway. There was another chair, wooden, with leather restraints built into the arms and legs. Chris was staring at it open-mouthed. Jason Sanborne’s personal laptop was already set up on the desk. He sat down and switched it on and waited for it to connect to the network. “Come stand in front of the desk,” the man said. When the boy was standing in front of him, Sanborne looked up from the computer screen. “Put your hands behind your head. Spread your legs. Wider. That’s good. This is how I want you to stand whenever we are in this room.” “Yes, sir.” Jason called up the company’s file on Christopher Andrews, Boy 07. The nude photos he himself had taken of the thirteen-year-old were displayed in one window, while the boy’s vital statistics appeared in another. The schedule Jason had developed for his young charge for the course of the next week was also displayed. Every bit of information he or the other staff might conceivably need on Boy 07 was here at one’s fingertips. All of the boy gladiators had similar files in the system. Jason could call up details on any one of them, any time he desired. “There are a few questions you have to answer for me before we begin. Tell me the truth.” “I will, sir.” “Good boy. Now . . . when did you start growing pubic hair?” Chris didn’t have a hard time answering that one. He didn’t have much hair down there to begin with, and he hadn’t had it all that long. “About three months ago, sir, like a month before I turned thirteen.” “So you were twelve.” “Yes, sir.” Jason entered the data into the boy’s file. “When did you ejaculate for the first time?” “I’ve been able to do that since I was eleven, sir.” “You developed early.” “Yes, sir,” Chris said with some pride. “Do you like girls or boys?” Chris was silent for a moment, only because it was such a personal question. “Boys, sir.” “I thought so. That’s one thing we have in common. Have you ever had sex with another boy?” “No, sir.” “Do you think about it?” Chris nodded. “Yes, sir. Often, sir.” “I’m going to assume you masturbate. How often do you do it?” Chris blushed and looked away. He really didn’t want to talk about that. That wasn’t anybody’s business but his own. “I need an answer, Zero-Seven. Once a day? Once a week?” “Couple times a day, sir, I guess. Whenever I want to really.” “Well those days are over, young man,” Jason said, pointing to the metal cage that encased the young teenager’s dick. “I kinda guessed that already, sir.” “Smart boy.” Jason saved all the information and stood up. “You’re wondering what’s going to happen in this room.” “Yes, sir. I don’t know what any of this stuff is for, sir.” “Can you guess?” Chris looked around. “I’d rather not.” “You will be doing your special training here. Sometimes it will just be you, other times one of the other boys will be here with you. I might even arrange for it to be Joshua once in a while, if you’re good. Since this is your first time, I’ve kept the cameras outside. There are two of them in the ceiling,” Jason pointed up and Chris followed with his eyes. There were two bubbles in the ceiling with cameras mounted inside. “Everything that happens to you in this room will be recorded, but I don’t want a crew in here pointing cameras in your face, at least not tonight. You’ll be having a hard enough time without worrying about that.” Thirteen-year-old Chris was starting to get scared. Jason was standing right in front of him now. He was at least a foot taller than the slim naked boy. He put his hand under Christopher’s chin and stared into the boy’s blue eyes. “Boy gladiators have to learn about pain. Your lessons start tonight.” Chris backpedaled, looking up at Jason Sanborne’s suddenly menacing figure. The man reached out and locked his fingers around the ring on the boy’s iron collar. “Never back away, Zero-Seven.” “Wh . . . what are you going to do to me?” Jason’s answer was calm and nonchalant. “I’m going to torture you. For several hours in fact. Nothing you do or say will make me stop. You can scream and beg all you want. You will probably lose consciousness a few times. But that will help me discover your limits.” Chris was trembling. Jason tightened his grip on the collar around the boy’s neck. “You should be frightened. But you will learn to be fearless. If I am cruel to you, it is because I expect you to excel in every contest. You will learn to endure pain. You will not disappoint me. Go stand in front of that frame.” Jason pointed to a metal frame, about six feet high, and four feet wide. Chains hung from pulleys in the top corners. There was also a set of chains at the base of the frame. Chris approached it slowly, like a boy walking to his own doom. He knew the chains on the floor would soon be attached to the shackles around his ankles, and that his wrists would be hanging from the chains overhead. “Turn around and face me.” Jason worked quickly, chaining Chris to the frame and adjusting the pulleys so the boy’s arms were raised above his head and splayed outward toward the corners. His feet were placed about three feet apart, spreading the boy’s legs wide. His ankles were locked down. Chris was now immobilized and stretched across the frame. Jason pulled the chains a little tighter, forcing the boy to stand on his toes and causing the thirteen-year-old’s torso to be stretched out. His ribs were clearly visible beneath his skin. With a click the pulleys were locked. Chris wasn’t going anywhere. Reaching into his pocket, Jason again removed the ring of keys. He opened the padlock on Chris’ chastity device and removed everything but the tight metal ring at the base of the boy’s cock and balls. “I want your cock hard for this, boy.” The thirteen-year-old moaned and his penis hardened instantly to its full six-inch erection. More than six inches actually. Chris looked down at himself in amazement. His dick had never been so hard, or so big, or so thick. His foreskin had drawn all the way back, something that never happened on its own. His dick was an angry dark red color. He had been leaking constantly ever since Jason had locked the chastity cage in place, and now pre-cum was dribbling from the end of his cock, a long clear strand of it hanging down between his legs. Chris thrust his hips out, desperately hoping Jason would take the hint and jerk him off. Jason certainly did take the hint, but he ignored the boy’s throbbing erection. He knew the thirteen-year-old was so sexually aroused at the moment that the slightest touch to his genitals would have the kid shooting his spunk like a cannon. He was not about to let that happen. “Naughty little boy,” Jason said, observing the clear fluid dripping from the young teen’s painfully engorged penis. “You have absolutely no self-control. You should be ashamed of yourself.” “I’m sorry,” Chris said, his face turning red. “I can’t help it. I gotta cum so bad. Please . . . please let me cum.” Jason ignored the boy’s plea and went over to the small sink in the corner. There was also a toilet there. Every one of the special training rooms had one. He filled a paper cup with water and picked up a bottle of pills from the desk before making his way back to the naked boy bound to the metal frame. He took out two small blue pills. “Open your mouth and stick out your tongue.” Chris obeyed. Jason put one of the pills on the boy’s pink wet tongue and held the paper cup to his lips. “Swallow.” Young Chris had always had a hard time taking pills. He coughed and choked and almost had to spit it out. He held it in his mouth, the water was already gone. He could feel it starting to dissolve. He looked at his trainer with terrified eyes. Jason was surprisingly gentle and patient. “Not a good pill-taker, ay? That’s unfortunate. Take your time and start over.” Chris relaxed, took another sip of water and tried again. This time the little pill went right down. Jason ran his fingers playfully through the boy’s blond hair. “Good job. One more to go.” Again he placed the pill on the boy’s tongue and held the cup to the youngster’s lips. Chris got this one down on the first try. “What were those?” the boy asked. He could still taste the first one on his tongue. “Just a little something to stimulate your adrenal glands. They’ll help you deal with the pain. They’ll also make sure your cock stays hard for the next few hours, but you won’t be able to cum. You’ll take these before every competition, and any time I want you hard, like right now.” “Why, sir?” Chris asked. “I don’t understand. I mean . . . why does it matter if my dick’s hard or not? I thought . . . I mean I thought I was supposed to keep it soft all the time.” “Most of the time you are. And you will keep it soft until I tell you otherwise, or I’ll punish you for having an erection. But during some of the contests, we’ll want all of you boys running around with nice hard dicks. You’ll be taking other pills too, starting tomorrow after you see the doctor. Vitamin supplements mostly. But you’ll also be getting one that will make your penis grow a lot bigger. By the time you’re fourteen, that thing will be at least seven inches long when it’s soft. You’ll have ten inches between your little hairless legs when you get hard.” “Damn!” “Your indenture allows us to make certain minor modifications to your body. Giving you a big huge cock is going to be just one of them. You’ll be getting some piercings too, but not for a few months. We need to break you in first.” “I’m really gonna have a seven inch dick?” Chris asked. He was definitely not opposed to that idea. “That’s the plan. I can’t even imagine how big Josh’s is going to end up.” Chris laughed. He often teased his little brother about his oversized cock. “As long as it doesn’t end up bigger than mine.” “Joshua’s would end up longer than yours even without the drug.” “I know. Lucky little squirt.” “Don’t be so sure, kid. If there’s one thing I know Hannah Dubose hates, it’s a little boy with a big wiener. Josh is in for a very rough time.” “He’s gotta stay here for five years,” Chris said. “He’ll be a very well trained young man when he’s finally freed. But that’s enough chatter from you.” Jason left the boy chained to the frame for a few minutes and selected various items from their hooks on the wall behind the desk. Chris watched intently. He could see each item as Jason laid them out on a small cart. Everything was scary. Jason wheeled the cart over and placed it directly in front of the young boy slave. The first item was a ball-gag. The ball was a dark shade of red, the straps of black leather. Chris was scared. He was going to be tortured. He offered no resistance when his trainer forced the rubber ball into his mouth. He was too frightened to do anything but accept it. Jason pulled the leather straps tight behind the boy’s head and buckled the gag. Chris quickly discovered that the ball was very hard. Of course the thirteen-year-old had never worn a gag before. His brother had stuffed a rolled up sock in his mouth during one of their tie-up games, but that was the only experience he’d ever had. He panicked and writhed in his bonds. Jason gave him a light smack to the face. “You can breathe, Zero-Seven. Use your nose. That’s right. Get used to being gagged. You’ll be wearing that thing quite often.” Chris nodded bravely and closed his eyes, getting used to being able to breathe only through his nostrils. “Are you coping?” Jason asked after a few more seconds. Chris nodded. “I am not going to cause you any lasting injury,” Jason said slowly. “I am going to cause you a lot of pain.” He rubbed his hands over Chris’ nipples, pulling and twisting the little dime-sized circles on the boy’s chest. No one had ever touched him that way. Chris himself hadn’t even discovered their erotic potential yet. It was a lesson he was learning right now. “Mmmmph,” he moaned into his gag. All that attention to his nipples was causing the boy’s cock to jerk wildly. Chris felt sure he was going to have an orgasm, it was building and building, but just like Jason had said, he couldn’t cum. He couldn’t. He wanted to desperately, but he couldn’t. His cock continued to throb and bounce and jerk spasmodically. The feeling was almost overwhelming. “Mmmmpphh!!” he groaned more forcefully, wiggling his hips and straining against his chains, desperate to get his hands on his frustrated dick. Jason just smiled knowingly and pulled a pair of clamps from the cart. They were connected by a silver chain. The trainer held them up so the boy could see them. “These are going to hurt. But they are really just mild ones.” The young teenaged boy’s nipples were now hard. Jason pinched the right one between his fingers and applied the metal clamp. Chris hissed through his gag and clenched his fists. Jason repeated the procedure with the boy’s left nipple. Chris hissed again and let out a high-pitched wail. Jason stood back and watched the boy struggle for about fifteen minutes. If these were supposed to be mild, Chris wondered what the really bad ones must feel like. His whole chest was on fire. His nipples were burning. Every time he writhed or moved or tried to take in a deep breath, the pain doubled, shooting through his young body like electricity. He begged his trainer to take them off, but the only sound that escaped through the ball-gag was a series of frantic unintelligible grunts. Ignoring the boy’s obvious distress, Jason worked the thirteen-year-old’s hairless balls for a few minutes, at first gently massaging them, then squeezing them tightly and harshly. Chris shouted into his gag for the first time. Still holding on to the boy’s balls, Jason selected another set of clamps and placed these on Chris’ smooth hairless scrotum. This was not nearly so painful as the ones on his nipples. If Chris hadn’t been watching, he probably would not even have noticed them. Two more clamps were attached to the boy’s dick, one just below the glans, the other further down, digging in to the boy’s fully retracted foreskin. “A boy’s foreskin is very sensitive, Zero-Seven. Did you know that?” Chris was discovering just how sensitive in that very moment. The clamps on his dick were heavier and harsher, the ends of them were toothed, so they dug into the boy’s organ without mercy. Again Jason stepped back to give Chris a chance to feel all the pain. The boy’s cock remained as hard as steel. Little veins were beginning to bulge around the shaft now. Chris was moaning continually, thrashing his head from side to side. The pain was terrible, but his cock was so hard. He felt like he would explode any minute. Once again he tried in vain to bring himself off by thrusting his hips forward and back, but it did him no good. He was fully erect, eager to shoot his thick thirteen-year-old cum, but totally unable to achieve an orgasm. He wondered just how long those pills would be working. Hours? Days? Weeks? The thought of going even a few days without having an orgasm was positively horrifying to him. He was so lost in his state of sexual arousal and denial that he did not notice his trainer attaching a series of thin wires to the various clamps on his young hairless body. He did not notice these wires being hooked to a small black box on the cart. “Boy!” Jason said strongly, slapping Chris across the face to get his attention. “Pay attention. I’m going to run some electricity through the clamps. Take one last deep breath.” Chris obeyed and eyed his trainer in giddy terror. Jason flipped a switch on the black box and a red light glowed to life. He turned a dial that Chris really could not see, then pushed a single white button. Christopher Andrews shrieked into his gag. His entire body went rigid, all of his muscles tensed as the electricity coursed through his young one-hundred-and-two pound frame. Jason had the device set to deliver short bursts of electricity every fifteen seconds. He had selected medium voltage, enough to cause the boy exquisite pain without risking any serious lasting damage to the kid’s gorgeous tight little body. Jason experimented with increasingly higher voltages at longer and longer durations. Young Chris was screaming pitifully into his gag now, tears streaming from his wide blue terror-stricken eyes, twisting and writhing against the chains that bound him to the frame. Still his penis remained totally and painfully erect. Jason must have read the boy’s mind at that moment. “It’s not going to kill you.” Chris was tortured like this for more than one hour. Finally, Jason reduced the voltage down to its lowest level, but set the box to deliver a continual current to the boy’s nipples and genitals. Chris was sobbing. Drool was running down his chin from the ball-gag, snot was running from his nose, pre-cum was oozing out of the tip of his cock in a continual stream. There was a small pool of it on the floor between the boy’s feet. “You’re a mess, boy,” Jason said. “Time to clean you up.” The man stepped behind him out of his line of sight. Chris heard the squeak of a faucet being turned on. He shrieked when the showerhead positioned directly above the metal frame (which he had never noticed until now) opened up and a steady stream of frigid water rained down upon his naked body. After a few minutes it warmed up a bit, but it never actually got warm. Jason let the stream of water and the stream of electricity both run for another thirty minutes, tormenting the poor boy on the frame. Even with the cool water running over his smooth bare skin, the thirteen-year-old’s penis continued to point up toward his belly. He’d been hard for almost three hours now, and he was no closer to being able cum now than he was when it started. Jason sat at the desk, typing notes into the boy’s file as Chris continued to sob and suffer. After another ten minutes, Jason got up and turned off the electricity. The water was still running. He selected a tawse from the hooks on the wall behind his workstation. Chris had his eyes closed, his head down in exhaustion. He did not see it. Jason walked around behind him. The boy’s behind was a perfect and beautiful target. Jason whipped him for a good thirty minutes, eliciting a new round of screams from the boy’s hoarse throat. Chris was really lost in another world at this point. He really could not hear or understand anything Jason was saying to him. All he knew was that he hurt and that he very much wanted it all to end so he could go back to his little cell and go to sleep. His cock was finally beginning to deflate, yet strangely his desperate need to cum remained. Finally the tawse was laid aside and the water was turned off. Chris hung from the chains now, unable to stand on his own. Jason came round and stood in front of him. “Look at me, Zero-Seven.” Chris opened his tired eyes. “You were very brave tonight.” He reached behind the boy’s head and unbuckled the strap that held the ball-gag. Chris spit it out obediently. Jason took a moment to rub the kid’s sore jaw. “I’m going to take you back to the barracks now.” “I can . . . I can sleeeep?” “Yes. I’ll tell them to give you a small snack first. You’ve earned it.” “Thank you, sir.” Chris dropped his head. Jason had to hold the boy up at first, once all the chains were removed. As soon as the young teen was able to stand on his own wobbly feet, Jason swiftly put the boy back into his chastity device and snapped the padlock closed. The pills had worn off, and Chris’ tortured four-inch penis was now quite flaccid. It didn’t even harden when the metal cage was locked around it. “Good boy,” his trainer said. “Keep it soft until you go to sleep.” Chris was so utterly wasted from his ordeal that he had no problem following Jason’s orders. When he got back to the barracks, his shackles and his collar were removed. Only the chastity device remained. The boy sat naked at the table and was given his snack, a pack of cheese and crackers and another half of an apple. All of the other boys were locked in their cells. Jason tussled the boy’s hair, the only sign of affection he ever seemed to give. “Go right to sleep, boy. You’ve got a session with medical right after breakfast.” “Yes, sir,” Chris said, barely listening. He was too busy crunching his sweet apple and enjoying his special snack. “None of the other boys got extra food tonight, so this is just our secret, alright?” Chris nodded and yawned between bites. Jason spoke to the lone guard on duty. “Make sure he goes to the bathroom and brushes his teeth. He’s not allowed to get hard in that thing until he lies down. If his cock tries to swell up, report it to me in the morning.” Jason left the barracks and took a leisurely stroll through the warm tropical evening to his suite of rooms in the staff housing area. There was air-conditioning and a fine bottle of wine waiting for him. His first day with Boy Zero-Seven had gone very well. The boy was going to be a star, no doubt about it. Chris was taken to the bathroom after he’d finished eating. The guard watched him while he sat on the toilet and pissed. He tried to shit, but couldn’t. He was given a toothbrush with his number on it and stood in front of the sink brushing his teeth. He saw himself in the mirror. His face was dirty and tear-stained. His hair was wet and tangled. ‘Goddamn, I look like shit.’ And he felt every bit as terrible as he looked. The boy was marched to his cell and gently pushed inside. He was allowed to find his bunk before the solid steel door was closed and locked plunging the little room into darkness. Chris was grateful his collar and shackles were gone, even though he knew he’d be wearing them again in just a few short hours. He stretched out on his mattress and pulled the thin sheet up over his waist. His cock was still soft inside the chastity device. He was happy for that. For the first time since he was eleven-years-old, he did not even want to think about getting hard. All he wanted was sleep, and it took him almost instantly. ‘I think I made a big mistake,’ was the boy’s final conscious thought. Chapter 8: Chris woke up a few hours later. He was lying on his side. The cell was dim, the only light coming through the barred and heavily screened window. His nipples were still sore, and there was a dull ache in his cock and balls. He’d sort of hoped he’d wake up to discover everything had been a dream. It wasn’t. He was still a slave. He was locked in a tiny concrete cell. There was no way he could get out of it. He rolled onto his back and propped himself up with this elbows. Chris’ dick was half-hard inside the chastity device. He could just feel the spikes pressing into the thick shaft of his boyhood, a constant and painful reminder that he was not allowed to have erections without Jason’s permission. The thirteen-year-old was leaking pre-cum constantly now, even when his penis was soft. He could actually feel the thin sticky fluid slowly working its way out of his dick. It was not an unpleasant feeling, just weird. Chris didn’t understand why the chastity device kept his dick wet and leaking, but he was becoming aware of the fact that his cock would be locked away and dripping like this for the next three years. He reached down and fiddled with the padlock, tugging at the metal cage that encased his now soft four inches. He could still touch his balls. They were sore and swollen and aching. The metal ring at the base of the boy’s genitals, which held the chastity cage in place, had the added effect of forcing the boy’s ripe thirteen-year-old balls up and out from his body, keeping them on lewd display at all times. He was so desperate to cum, and his balls were so sore from being tortured. He decided it was best not to touch himself at all, even in the privacy of his dark little cell. He kicked the sheet off and got up. There was only about three feet between his bunk and Alexei’s. The younger boy was sound asleep on his back, his mouth hanging open, his chest rising and falling. Chris walked over to the window. There were iron bars on the outside, and a thick mesh screen on the inside. The mesh made it difficult to see out, or for light to come in, but Chris discovered if he pressed his nose right up against the screen, the mesh seemed to disappear and he could see outside. The boy stood there and crossed his arms on the concrete windowsill. It was raining outside. A soft gentle drizzle. There was no glass in the window, so a warm breeze was blowing into the tiny room. It felt good on the boy’s bare skin. Chris could see the ten-foot high fence that surrounded the barracks. There were lights on wooden poles to keep the area around the fence illuminated. The razor wire glittered in the pale sickly yellow light. Chris hadn’t really given any thought to trying to escape, but the view out the window reinforced the fact that he was a slave, and that this small cell would be his home for the next three years. Alexei stirred and shouted something in Russian. He rolled over onto his side and tried to go back to sleep, but the twelve-year-old was experiencing the same frustration that had awakened young Chris. He cursed in his native language and got up. He joined Chris at the window, crossing his arms on the sill just like the older boy. “I do not like this thing,” he said, running his hands over the stainless steel cage that encased his dick. “We’re not supposed to,” Chris commiserated. “Is your dick leaking?” “Da. It won’t stop.” “Mine too.” “Are you . . . o-kay?” Alexei asked. “Kinda.” “What did he do to you?” “I don’t really want to talk about it, alright?” “Da.” “If you put your nose right up to the screen, you can see outside.” Alexei tried it, then stood back and smiled at the older boy. He felt really lucky to be paired up with the cute, cool American, for all sorts of reasons. He pressed his nose to the screen again and stayed like that for a while. There wasn’t much to see out there at night, just the fence and the razor wire, but it was a change from the close gray walls. “It is raining,” Alexei pronounced. “Thanks, genius,” Chris laughed. “I figured that out myself while you were still asleep.” Chris looked outside again too, and the boys just stood there for a few minutes, their shoulders touching lightly. Chris nudged Alexei playfully and the younger boy nudged back. They carried on that little contest for a while, then Chris felt Alexei’s hand on his shoulder. He breathed deeply and relaxed. Alexei moved his hand lower, down the gentle curve of the thirteen-year-old’s back. His touch was light and timid. Chris put his hand between Alexei’s shoulders. The twelve-year-old’s skin was warm and soft. Without really thinking about it, Chris moved his hand down, just like Alexei had done. Both boys now had their hands on each other’s rear ends. They giggled and wiggled their butts for each other. Chris had never really touched another boy this way, or been touched. He and Josh had played around like brothers do, but this felt very different somehow. The two boys timidly explored each other, each enjoying the soft touch of the other. Chris found Alexei’s crack and ran a single finger down its length. Alexei sighed and spread his legs a little wider. Chris understood and worked his finger in a little more deeply. It took him a minute to find the twelve-year-old’s little opening. He moved around so he was standing behind Alexei, his other hand on the younger boy’s shoulder. The top of Alexei’s head came up to the height of Chris’ chin. He could smell Alexei’s damp sweaty hair. He rested his finger against the boy’s hole, pressing gently against it. Chris knew how good it felt whenever he fingered himself there. He pushed a little harder. And then he felt his finger slipping up inside the other boy’s butt. Alexei gasped and sighed happily and leaned back against him. Alexei’s voice was a soft high whisper in the night. “Would you . . . would you do sex stuff with me . . . if we didn’t have to wear these things?” “Yeah,” Chris said. “Yeah.” Alexei moved forward and Chris let his finger slip out of the young Russian’s butt. He couldn’t believe where it had just been. He’d never even done that with Josh. He’d never even thought of doing that with Josh. “My dick was trying to be hard,” Alexei explained. “Its okay. Guess we should go back to sleep, huh?” “Da. Sleep.” The two boys returned to their beds. Their playful exploration had done nothing to relieve the tension and frustration that was building between their young legs. Only their sheer exhaustion allowed them to finally fall back into a fitful sleep. Chris knew that when he woke up all those feelings would still be there, and that his dick would still be leaking like a drippy faucet. At exactly eight in the morning, the steel doors of the boys’ cells were unlocked and flung open. “Wake up, boys!” the matron shouted. “On your feet and in front of your doors! Don’t make us come in after you.” Ten tired naked boys stepped out of their cells, rubbing sleep from their eyes and yawning. Lean, muscular, hairless little bodies on display for the matron and her keepers. All of the boys had been freed of their collars and shackles for the night, but they all still wore their chastity devices. “Hands behind your heads,” the matron ordered. The line of boys obeyed instantly. “Get your little butts into the bathroom.” With their hands clasped behind their heads, the boys scurried off to the bathroom, escorted by four keepers. There were only three toilets in the barracks, so the boys had to take turns relieving themselves while everyone else watched. All of the boys, even the older ones, were forced to squat over the toilet. After proving to have rather poor aim the night before, they were not allowed to stand up to pee. Chris went in the first group. He sat down gingerly, his butt still sore from the whipping Jason had given him less than eight hours earlier. His bladder was nearly bursting, but he had a hard time getting started with the keepers and all the other boys watching and waiting. Finally he felt a strong stream of piss traveling through his dick and heard it splashing in the bowl. Pissing with the metal cage locked around his dick was an interesting experience. It seemed to take forever for him to drain himself. He tried to shit. He knew he needed to, it had been two full days, but he couldn’t do it. “Come on, Zero-Seven,” one of the guards said, “take your dump and get off the can.” “I’m trying, sir. I can’t.” “I’ll have to report you to your trainer.” There was nothing Chris could do about it. He got up miserably and made way for the next boy. He was taken over to the shower area and again told to stand with his hands behind his head. Gabriel and Philippe were already standing there waiting. For Chris it seemed to take forever for all of the boys to finish on the toilet. Josh was the very last boy to go. It was agony for him to have to stand and wait and watch all the others relieve themselves while he held in his morning piss. When all the boys were lined up in the shower area, hands clasped behind their heads, the matron and two of the guards went down the line, ordering each boy to spread his legs so they could remove the chastity devices. One at a time, each boy’s genitals were freed from their tight constraints. The older boys had their cock-cages removed, along with the spike attachment and all the necessary bits and pieces that made the thing fit so snuggly. The steel rings however remained firmly in place around their young genitals. The three younger boys had their leather belts with the attached metal plates removed. Each boy’s device was placed in a cloth bag that bore his number. The bags were hung on hooks on the wall opposite the showers. “Keep those little dicks soft,” the matron warned them. With their genitals freed from the harsh devices, all of the boys had a hard time obeying that particular order. Chris and a few of the older boys were showing definite signs of arousal, standing there half-hard, pre-cum glistening on the tips of their young teenaged dicks. Ten-year-old Miles sported a nice little circumcised boner, all two and ¾ inches of it, jutting straight out from his hairless groin and bobbing up and down rather amusingly. Poor little Josh with his not-so-little cock was the worst offender, his eleven-year-old organ springing up to its full oversized five-and-three-quarter inches in a matter of seconds. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said, red faced, when the matron glared at him. “Your trainers had better teach you boys how to control yourselves. I don’t want you shooting your filthy spunk all over my floor.” “Sorry, ma’am,” all ten boys said in chorus. The guards handed each boy a thin wash cloth and a small bottle of blue disinfectant gel-soap. “Get under the showers. You have five minutes to wash up,” the matron explained. “Make sure you clean between your toes and behind your ears. I want your little asses clean too. You are not to touch your genitals. We will take care of that for you. When you are done, step forward and keep your hands at your sides. There were ten showerheads, spaced about two feet apart. The boys stepped under them and the matron turned the master valve. Frigid water sprayed over their young bodies. They sputtered and shivered. Josh’s erection disappeared almost instantly. “Soap up, you filthy animals,” the matron shouted over the sounds of shrieking freezing teeth-chattering boys. The disinfectant smelled terrible. The boys scrubbed themselves quickly, trying to step out of the icy spray whenever they could. The matron would not allow it. “Get back under the water. Wash your hair.” After just two minutes, the first of the boys stepped forward, droplets of water glistening on their smooth hairless skin. No boy stayed under the water for the full five minutes. Alexei was the last to finish. With the freshly-cleaned boys all lined up and waiting, the guards snapped on latex gloves, squirted disinfectant onto a sponge, and vigorously scrubbed each boy’s cock and balls. Chris, Josh, Alexei, Ian, Illya and Philippe were all uncircumcised and had to endure the further humiliation of having their foreskins roughly pulled back and cleaned. Not one of the boys got an erection during this ordeal. The cloth bags that held each boy’s chastity device were hung around their necks, and the naked lads were ordered back to the commons area. They sat down at the table in the same seats they’d occupied the night before. The Andrews brothers were happy to see each other. Chris noticed before Joshua sat down next to him that his little brother’s butt and back were covered with thin angry red stripes. He wondered what exactly Josh’s trainer had done to him. “Holy shit, Josh . . .!” Chris exclaimed as he examined the eleven-year-old’s well-striped backside up close. “I know,” Josh said softly. “She hit me really hard. I didn’t cry though.” “Wow. You did better than me. I was cryin’ like a baby. Did she make you keep your dick hard the whole time? Jason did that to me.” Josh gave his brother a puzzled look. “No. She never even took my belt off.” “I wanted to cum so bad. Still do.” “Me too.” Chris laughed at his little brother. “You can’t even shoot yet, squirt. It’s different for you.” “Is not.” “Is too.” “Is not.” The brothers’ argument was cut short by breakfast. Once again the boys lined up in front of the meal cart, all of them completely naked with their chastity devices hung in bags around their necks. All of their eyes lit up when they saw what was on the trays. Eggs and pancakes, an orange, and two strips of bacon, the only real meat the boys would get each day. They were starving and devoured their morning meal in no time at all. At nine their trainers arrived for them. Each boy stood at attention while his trainer locked the iron collar around his neck and put the thick heavy shackles on his slender wrists and ankles. The boys were then locked into their chastity devices. The matron gave each of the trainers a brief report on their boy’s behavior in the barracks. Hannah Dubose was told about young Joshua’s shameful erection. In fact most of the boys were given a bad report on that score, as each of them had exhibited at least half-hard dicks after the chastity devices had been removed. Only Daniel O’Hanlon had managed to keep his penis completely soft. “Ten demerits for Joshua,” Jason Sanborne announced, “and two demerits for the rest of you. Zero-Five, you don’t get any points for keeping it soft, since that’s what you’re expected to do.” Jason went on to explain the points system. “Any time you break a rule, show any disrespect or disobedience, or perform particularly poorly at an assigned task, you will be given demerits. Any time you win an event or contest, or please your trainer in an exceptional way, you will earn bonus points. You will all learn it is much easier to earn demerits than points. Most of you will be in the negative most of the time. At the end of each week, the boy with the lowest score will receive special discipline and punishment. The two boys with the highest scores will be given a reward. At the end of each month, the lowest boy will receive some minor body modification, as a reminder of his poor behavior and performance.” "What's modficationed mean?" ten-year-old Miles innocently asked, raising his hand timidly. "Modification,” Jason corrected him gently. “To you it means we will be piercing certain parts of your bodies, or tattooing them, or branding them. Several of you already have an earring. You might find rings inserted into other parts of your bodies as well.” The boys could all imagine just what parts Jason was talking about and quickly brought their legs together, more than a few of them clasping their hands over their genitals before remembering that was forbidden. Jason continued. “Your indentures allow us to do this to you with certain limitations. You will live with whatever modifications you are sentenced to for the entire time you are on the island, but all of them are reversible. None of you will be permanently damaged. That’s against your best interests and the company’s. I said these procedures would be minor, but minor does not always mean painless. Trust me that none of you want to be the loser at the end of the month." All of the boys shivered, especially Josh who quickly did the math in his head and realized he was already eight points behind everybody else. Hannah curled two of her fingers around the ring on the eleven-year-old’s collar. “I’m not going to punish you for your erection this morning. We’ll save that for the end of the week. I know you’re going to fuck up a few more times.” “I won’t, ma’am,” Josh said, looking up at her with earnest moist eyes. “I promise I’ll do better.” “We’ll see.” The matron also informed Jason of Christopher’s inability to use the bathroom. “I’ll be sure medical takes care of that,” his trainer said. Once again the boys were chained to their partners by their collars. They were marched out of the barracks one team at a time with their trainers walking behind them, prod in hand. It was already hot and humid, the morning sun blazing down in a cloudless sky. The camera crews were outside the fence, filming the ten boys as they marched by in chains. All of the boys had their heads down. None of them wanted to look into the camera. Chris had been excited about the prospect of being a TV star. Suddenly it didn’t seem like such a good thing after all. The trainers led their boys back to the training facility. There they were told their schedules for the day. Chris and Alexei would be the first team to be taken to medical for their examinations. Their trainers refused to say exactly what was going to be examined, or how. The two boys were very nervous young men as they stood outside the door to the infirmary, waiting for the doctor and the nurses to get everything ready for the first exams of the day. Three other teams were assigned to weight training. David and Josh were taken outside by their trainers and told to spend the morning running along the marathon course that covered the entire island. The catch, of course, was that they had to make the run while still wearing their chains. Ankles chained. Wrists chained. And the two boys chained to each other by their collars. Little four-foot-six-inch Josh fell down almost immediately and was dragged a few feet before David realized what happened. “Shit,” the older boy said, turning around and pulling the little boy up. Josh’s knees were already skinned. “Listen, kid, you have to keep up or you’ll be a bloody mess.” “Don’t run so fuckin’ fast,” Josh said. “You’re legs ‘r like twice as long as mine.” “So’s my cock,” the fourteen-year-old smirked. Josh stared at him. That was a total lie. For his age, David actually had one of the smallest penises in the group. “Mine’s bigger than yours already, and I’m only eleven. So who’s really got the small wiener?” David wasn’t a mean kid at all, just really scared and really afraid of what might happen if he and Josh didn’t do well. “Sorry, kid,” he said, helping scrape the dirt and mud off Josh’s legs. “Everything’s just so fucked up right now.” “I know. Let’s just run, okay?” “Right.” With a twelve-inch difference in height, it was hard enough for the two boys to walk, let alone run while chained together. But after a few more false starts and trips and falls, and a bloodied banged-up knee for Josh, they worked it out. Josh had to move his legs a lot faster to keep up with fourteen-year-old David’s long graceful strides, but he was a sturdy muscular little kid and wrestling had given him a lot of stamina. He powered along beside his partner, and soon the two boys were running the grueling and treacherous course at a fair speed. Hannah, and David’s trainer Michella, rode twenty feet behind the boys on a four-wheeler. Close enough to keep the two young slaves motivated, but far enough back that they wouldn’t run them down if they had another fall. Michella, whose views on males were if anything more harsh than Hannah’s, shouted at the boys in a constant barrage of degrading insults and threats of punishment if they failed to keep a decent pace. The two young women kissed passionately on more than one occasion, enjoying the site of two hairless naked boys chained and struggling in front of them. Back at the training facility, the door to the infirmary was opened by a woman about the age of Chris’ mom. She wore a white lab coat with the XB1 logo on the shoulder. “We’re ready,” she said, gazing at the two naked young teens. “You can bring them in now.” Jason and Natasha pushed their boys forward. No kid likes a visit to the doctor. Chris and Alexei were going to particularly dislike this one. The infirmary consisted of a private office for the doctor, a large examination room with two flat metal exam beds and two odd metal chairs with leather padding that looked to Chris like the kind you would find in a dentist’s office. There were cabinets with glass doors along the walls. Chris could see they contained all sorts of bottles and tools. There was a sink for the doctor and her team of nurses to wash up. There was also a toilet in the corner, and another open shower which was little more than a drain in the tile floor and a showerhead curving out from the wall. Chris had a feeling he’d be showering in front of everyone again. He had never been an overly modest boy, but he had grown up with the crazy idea that when you took a shower, there was supposed to be a door and a curtain between your naked butt and the world outside. There were three other people in the room, all in the same white lab coats, and all young women just out of school. The oldest of them was only twenty, the youngest just eighteen. All these women in this one room, and two naked boys. It was more than Chris and Alexei could take and they instinctively covered themselves. “None of that, boys,” Natasha said in her thick Russian accent, slapping their hands away from their groins. “You know where your hands are supposed to be,” Jason added. “That’s two more demerits for you both.” Chris and Alexei groaned in protest but quickly clasped their hands behind their heads. “Come in, boys,” the doctor said. “No need to be shy. We’re all going to get to know every inch of your bodies soon enough.” The twelve and thirteen-year-old boys blushed and stepped into the center of the examination room. The doctor was standing between the two metal tables. Her three assistants on either side of her. “My name is Allison Trench. I am a doctor specializing in the special needs of young boys. You will address me as ‘ma’am’. These are my assistants,” she said, gesturing to the three young women beside her. Chris had already figured out he was gay, but he still noticed how pretty the three young women were. Allison Trench wasn’t all that bad looking either, for a doctor. “You will address them as ‘miss’ and treat them with the same respect you treat your trainers. When you are in this room, you will do exactly as we say, is that understood, boys?” “Yes, ma’am,” the young pair answered quickly, their young voices soft and frightened. “Oh, they are just so polite,” one of Trench’s assistants said. She had brown hair, pulled back into a tail. She wore an ID card that gave her first name as Karin. One of the others, a blond who appeared younger than the rest, stepped toward the two boys. “And they look so cute with their little cocks locked in their chastity cages.” Chris took in a sharp gasp as the woman put her hand between his legs and toyed with his tightly encased penis, tickling his balls with a single finger. Chris had already lost count of how many people had touched his boy-parts in the last two days. It was so embarrassing, to have your cock locked up and on display like that. His private parts had suddenly become very public. Anyone who wanted to could touch him there and there was nothing he could do about it. “Poor little boy,” the young woman said. “You can’t get hard in that thing, can you?” “No, miss,” Chris heard himself answer as the blood rushed to his ears turning them a dark crimson. “Look at his ears, Anna,” Karin said, “I think you’re embarrassing him.” “Am I?” the blond apparently named Anna asked sweetly, her fingers now playfully swirling through Christopher’s wispy blond tuft of pubic hair. “This one already has some hair around his dick,” she announced to the others. Chris’ pubic hair was so light and so sparse that it could perhaps have been missed, although Chris found the whole thing terribly humiliating. “Wait, the smaller one has some too, see,” Karin said, pointing to twelve-year-old Alexei’s groin. “Just a few little hairs, but they’re a lot darker.” “We will have time to examine them thoroughly,” Trench told her over-eager young nurses. She then turned to address the two boy slaves. “We will be giving you a complete physical examination, and I do mean complete,” she said with a wicked smile. “But first, I am afraid we are going to have to remove all the hair from your bodies . . . “ “All of it, ma’am?” Chris whispered. “You can keep the hair on your heads, but that will be the only hair you are allowed to have. Boy slaves are completely hairless.” Chris looked down at the downy blond hairs above his cock. He’d just started growing them a few months ago. “Yes, we will be removing that too. From the looks of things, it’s the only hair either of you have right now.” That was certainly true. Aside from their sparse little pubic tufts, Chris and Alexei were smooth and hairless. If you looked very close, you could see some boyish blond fuzz on Christopher’s legs, which had been there since he was about five years old, but there wasn’t very much of that. The two boys looked at each other in horror. Their trainers gripped their collars from behind. “You two will do everything the doctor and her staff tell you. If we hear you’ve misbehaved, you will spend the rest of the day in one of the special training rooms.” Alexei had not experienced that yet, but just the thought of those electric clamps on his cock and balls and nipples made poor Chris shiver. “I’ll be good, sir, I promise,” he said. Alexei nodded that he didn’t plan on causing any trouble either. Jason and Natasha removed the two-foot chain between the boys’ collars. At Doctor Trench’s instructions, the chains attached to the shackles at their wrists and ankles were also taken off and hung on a pair of hooks by the door, one set for each boy on its own hook. Before they left, the trainers took the keys to the boys’ chastity devices and handed them Allison Trench. The young doctor smiled, anticipating the interesting morning that was in store for her and her two cute young patients. Chapter 9: “Alright boys,” the doctor said sharply. “I had your chains removed so you would be a little more comfortable. I don’t think it is necessary to keep you boys chained like that all the time, but I don’t make the rules on the island . . . just here in the infirmary. But don’t get the wrong idea. My girls and I will make you wear the chains again if you give us any trouble. That means you do exactly as you are told, when you are told to do it. No whining. And no talking unless one of us asks you a question.” The boys nodded quickly and obediently. “Follow Anna and Terri over to the shower.” “Come on, little cuties,” Anna with her golden-blond hair said. Terri seemed to be the oldest of the three medical assistants, her hair long and black. The young women made the boys stand on the shower tiles and proceeded to inspect their nude bodies very closely. Allison Trench stood near-by watching her two aides. “Raise your arms over your heads, boys,” the doctor told them. The boys obeyed revealing their smooth hairless armpits. “Keep them up there. Anna, Terri, check them from head to toe for any hair.” Terri inspected twelve-year-old Alexei, while Anna thoroughly examined Chris from the blond hair on his head all way down to the tips of his perfect boy-feet. Anna looked very close and noted the thin soft young boy hairs on Chris’ arms and legs. “He’s basically hairless, ma’am,” she reported, “except for his pubic hair. He has some little hairs on his legs and arms, but he’s probably had that since he was a baby.” Allison Trench nodded. “Doesn’t matter, dear. It has to go. Have him bend over and present his rear end to you. He’s thirteen, so check him closely.” Chris was ready to die of embarrassment. Anna made him bend over and grab his ankles. With his head down between his legs, he could see the blond-haired woman staring at his butt. Behind her, Doctor Trench was looking on with an amused smile on her face. “I can’t really see much, ma’am,” Anna said. “What should I look for.” “Check his perineum . . . the skin between his anus and his scrotum. Is it hairless?” “Yes, it is.” “Spread you cheeks, boy, and let Anna look at your little pucker.” Chris let out a miserable sob, but did as he was told, gripping his hands on his butt and spreading his cheeks. “Does he have any hair back there, Anna?” “None at all, doctor.” “Good.” Terri, older and more experienced than Anna had finished inspecting Alexei without the need for the doctor’s direction. Alexei was found to be even more hairless than Chris, if that was possible. “So it’s pubic hair and a little bit of baby-boy fuzz,” the doctor said with a smile. “Karin, is the depilatory cream ready?” “Yes, doctor,” Karin said, rather disappointed that she had missed out on the fun of inspecting the cute muscular bodies of these young boys. All four of the women snapped latex gloves on their hands, and passed a squeeze bottle back and forth, depositing a large amount of thick green gel in their palms. To Chris it looked a lot like toothpaste, but it had a strong unpleasant smell. Anna and the doctor began rubbing the green goo all over Chris’ young body, concentrating on his pubic area, rubbing it all over, and under his ball-sack. “Make sure you get the backs of his legs,” the doctor instructed Karin and Terri who were working on Alexei. “He doesn’t have any hair there,” Terri commented. “Not now, but he would in a few more years. We might as well stop that from happening right now. You see, boys,” she said, turning her attention to the naked young males presently covered in green slime from their necks to their ankles, “this stuff removes all the hair from your bodies and kills the follicles, even the ones that haven’t starting sprouting hairs yet. Once we spray you down, the only hair you’ll have will be whatever’s on your head.” “It’ll . . . it’ll grow back, won’t it, ma’am?” Chris asked softly. He could feel his skin tingling, especially down between his legs. Allison Trench swatted the thirteen-year-old’s behind. “No talking. And to answer your question, no, it will not grow back, at least not for four or five years. You might sprout a stray hair here and there, but you will basically be permanently hairless.” Chris’ mouth dropped open in shock. The doctor smacked his bare behind again. “Close your mouth, boy, you look like an idiot. Your indenture allows us to make a few modifications to your body. This is the first one. I can promise you it won’t be the last.” Chris remembered Jason telling him about the pills he’d have to take, the ones that would make his dick grow longer. ‘Oh god,’ he thought to himself. ‘I’m gonna be a big-dicked hairless freak!’ “Now you boys just stand there and stew for a few minutes, then we’ll wash you down.” And stand there they did, naked and covered in smelly green gel while the women talked and joked and basically ignored them. “You know it’s really strange,” Karin said, “over one hundred people on this island just to take care of ten boys. I mean what’s all the fuss, they’re only slaves, right?” “Legally yes,” Allison Trench answered, “but from a practical stand-point it’s a lot more complicated. In return for signing the indenture, each boy got five million dollars, and another half a million went directly to the boy’s families. So they are really a rather large investment for the network. If any of them are permanently disabled or get sick and can’t compete, XB1 loses a lot of money.” “Five million!” Anna said, staring over at the two naked boys. “Those little shits get five each?” “William Durand wanted the best athletes, good boys from good homes. Boys who are bright and handsome and weren’t already slaves.” “From what I’ve seen he got them,” Karin said. “They’re all cuties, just like these two.” “And that doesn’t come cheaply these days,” Doctor Trench reminded them. “Besides, if you had even the faintest idea of all the terrible things these boys are going to be put through before their indentures expire, you’d probably say five million isn’t nearly enough. I’m sure most of them are having second thoughts already. What about it, boys?” she asked, turning her attention to the young pair still covered in green goo. “Still happy you signed on?” “I think I should have asked more questions first, ma’am,” Chris said honestly. “I don’t like being a slave.” “That is the whole point, young man,” the doctor said. “But you signed away your freedom fair and square, and now you’re stuck with it.” She looked down briefly at her watch. “Times up. Let’s get that stuff off you.” Chris and Alexei stood under the shower. The water was warmer than back at the barracks, but just barely. “Just wipe the gel off with your hands, boys,” Anna told them. In less than a minute it was all gone and so was every single hair on the boys’ bodies. The thought that it was more-or-less permanent was still giving Chris trouble. He felt so humiliated as he watched the last of his blond pubic hair swirl down the drain. The thirteen-year-old was completely smooth down there now, just like his little brother. After another quick inspection, the boys were given towels and told to dry off. “Come over to the examination chairs when you’re done,” Anna said. With his hair still dripping, Chris walked over to the strange looking chairs with the leather padding. The doctor gave him a smile. “Hop up there, boy.” “Yes, ma’am.” Chris climbed up into the chair. There was a padded rest for his head. He noticed that his butt sort of hung over the end. His legs didn’t reach the floor. “Put your feet in the stirrups,” Trench ordered, raising the two metal contraptions into the horizontal position. Looking down the length of his body, Chris could see what he was supposed to do and placed his feet in the metal braces. The doctor and Karin quickly clasped his shackles to the stirrups, locking his ankles in position. Leather restraints were then tightened over the boy’s thighs. “Rest your arms at your sides.” The shackles around his wrists were locked down to the chair, and another leather restraint was drawn across his chest and buckled just tightly enough to keep him still. “Alright, we’re going to lay you back now,” the doctor said. A few seconds later, Chris was completely horizontal, his legs stretched out in the stirrups. They moved the chair back a little further until the boy’s head was slightly lower than his hips. He got a quick rush of blood to the head but adjusted quickly. Karin then repositioned the stirrups, bending the boy’s legs up toward his chest and spreading them wide apart. Chris blushed and squirmed in the chair. In this position he was embarrassingly and helplessly exposed, with all of his most sensitive parts on display. Next to him, twelve-year-old Alexei was strapped down to the other chair in the same manner. “Alright, girls, lets flush them out before we go any further.” Clear plastic bags on IV stands were rolled into position between the boys’ legs. Chris could see both bags were full of fluid and that his was fuller than Alexei’s. A long clear tube ending in a thin white nozzle hung down from the bottom of the bags. Alexei, who recognized what the bags were for, began to wiggle around in his bonds, begging them in Russian not to do it. Chris wasn’t really sure what was going to happen, but the length and shape of those white nozzles made it fairly obvious where they would ultimately be going. Soon he too was looking at the young women with pleading frightened eyes. “Looks like they both know where those tubes are going,” Terri observed with a laugh. “Then let’s not disappoint them,” the doctor said. The nozzles were lubricated and forced not too gently into the boy’s rectums. The twelve and thirteen-year-old’s both shouted and tried to keep the things out of their butts. “Oh come now,” Allison Trench scolded them, “the nozzles aren’t that big. Just relax and behave yourselves. You’re getting enemas to clean you out. Yours will be a small one,” she said to Alexei. “Yours,” she turned her face to Chris, “will have to be a lot bigger, since I’m told you aren’t going to the bathroom.” “I just couldn’t go, ma’am,” Chris explained. “I tried to . . . “ “Well, now we’re going to help you.” She put her hand over his stomach and pressed gently. “You’ll feel a lot better when it’s all finished.” Chris somehow doubted that. Doctor Trench signaled her assistants who opened the clamps on the hoses. A few seconds later both boys gasped and let out a high-pitched groan as the water slowly began to fill them up. Chris squirmed and curled his toes. He balled his hands into tight fists and closed his eyes. He was already feeling the pressure deep inside. “Aaaggh,” he moaned. “Ohhh . . . gawd . . . oww . . . please stop . . . “ he trailed off in a series of soft sad little grunts and groans. “You’ve only got about half of it inside you, Zero-Seven,” the doctor said. “It’s killing me!” “No it isn’t. Don’t be such a little baby. You can take all of it.” Chris moaned again and raised his head. Between his legs he could see the liquid in the bag slowly draining through the hose and entering his butt. He could feel it going up inside him. The thirteen-year-old’s stomach was now starting to swell up and he felt all squishy inside. Then the first cramp hit and he screamed out loud, a high piercing shriek. “Take it easy, cutie,” Anna said, standing next to him and wiping the sweat from his forehead with a soft rag. “Just breathe through it. That’s right.” The cramps continued for a few minutes, causing Chris to sob fitfully. He didn’t even realize that the enema bag was almost empty. “Good boy,” Trench praised him moments later. Chris finally noticed the bag was empty, all the liquid was sloshing around inside him now. He looked at the two women with pleading eyes. “I gotta go to the bathroom,” he begged softly. “Not yet,” Anna replied, gently massaging the boy’s distended belly. “Awww, that hurts, miss.” It did hurt. Chris felt like his stomach was a balloon about to burst. “You just hold everything in until we tell you,” the doctor ordered. “And don’t you dare shit all over my floor, young man.” Next to him, Alexei was being released from his chair. Karin and Terri helped the boy shuffle over to the toilet, the nozzle and the plastic hose still sticking out of his butt. He got down on all fours and clenched his eyes closed and concentrated hard on keeping all the water inside him while Karin pulled out the nozzle. He scrambled onto the toilet the second the nozzle was out and emptied his guts with a loud cry of relief. The twelve-year-old sat there for ten minutes expelling all the liquid and everything else inside him. Chris could hear his new friend moaning and whining. He couldn’t wait until it was his turn, the urge was becoming unbearable. “Aaagh . . . get off the fuckin’ toilet, Alexei,” Chris pleaded, still bound to the chair. “I really gotta go bad!” “What do you think I am doing, Chris?” the young Russian boy asked, still doubled over the toilet, holding his cramping guts. “You keep holding it,” the doctor warned Chris sternly. It was another five minutes before Alexei felt like he was really empty. Blushing and embarrassed he flushed the toilet and stood up. Everyone in the room could see that his young cock was swelling up inside its metal cage. The young women all laughed softly. “You must be enjoying yourself,” Anna observed, gently teasing the humiliated boy. Alexei was most definitely not enjoying himself. “Anna, don’t be so cruel,” Doctor Trench said. “It is quite normal for a boy to have an erection during an enema. In fact I think you’ll find Zero-Seven here is having the same little problem.” It was true. Chris could feel his dick trying to get hard. It was straining against the bars of the chastity cage. He’d been so distracted by all the liquid sloshing around inside him that he only began to notice it when the spikes started digging in to his dick. ‘Why the hell does it keep doing that?’ Chris thought to himself before the latest cramp caused him to groan out loud. “Please, ma’am,” he pleaded again, “I need to go so bad . . . “ They made Chris wait a few more minutes before they unbuckled the straps. The boy scurried over to the toilet as fast as his swollen cramping guts would allow. Terri was there waiting for him. He got down on his hands and knees tried to keep still while she pulled out the nozzle. He scrambled to the toilet the second it was removed. “Aaaahh, shit!” Chris shouted as he lost control of his bowels. “That’s the idea, boy,” the doctor laughed. “Just sit there for a while. Rub your tummy. That’ll help you get everything out.” “Yes, ma’am.” “Anna, Terri, go ahead and get Zero-Four on the examination table. Take his temperature and his pulse, and draw a blood sample. Remove his chastity device, but don’t let him play with himself. And don’t you play with him either. I don’t want him having an orgasm.” Anna and Terri escorted the naked four-foot-nine-inch tall twelve-year-old to one of the exam tables and had him sit on the edge. It was Anna who opened the padlock and freed the boy’s penis from its tight constricting cage. The metal ring remained snuggly in place around the base of his hairless genitals. Alexei sighed with relief once the cage was gone, and of course he got hard almost immediately, much to his extreme embarrassment. His five-inch erection was pointing up toward his navel. “None of that, Zero-Four,” Anna scolded him gently. “We need to take your ring off too. Get it soft.” “Yes, miss,” Alexei said, willing his cock to deflate and behave itself. It was embarrassing enough being naked in front of all these women, but having an erection in front of them was just terrible. While the boy was still half-hard, Anna removed the cock-and-ball ring. The twelve-year-old’s penis softened quickly once the ring was gone, returning to its modest three and ½ inches. Alexei swung his legs back and forth nervously while the two young nurses proceeded to record his vital signs and jabbed a needle into his right arm. While Alexei was having his blood drawn, Chris was finishing on the toilet. Never in his life had the thirteen-year-old taken such an extraordinary dump. He just sat there bewildered and doubled over. He felt weak when he finally stood up. His legs had gone all rubbery. “I’m . . . I’m done, ma’am,” Chris announced softly, still rubbing his stomach with his left hand. His insides felt strange. Not bad, just strange, strange and empty. “Well wipe yourself. For heaven’s sake, Zero-Seven,” Doctor Trench said, shaking her head. “We’re not your nursemaids. You clean your own little butt.” “Yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am,” the boy answered, quickly sitting back down. ‘How could I forget to wipe?’ he thought to himself. ‘Am I like three or something?’ When Chris was done, the doctor made him bend over and spread his legs wide apart while she inspected him for cleanliness. “Good,” she said, satisfied with the young teen’s efforts. “Clean boys are healthy boys.” She swatted him hard on the behind. “Now get over to the exam table and hop up. We’ve got to take your vitals and get some blood out of your arm. You’re not squeamish, are you?” “No, ma’am.” Chris certainly didn’t like them, but it was the younger Andrews brother who was terrified of needles. He shuffled over to the second metal table and climbed up and swung his legs over the edge. Next to him, Alexei was anxiously waiting and wondering what was going to happen next. Every time the boy’s dick started to show even the slightest signs of an erection, Anna or Terri would roughly skin his foreskin back and flick the moist pink head with their fingers. It stung and made him shout in protest, but it did keep his twelve-year-old dick nice and soft. “You keep yours down, Zero-Seven, or you’ll get the same treatment,” the doctor ordered as she unlocked the thirteen-year-old’s chastity device. Of course it was impossible for the teenaged boy not to get hard once his dick was freed. Chris turned red as his young cock sprang to its full hard six-inches. “I warned you. Karin, give him a lesson, please.” Karin forced his foreskin back and flicked the end of his dick with her index finger. “Ouch!” “I have to keep doing this until you get it soft, boy,” she told him. There really wasn’t much sympathy in her voice. Her eyes danced playfully as she flicked his dick again. Chris ended up so busy trying to keep his dick soft that he didn’t even notice when the needle entered his arm to take his blood. “Alright, both of you up on the tables. On your hands and knees.” Still feeling light-headed, Chris and Alexei pulled their legs up onto the examination tables and got into position. “Spread your legs wider,” Doctor Trench ordered. The boys obeyed, both very much aware that their rear-ends were now totally exposed. Their balls were also on display, dangling low in their hairless sacks, Christopher’s noticeably larger than Alexei’s. The tip of the older boy’s cock was just visible hanging below his scrotum. “Alright,” Doctor Trench said to her assistants. “Let’s hook these boys up to the milking machine. We’ve got eight more of them after we’ve milked these two.” Chris and Alexei looked at each other in confusion. Neither of them knew what a milking machine was, or exactly how it would be used on them. “Now you boys keep still,” the doctor told them. “You’ll probably find this very pleasant . . . at first.” The machine in question was rolled on a cart and set between the two exam tables. Chris craned his head back and stared at it. It wasn’t very big. It looked a lot like a vacuum cleaner to the thirteen-year-old’s innocent eyes. There were two clear plastic hoses, one attached to each side. Each hose was connected to a narrow metal tube about six inches long. The ends of the tubes were open, but the tubes were completely solid, made of shining stainless steel. Each tube had leather straps hanging from the end. Chris didn’t have to think very hard to figure out which part of his body the tube was meant to attach to. Connected to the bottom part of the machine there were two large egg-shaped objects, made of the same shining steel as the tubes and attached to the machine with thick insulted cords. At the front of the machine, Chris could see all sorts of switches and knobs, and a metal plate with the words ‘Hartford Pediatrics Model 4870c Sperm Extraction Unit’ in small black letters. Below this in much larger lettering was the machine’s more popular name: The Boy Milker 5000. Chris decided he did not like the looks of this machine at all. End Part 1.