Istari

Worldwide Boy Gladiators

Chapters 30-32

Chapter 30
Plans and Progress

"Good morning, Trevor," Lara said, well aware of the effect she had on this boy. "Is the boss home?"

"Master is finishing his tea, miss," the fourteen-year-old said shyly. "I'll tell him you're here, ok. You can wait inside, if you like."

"Whatever won't get you into trouble, dear boy," the young woman said, stepping into the marble-tiled foyer.

Trevor flashed a wide grin, pleased that the lady was so kind to him. He hurried off on his slender legs, providing Lara with an excellent view of his adorable bare butt. The young teen was back a few minutes later. "If you'll follow me, miss," he said with a regal bow.

Lara found herself once more in William Durand's study, overlooking the beach and the clear blue Caribbean.

"How are you enjoying your stay, my dear?" the chief of XB1 asked, still sipping at his morning tea. Trevor stood nearby with the teapot at the ready.

"Everything is working out fabulously, Bill."

After several minutes of polite small talk, Lara got down to business. "I'm here because I need a green light from you for the next phase in the development of WBG."

"By all means. What do you have in mind?"

"Well, boss, it occurs to me, and hopefully to you too, that our two oldest boys are going to age out of their indentures in approximately eighteen months. We should begin recruiting replacements now, so we don't suddenly find ourselves short a boy, or two. I've already taken the liberty of having our recruitment department do some preliminary scouting, as well as post an on-line application for boys and their parents on the WBG website. I suggest to you that once we find two suitable boys, we sign them to pre-indenture contracts immediately."

"Pre-indenture?" Durand asked. "You're making that up, right?"

Lara smiled and took a fresh cup of tea from Trevor. "I'm not surprised you haven't heard of it, sir. It's not legal yet in the United States, but most of the other civilized nations have incorporated some provision for it into their juvenile male slave laws. The ICSC in Geneva fully supports the concept."

"Explain it to me."

'Well, sir, it is very simple. The boy and his family make a binding, non-negotiable commitment to our standard indenture contract, to be fully enacted once an open slot on the island becomes available. Pre-indentures can be signed and legally ratified up to five years before the actual indenture takes place."

"So we would own the rights to the new boys without actually having to pay out any money for them up front."

"Precisely. And the pre-indenture contract also gives us specific and limited authority over the boys from the moment they sign. That way we can ensure that they remain in top shape and begin some very basic training while they still live at home with their parents. It costs us nothing, and we'll have well trained boys that can be put to use right away, once they reach the island."

"This is an excellent idea. Why isn't this legal in the States?"

"Legislation is pending right now, sir," Lara informed him. "I'm sure a man of your influence could help assure its successful passage."

"I'll make some calls this afternoon. In the mean time, go ahead and tell the recruitment teams to find me two boys and sign them to pre-indentures as soon as possible. Oh, and Lara…it occurs to me that our current line-up is rather monochromatic, if you get my drift. Have them focus their attention on some other parts of the world. I don't want boys who are too dark, mind you, but a little color would look good out there."

Lara Tomlinsin made a quick note of it, then lingered for one of Trevor's legendary mint juleps.

"Trained him myself," Durand said proudly as the scantily-clad slave boy presented them with their drinks. "He's got quite a knack for it."

'I'm sure you've trained him to do all sorts of things, you sly old bastard,' Lara thought to herself. She had to admit though, the julep was exceptional.

Over in the training facility, Nathaniel Hilthorpe surveyed the newly finished school room. He was impressed at the speed with which the corporation's facilities management staff had fulfilled all his requests and requirements. The once vacant room now had two large chalk-boards, three computer stations, Hilthorpe's large wooden desk and ten small metal desks for the boy gladiators. The boys' desks were bolted to the floor, as were their chairs, made of aluminum and each with built-in ankle restraints to ensure that the boys remained in their assigned seats. The chairs also sported thick aluminum pegs that would be impaled in the boys' butts once they sat down. The pegs increased in size for each boy, the smallest one meant for little Miles, the larger ones, with rather nasty spikes on them, specially selected for David, Philippe, Illya and Chris. On the wall behind Hilthorpe's desk were the implements of discipline that had given him proven results over the years. Crops, strops, and a heavy brown wooden paddle. The boys would all come to know them very well once their schooling resumed.

Nathaniel checked the gladiators' current schedule. His first interviews with the boys would be starting shortly. He would be seeing them one at a time, giving them a variety of pre-tests to determine their current level of achievement, and hopefully introducing more than a few of them to his instruments of discipline. Several of the boys were currently unavailable, but with ten to choose from, he could afford to be patient and take whatever boy was not currently busy in some other area. He had no illusions. Education was going to be a relatively low priority on Gladiator Island, but the money they'd offered him, and the chance to work directly with the boy gladiators more than made up for any perceived slights to his profession. He picked up his portable radio and contacted the control room.

"I believe boy Zero-One is free at the moment. Please send him to the classroom at his trainer's earliest convenience."

Five minutes later, a hot and sweaty Miles Harris was delivered by his trainer, fresh from an intense workout in the nearby weight room.

"I won't keep him long, Alex," Hilthorpe said pleasantly. He'd made it a point to learn the names of all the trainers as quickly as possible. The boys, of course, were merely numbers, and he had no particular interest in what their names had been before they became indentured slaves.

The elder trainer smiled and pushed the little boy forward, giving him a pre-emptive smack to the back of the head. "You behave yourself, little man," he said, then turned his attention back to Nathaniel. "Here are his keys, if you wish to remove his chains or his chastity belt."

The young teacher took the ring of silver keys, each marked with Miles' number, and set them on his desk.

"He's scheduled for a milking session at 1300 hours…not that he has anything to milk."

"I'm sure we'll be finished our business long before that, won't we, boy?"

Miles shrugged innocently, not sure exactly what business he had with this stranger. "Um, I guess, sir."

Alex Wright departed, leaving his young charge in the care of the teacher. "Step in front of my desk boy," Hilthorpe said. Miles quickly obeyed and shuffled over, his chains rattling on the concrete floor. Hilthorpe sat down and called up the boy's file on the computer.

"Were you a good student before you became a slave?" he asked, staring at the collared and chastity-belted ten-year-old with a critical eye.

"Um, ok, I guess, sir."

"I assume you can read and write."

"Yes, sir," Miles said, curling his toes nervously.

"You are ten years old, is that right?"

"Yes, sir," the little boy said, standing up as tall as he could.

Hilthorpe paused for a moment and glanced over the statistics in the boy's file. Essentially every piece of information ever recorded on young Miles Harris was available at his finger tips. He raised his eyes to the boy once more. "Recite your nine-times table for me, please."

Miles stared at him not quite sure what he meant. After almost four weeks of training and being naked and competing and all that, thinking about school was a rather abrupt change for the boy.

"I don't understand, sir…"

"Your multiplication tables, silly boy. You do know how to multiply numbers, don't you?"

"Oh," Miles replied, breathing a huge sigh of relief. "Ok. One times nine is nine. Two times nine is…"

"Stop," the teacher interrupted him. "When you are reciting in this classroom, you are to put your hands behind your back and stand at attention. Face forward. Eyes forward. Chin up. Speak clearly and don't mumble."

"Yes, sir, sorry, sir."

"Now start again."

Miles' quickly adopted the required posture and began again, his high pre-pubescent voice echoing in the silent classroom. "One times nine is nine. Two times nine is eighteen. Three times nine is twenty-seven…" He did fine until nine times eight, which he said was ninety-eight. Hilthorpe stopped him there.

"Are you sure that's the right answer, Zero-One?"

A sudden look of fear filled the ten-year-old's eyes. "Yes, sir. I'm sure, sir."

Hilthorpe stood up and walked around his desk. He towered over the barely four-foot-tall [1.20m] boy. "You are incorrect. Go over to the punishment bench."

Miles' dark eyes welled with tears. He followed the teacher's gesture and marched over to a wooden bench that looked more like a saw-horse than anything else. The boy stood nervously in front of it.

"Bend over."

Miles bent at the waist, and grabbed hold of the legs of the bench. In this position his cute little behind was perfectly positioned for a good striping. Hilthorpe selected the smallest and thinnest cane from the wall.

"Have you ever been given the cane before, young man?"

"Nnn…nnooo, sir."

"I'm going to go easy on you today. Three strokes. You will count them for me."

Hilthorpe wasted no further time and quickly and efficiently administered the three cuts with the little cane. Miles howled and shrieked and bucked against the wooden bench, but he did manage to count each one aloud for his teacher. A very teary-eyed ten-year-old was told to stand up a few moments later.

"I have a test for you, to see how much you already know and how much you need to learn." He took the keys from the desk and unlocked the ass-strap on the little boy's chastity belt so that he could remove the butt-plug. Miles grunted and moaned as the metal invader slid out of him.

"Which hand to do you write with?"

"My left, sir."

Hilthorpe took the boy's right hand and put the butt-plug in it. "Hold that. Go sit at your desk."

Miles looked at the double row of desks and found number one. It took him exactly three seconds to see the large aluminum peg attached to his chair. He looked up at his new teacher with a quivering lip.

"I…I don't wanna sit on that, sir."

"Wanna? You do not use lazy English in my classroom, boy. You will speak properly. Now sit down and get started on your test."

Miles sniffled and squatted down over the chair, using the strength in his legs to keep himself off the peg. He could feel it pressing against his little hole as he picked up the pencil with his left hand and looked down at the single page test. He still clutched his butt-plug with his right.

"You have fifteen minutes to finish."

By the time the fifteen minutes had elapsed, Miles had slid down all the way onto the aluminum peg and was writhing and squirming in his place. His little cocklet had made several futile attempts to erect itself inside the tight confines of the chastity belt. Somehow, despite all the distractions, the plucky ten-year-old had managed to finish his test. That's not to say he did particularly well. Hilthorpe shook his head as he marked the many wrong answers in red and handed the paper back to the nervous trembling boy.

"You passed. Just barely. We have a lot of work to do. Just because you're going to be rich when you leave here doesn't give you the right to be stupid."

Miles did not think of himself as being stupid at all. He didn't really like school, but he went and did his best. Some of those questions were really hard, things he didn't think even most of the older boys would have known.

"Do you have something to say to me, boy?" Hilthorpe asked, reading the look on the boy's face.

Miles quickly lowered his eyes to his desk. "No, sir. I did my best, sir…"

Hilthorpe tussled the boy's short-cropped hair. "I know that. It is my job to make you do better. You have a trainer for your body, right?"

"Right, sir."

"Well, think of me as a trainer for your mind."

Miles cracked a shy smile. That made sense to him. Sort of.

"Stand up."

Slowly, wincing and groaning and whining, the little ten-year-old lifted himself off the not-so-little peg and resumed his 'at attention' position beside his desk. His butt-plug was still clenched tightly in his right hand. Hilthorpe pointed to it.

"Do you know how to put that back in?"

"I…I guess so…sir…"

"Then do it."

It took the little boy a few seconds to decide how this task was best accomplished. Finally he got down on all fours, spread his legs wide apart and worked the plug back into his butt, all the while with a determined grimace on his cute round face. He was beet-red with embarrassment, having to shove that thing up his own behind while his teacher watched him.

"Good boy," Hilthorpe said when Miles again got to his feet. The boy absent-mindedly ran his hand over the metal plate that encased his genitals. Hilthorpe chose to ignore the lad's indiscretion. He reached into his desk, produced a piece of chocolate candy and tossed it to the boy. Miles took it eagerly, tore the wrapper off and popped the whole thing into his mouth.

"Don't tell anyone, boy," the teacher warned him with a gentle smile. "That's our secret."

With his mouth full of sweet wonderful chocolate, Miles simply grinned and nodded. Alex returned for him a few minutes later, attached a chain to the boy's collar and led him off to the medical suite for his latest appointment with the dreaded milking machine.

Lance's breakfast had been delivered by Mule 1674 in much the same manner as the boy had delivered dinner the night before. The not-quite thirteen-year-old stood obediently by the door, his arms limp at his sides, his face cast down toward the floor. As always when he was on duty, he was wearing the short gray slave smock that identified him as little more than a subhuman laborer. Chris, who was happy to be eating a piece of toast with orange marmalade and a single pancake of his very own (thanks to Lance's kindness) kept looking over at the boy. He knew that some boys were real slaves, slaves for life that is, and he wondered what this one had done to deserve such a terrible life. Was he a criminal? Chris was well aware that lots of boys who committed even small crimes were sentenced to slavery. In school and at home he'd been given that sort of warning since he was six. Maybe his parents were poor. That's what happened to Timmy Wildesin last year.

The Wildesins lived a few houses down and Timmy and Chris were almost exactly the same age. Timmy had a way of getting himself into trouble and dragging Chris along with him, but they remained friends right up until the day the state's slave control unit arrived in the white van and took Timmy away. The hardest thing was, Timmy knew he'd been sold weeks before they actually took him. In fact the whole neighborhood knew, including Chris and Josh. Chris remembered watching from the front yard when the day finally came. Timmy was marched out of his house stark naked, his twelve-year-old cock, considerably smaller than Christopher's swinging back and forth for everyone to see. They already had an iron collar around Timmy's neck, and his wrists and ankles were chained.

Chris felt sad and angry, but he also became aware that his penis was really, really hard in his shorts. After the van had pulled away, taking Timmy off to his new life as a slave, Chris ran upstairs, shucked down his soccer shorts and jerked himself off until he had a hard, satisfying cum. He never found out what happened to Timmy. There were rumors in school that he'd ended up being a sex slave. At twelve, Chris had a rather nebulous idea what that meant. Now, of course, the young gladiator was indeed quite familiar with the concept.

"You shouldn't keep looking at him," Lance said, quietly sipping his coffee.

"Why not, sir?" Chris asked, turning his eyes away from the other boy.

"Mules aren't human anymore, so you should really just ignore them."

The naked boy sat up a little straighter from his place on the floor. "Well, I'm not a human being right now either, am I? But people look at me…hell they don't ever stop looking at me…you look at me…Bruce looks at me…Jason looks at me…I know what's going on…I mean, about the sex and stuff…"

Lance smiled and handed him a small glass of juice. "Things are a little different for you. You're indentured for a start. That means you'll be free…some day. So you're sort of in a different class from that one," he pointed to Mule 1674.

"I just don't think its fair, that's all. What did he do wrong to end up like that?"

"I don't know, Chris," Lance said, once again using the boy's real name. "It isn't any of my business, or yours. There's nothing anyone can do about it now anyway. He is what he is, and you are who you are and that's that. Now finish eating."

Chris returned his attention to his plate. "That pod thing he's wearing over his dick and balls…it looks way too small…I'd never fit inside that…"

"Be glad you don't have to. And believe me, you don't want to know what they've done to him down there."

Chris was carrying Lance's breakfast plate back to the waiting mule, when Bruce returned from a very productive meeting with William Durand. Mule 1674 quickly departed, carrying the empty plate in his hands. The remains of breakfast smelled so good to him, but he did not dare stop to help himself to even so much as a meager crumb.

"So," Bruce said, gazing over at the two younger males, both of whom were technically slaves, "did he behave himself, Lance?"

"He's the perfect little slave," the young man replied, giving Chris a quick wink. They had both agreed that the boy's forbidden orgasm would remain a secret just between them. Bruce stared at them for a moment, quite certain they were keeping something from him.

"The cart's waiting outside. Get that boy back in his leather, don't bother with the chains. And plug his little holes. Let's go."

Lance quickly followed Bruce's orders. Moments later Chris found himself once again wearing the leather harness and the matching collar and cuffs. His butt and his piss-slit once again had plugs in them. "You look so hot in leather," the young man whispered in the boy's ear.

"Thanks," Chris whispered back. He did like the way he felt. And he was beginning to understand the effect he seemed to have on older guys and men. He blew a little private kiss at Lance, who smiled and promptly smacked him on the ass.

"Don't be a tease, boy," Lance advised him. He then led Chris outside on the leash. The thirteen-year-old's heart started to race when he saw what was waiting for him. It was a larger version of the chariot, with all the same reins, chains and restraints he had grown so familiar with so quickly. This one however had four wheels, and was considerably more luxurious, with dark richly stained wood trim and padded seats for the passengers. Chris stared at it with worried eyes. It looked really heavy. And he would have two grown men riding on it behind him, rather than one light-weight twelve-year-old boy. With a downcast expression on his sweet face, he positioned himself in front of the cart. Bruce and Lance worked leisurely to get the chains attached to the boy's harness. Chris noticed the cart didn't have the guide-poles that the chariots had. He would not have anything to hold on to as he pulled the four-wheeler forward. In fact, he quickly discovered he wouldn't have the use of his arms at all. Bruce brought a leather lace-up bondage sleeve from the cart and quickly bound the thirteen-year-old boy's arms behind his back. An additional chain was connected to the ring at the end of the bondage sleeve to the front of the cart. Chris was immediately afraid that he wouldn't be able to keep his balance, but he didn't have time to protest as the boy-shaped bridle and bit were strapped tightly around his head. The last of the chains were attached, and then the reins.

"You're going to take us around the island today, boy," Bruce said, as he and Lance climbed up onto the comfortable passenger seats. Lance took the reins. Bruce held a large, long whip in his hand. He swung it sharply, and hard, against Christopher's bare shoulders, instantly leaving a painful red welt. "Start trotting."

Trotting was a little more than the one-hundred-and-five pound [48kg] boy could manage with all that weight behind him. The cart's four wheels did make it a lot more stable, but it still was hard work just getting the thing moving. With his arms bound-up behind him, the boy had to bend over to get leverage. His handsome young thighs were already straining to bear the load. Bruce continued to whip him until he was up to a good walking pace. Lance was considerably more gentle with the reins than his partner was with the flogger. Soon Chris was pulling the cart along the dirt roads of the island. He took them past the production facilities, the main arena, and the boys' barracks, where he saw Illya, David and little Ian doing push-ups under the watchful eyes of their trainers.

"Hey, there's Chris!," Ian said, spotting the pony-boy as he approached with his two passengers. "Hi, Chris. Lookin' good, mate!"

"No talking, Zero-Three," Anthony corrected him with a jolt from his electric prod. "All three of you can give us fifty more push-ups."

Chris struggled on, leaving the barracks behind, hearing Illya and David moan and curse at Ian for getting them into trouble. For over an hour he pulled the cart across the island, receiving several more lashes from the whip whenever he slowed down or missed a step. Finally they ended up on the rocky, heavily forested west shore of the island. Here there was no beach, only steep shear drops down into the sea below. The view however was spectacular. Lance pulled back on the reins, and a sweaty and exhausted Chris trudged to a halt. They left him chained to the cart while they set up blankets and chairs overlooking the Caribbean. Chris was released and freed of the bondage sleeve so he could carry the heavy wooden box that contained all the picnic food and supplies. They'd packed a portable grill too, which he had to go back for. Last were the two wine bottles, which he was admonished not to drop under any circumstances.

Lance set up the grill and started the cooking. Bruce lounged in one of the chairs while Chris, on his knees, obediently shuffled himself between the man's legs and sucked his penis, with the tropical sun burning down upon his bare back. After two weeks of running around naked on the island, Chris' smooth hairless skin had already started to turn a nice golden brown. Bruce gazed down at the boy's back, then studied the tattoo on that had been put on Chris' flank.

"Clever, don't you think, Lance," he asked, pointing at the dark permanent inking that Anthony had given the boy. "They've got these boys numbered like cattle. And did you see the advertisements they've put on them?"

Lance nodded. During their tour around the island this morning, he'd noticed that most of the boys were sporting some form of corporate advertising on their backs. He found young Ian's to be particularly amusing, since the eleven-year-old Australian was painted with the logo of one of the leading manufacturers of chastity devices for slave boys, the same one he in fact was wearing. Lance had to admit it was a brilliant idea, using the boys' bodies as walking billboards like that. He wondered what product would eventually be splashed upon Christopher's back. "I'm just glad those things aren't permanent."

"No, the only permanent marking is the tattoo on his butt. 'Boy 07'. He'll have that for the rest of his life, unless he gets it removed after he's freed. What do you say, Zero-Seven, are you going to keep it?"

Chris pulled off of Bruce's rigid leaking cock just long enough to shrug his shoulders. He'd never really thought about it. Actually he'd sort of forgotten that his gladiator number was tattooed on his flank. He could only see it if he craned his neck back, but it was plainly visible to everyone watching in the stands and on television. "Don't know, sir…Guess I have a few years to decide…"

"Good answer. Now wrap those sweet lips around my cock again…"

Chris immediately slurped the man's cock into his mouth again. Bruce moaned in delight. Chris had proven to be a quick learner. He let out a soft boyish moan. Bruce was using his foot to toy with the chastity device and the perpetually frustrated boy-cock locked inside it. Chris really didn't understand why being on his knees with a man's big hard dick in his mouth made him so horny, he just knew that it did. He took more of Bruce's manhood into his throat, all the while feeling his own penis straining within its metal cage. He whined as the spikes dug into his tender flesh. His left hand instinctively went to his groin. Bruce firmly kicked it away with his foot.

"None of that. The only cock that matters is the one in your mouth."

"Mmmmph," Chris nodded with moist eyes and a mouthful of dick.

Lance looked over from the grill, admiring the young teenager's lean and perfectly proportioned body, and remembering a time, not too many years ago, when he was the naked boy between Bruce's legs. Was that actually a little pang of jealously he felt? Maybe just a little.

Meanwhile, in the medical suite, Josh had again opened his eyes after a long nap. As he looked around the room, he saw Miles was on one of the exam tables on his hands and knees, hooked to the milking machine. The youngest gladiator was squirming and squealing and having one dry orgasm after another forced from his little body. Doctor Trench herself was supervising the little boy's latest session. Josh laid his head back on the pillow and looked up at the ceiling. It was actually rather cool here, and he shivered as he lay flat on the mattress without a sheet or blanket. He was still restrained, with padded medical cuffs around his wrists and ankles. He was also still in the diaper. He could feel the soft material around his penis and testicles, he could feel it covering his butt, which, at the moment, did not have a plug in it. He didn't remember them taking it out. They must have done it when they took him out of the black room. He was glad it was gone. He didn't really like that funny feeling it gave him deep inside.

As he lay there day-dreaming, he came to the realization that he really needed to pee, but he didn't want to do it. Not in the diaper.

'They can make me wear this stupid thing,' he thought to himself, 'but they can't make me pee in it.'

His eleven-year-old resolve quickly began to fade when his eleven-year-old bladder began to insist that something be done to relieve the ever-growing pressure. Josh struggled against the restraints for a few seconds, then he lay still again.

'Ok. Ok, maybe I'll do it just this once…'

Much to the boy's own surprise, peeing in the diaper proved exceedingly difficult. His body didn't want to cooperate, even as the need to go became more and more urgent.

'Come on, come on…' he closed his eyes and finally managed to start peeing.

Josh was screaming in agony less than a second later. After thirty-six hours with a catheter in his dick, his urethra was very sensitive and very sore, and the first few squirts of piss burned him like fire. "Ow! Owww! Oh, man, that kills! Oh, geeeeez…aaaaah!"

Now that he'd started peeing, he couldn't stop. He continued to shout and cry as he filled the diaper with his warm urine. Anna came over to him and took hold of his hand.

"It's going to hurt like that for a day at least," she said with the closest thing to sympathy Josh had heard in quite a while. "Just keep going. Tell me when you're finished."

With tears in his eyes, Josh nodded and tried to pee a little more slowly, holding back his stream as best he could so it wouldn't hurt so bad. That strategy didn't really do much more than prolong his agony. Finally it came down to a weak trickle and the eleven-year-old breathed a huge sigh of relief. The tip of his dick still burned.

"I'm done, miss," he said softly. The feeling of the full, wet, warm diaper…filled with his own piss…was not as unpleasant as he'd first feared it would be. In fact, the boy found it rather nice. His penis responded accordingly with a nice hard boner.

"Everything come out alright?" Anna asked, gently laying her hand on the boy's taut stomach.

"Yes, miss."

"Good boy. I have to help the doctor with Zero-One. I'll be back later to change you. Get some rest."

Josh couldn't believe she was just going to leave him strapped to the bed with a wet diaper around his middle, but that is exactly what she did. Josh lifted his head and watched her return to Miles on the milking machine. He looked down the length of his body, past his tight lean torso and once again glared at those stupid cartoon bunnies on the diaper.

'What are you laughing at?' he asked them angrily. Then with a colossal yawn he fell back to sleep, feeling all wet and warm and snug and with an obvious erection between his legs.

As Josh slept, and Miles got milked, and Chris demonstrated his ever-improving cocksucking skills for Bruce, young Daniel's twenty-four hour period with Ophelia Winstrom came to an end. Danny remained on all fours as the wealthy heiress led him back to the barracks. He'd spent most of that time muzzled, with his hands locked away in leather mitts. His rear end was quite red from all the spankings and swats he'd received from the lady for inadvertently acting like a human boy when he was, of course, supposed to be an obedient little puppy. Spike had often tried to help him, but since the eight-year-old never made any noises but 'yips' and barks, it was hard for Danny to figure out what was expected of him. He did like it very much when the lady ordered Spike to crawl between his legs and suck on his penis for a while. That was very nice indeed. Danny only managed to get half-hard, and he didn't have an orgasm, but he did like the way it felt, having another boy suck on his little undersized pecker.

He could not return the favor. Spike's tiny cocklet remained pinned between his legs by the chastity piercing. Danny did lick the younger boy's balls, which made Spike very happy. It was, in fact, the most pleasure the eight-year-old had ever felt down there. Normally those soft little parts were only a source of pain at the hands of his mistress. His little cock did harden, but, having no place to go, it quickly softened again. Needless to say he was a very disappointed little puppy-boy when Danny was ordered to stop. Now Spike trotted along beside his mistress, his little puppy-tail butt-plug wagging back and forth as he crawled on all fours.

Lady Ophelia presented Daniel at the gate. The matron herself was there to check the boy back in. The transaction and final transfer of money was concluded by a simple finger-ID scan.

"Here is his chastity belt," the wealthy woman said, handing over the leather and metal contraption that normally encased the boy's genitals. Being free of it for the last twenty-four hours, Daniel had almost forgotten about it. "He does not seem to need one," she added. "I don't think his little penis ever got hard."

The matron took Daniel's leash and all of the keys to the various padlocks that secured the boy's puppy-gear in place.

"A remarkably charming boy," Ophelia continued. "I shall need to make inquiries about purchasing him."

"I don't think he'd be for sale, ma'am," the matron replied respectfully.

"Everything is for sale, my dear," the older woman answered softly. "One simply must name the right price. Farewell, Daniel," she then said, reaching down and patting the boy's naked and freshly reddened behind. "I'm sure we will meet again. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Yip! Yip!" Daniel barked, playing his role of obedient boy-pet right up to the end. Of course young Danny didn't like that idea at all, but he was smart enough to pretend he did.

"Come along, Spike," she tugged gently on the eight-year-old's leash. "We need to get packed for our flight home, then put you in your travel crate." With that, the woman strode proudly away with her little slave boy crawling along beside her. Spike looked back at Danny and blinked his eyes in goodbye. Maybe he'd get to play with the older boy again some time, and maybe mistress would free his penis and let the older boy suck on it. Maybe.

The matron watched Ophelia Winstrom and her boy depart then she gave Daniel a little kick. "Stand up, silly thing. She's gone now."

Daniel scrambled to his feet. The matron didn't wait to get him inside the barracks before locking him back into his chastity belt. Daniel sighed as it was put back on. Strangely enough it didn't feel quite as tight as he remembered. His dick actually had a little bit of room to bounce around inside it. He stared down at the silvery metal plate in mild confusion. The matron smirked knowingly, but said nothing.

"Go to your cell," the matron told him as she buzzed him back into the deserted barracks and walked him inside. "You can rest until your trainer comes to get you." She then spoke into her hand-held radio. "Operations…boy Zero-Five returning…"

Danny stood alone in the commons room for moment. All the other boys were out. It was weird being in here all by himself. Everything was so quiet. He noticed the television was still there, but the screen was blank. Josh's punishment was over. Close in age, sharing the same sport, and being of similar temperament, he didn't particularly like Josh, but he still felt sorry for him. He hoped the other boy was okay. Not wanting to risk the matron's anger, he scurried off to his cell and sat down on his bunk. The comic book he'd taken from the activities cart a few days ago was still there, and so he crossed his smooth bare legs, rested his back against the cool cinder-block wall and escaped into the world of super heroes and nasty villains.

Back in the medical suite, Anna shook Josh awake.

"Time to change your diaper," she said with a smile. "I'm doing to release your ankles. You're not going to kick me, are you?"

"No, ma'am," Josh answered.

Anna unbuckled the medical restraints at the eleven-year-old's feet. Josh bent his legs and wiggled his toes. It felt good to be able to move around again.

"Okay, sweetie, lie still and spread your legs for me."

Josh obeyed. Anna pulled the tabs on the wet diaper and opened it. Josh's oversized penis shot up hard the second it was freed of its soft cottony confinement. Anna ignored the boy's erection for the moment.

"Lift your little butt," she ordered.

Josh arched his back and Anna took the soiled diaper away and discarded it. Then with a warm soapy cloth she washed the boy's middle, paying extra attention to his ball sack and the sensitive skin of the boy's smooth hairless perineum. Josh let out a contented sigh when she touched him there and his pre-teen boner got even harder. The young woman then proceeded to wash the eleven-year-old's penis, being careful to get under his foreskin. She noted that the opening of his urethra was a little red and inflamed from the catheter.

"Is that why it hurt when I pissed, ma'am?"

"That's why it hurts, cutie, but it will be better soon."

Josh suddenly became aware that Anna had set down the wash-cloth and was now slowly jerking him off.

"Oohh, miss…," he trembled and wiggled and sighed again and looked down the length of his body, staring at his hard five-and-one-half-inch [14cm] erection sticking straight up between Anna's fingers.

Anna kept working on him, gently teasing the little eleven-year-old boy and his sexy big cock. Josh was panting and moaning, his muscular abdomen rising and falling with his rapid breaths. He pulled against the padded wrist cuffs as he got closer and closer to another dry cum. Only this time, his body had a little surprise for him. Still watching, he noticed a little drop of clear fluid oozing out of the tip of his penis. Anna saw it too and ran her finger over it, pulling away and forming a slender thread of sticky pre-teen pre-cum. She tightened her grip on Josh's rigid boycock and coaxed a few more drops out of him.

"You're making pre-cum for me," she said, running her fingers through the boy's blonde hair with her free hand. "Aren't you sweet. Let's see how much you can make for me."

For the next thirty minutes, Anna kept the poor eleven-year-old boy on the edge of a crippling orgasm, never allowing him to cum. His cock was leaking now, a lot like he'd seen his older brother's do whenever they'd masturbated together. Not nearly as much, but more than just those first few drops.

"Am I…am I gonna shoot some white stuff?" Josh asked between heavy rasping gasps.

"I don't think you can just yet, Joshie, but we'll find out soon, won't we?"

"Oh, yes, miss…ohhh, ohhhh, I'm cumming, miss!"

And he did. And it was still mostly dry, a short weak trickle of clear seminal fluid. Still it was the first time anything but pee had ever come out of Josh's dick. He was quite proud of himself.

"Gee," he finally said when the spasms of his orgasm passed, "that sort of makes me a man now, right?"

Anna laughed at him and smacked him gently on the thigh. "If you say so. All I know is it's time to put this young man back into his little boy diaper."

Josh suddenly didn't feel quite so big.

"Would you like bunnies or spaceships?" Anna asked, still giving him a wicked smile.

"I'll take the spaceships, miss."

Anna powdered his middle and his genitals and then put the new diaper on him. Josh looked down at it. It was white just like the first one, but he had to admit the ships were kind of cool. "No more bunnies," he giggled. Anna patted him on the head, strapped his ankles down once more. She held up a pacifier. Josh shook his head vehemently.

"Alright. But if you start making a fuss over here, it's going right in."

"I'll be good, miss."

She set it down on the small table beside the bed. Josh was too awake and too keyed up now to sleep. He'd actually shot something out of his dick. It wasn't much, really. Just some clear fluid, but it made him feel bigger and stronger, and he knew enough about how boys were made to know that in a few months time he'd be shooting white stuff and lots of it, just like the older boys. He couldn't wait to see Chris and tell him.

The pony cart was parked outside the training facility. Special Training Room 2 was the only one currently occupied. Through the closed door, the sounds of Christopher Andrews screaming hysterically and begging for them to stop could be clearly heard. Inside the training room, the thirteen-year-old boy was lying on a metal table, his wrists and ankles locked down to the four corners. His butt was currently six inches [15cm] above the metal surface, with a huge spiked dildo stuck half-way inside it. He was currently being hung by his genitals. His chastity cage had finally been removed, but a leather cock and ball harness had been put in its place. The harness was attached to a chain pulley directly above him.

"We can go higher, boy," Bruce said, pulling on the end of the chain and forcing poor Chris' ravaged butt another inch off the table. Another round of agonized screams issued from the young teenager's throat.

"Plllleeassse stop! Pleeeease, I can't…hurts soooo baaaad…plleeease," he thrashed his head desperately, finally fixing his wide terrified blue eyes on Lance. "Please," said more softly now as tears continued to fall. Lance felt pity for him certainly, but it was Bruce's money, Bruce's idea, Bruce's special vacation. There was nothing he could do for the boy. Not now.

"Alright, we'll stop. It's time for the needles anyway." Bruce had brought a set with him, specially designed to pierce the soft thin flesh of young boys. Lance shivered when he saw the silvery things in their black case. He'd almost forgotten the pain that could be inflicted on a kid.

"I think we'll do his nipples first."

With a dead, almost robotic expression, Lance joined his master and selected a six-inch [15cm] needle. The two men stood on either side of the bound, helpless and screaming boy.

"Oh, no! No! Nooooo…" Chris' shriek trailed off into a heavy choking sob as the needles simultaneously pierced his nipples and were pushed through half-way to their widest point. Chris jerked wildly in his bonds, causing himself even more pain form his bound-up genitals, which were now taking quite a bit of the weight of his lean young body.

They gave him a few minutes to calm down and then began to insert needles all over his body. His belly button received one. Six of them, two at a time, were put into his pink hairless scrotum. Smaller thinner ones went into his ear lobes and through the soft flesh of his upper and lower lips, which were soon bleeding.

By now Chris was screaming so loud that his voice was beginning to break into higher and higher octaves. It was a sound of suffering that made Lance cringe. Bruce however was unmoved, or rather extremely turned on by it. He and Lance were both naked, and his cock was hard and dripping.

"Now we're going to do your penis. You'd like that, wouldn't you, boy?"

Chris violently shook his head and spit some blood from his lips out of his mouth.

"Tell me to pierce your big hard boy-cock. It is hard…look at it…look at your dick you filthy little slave…"

Chris found the strength to raise his head and stared at his hard leaking cock. Why did it always do that? He hated this. He wanted out of this room so bad, and yet there was his penis, erect and huge and throbbing and just beginning for nasty things to be done to it.

'What's wrong with me?' the boy thought. 'I'm a total sicko…'

"Tell me," Bruce shouted at him, running the end of a sharp needle along the length of the boy's six-inch [15cm] boner. "Say it. Say 'Master, pierce my big hard boy-cock."

Chris shook his head and once again tried to look at Lance for sympathy.

"Don't look at him!" Bruce reached beneath the partially suspended boy and rammed more of the already bloody dildo up the thirteen-year-old's ass. Chris screamed again. "Say it! Say it now!"

"P…pierce…Master, pierce my…my…my big hard boy-cock!" With the needles piercing his lips, the boy's words were almost unintelligible.

"As you wish, slave."

One by one, scream by scream, five thin needles were passed through the flesh of Christopher's tortured penis. Chris stared open-mouthed at the silver rods that now decorated his boyhood. He was scared. He'd never been so scared. He didn't know if those things were going to ruin his dick forever or what might happen when they came out.

Again he was allowed to rest and catch his breath. Bruce then stared down at him, holding two more very thick dull needles in his hand.

"The last two. They're going into your balls. Tell me to stick these in your balls. Tell me."

Chris shook his head, sobbing uncontrollably now. "No…no…no…"

"Tell me, boy. Or I'll find even worse places to stick them."

Chris stared into the man's dark eyes. He knew he had no choice. "Master, please…please stick those into my…stick those into my balls!"

Bruce threw the two needles onto the metal table and smiled down at the boy. "Those would have destroyed you. I've never used them on anyone, I've never needed to. You're still hard, Chris."

Chris didn't need to look to know it was true. He could feel his erection throbbing insistently.

"Lance wants to take care of that for you, but let's get those things out first."

With great care, the two men removed the stainless steel needles from the boy's abused body. Aside from Christopher's lips, there was very little bleeding, much to the young gladiator's relief. Bruce removed the dildo and lowered the pulley, returning the boy's backside to the table. The cock and ball harness remained, as did the boy's eager erection.

Lance got up onto the table and straddled the boy's middle. "You've earned this one, Chris."

And so Chris got his cock sucked for the first time in his young life. He'd sucked Joshua's dick before, back home, but his little brother would never return the favor. Lance worked slowly, enjoying the feel of the boy's hard, rigid sex in his mouth. He breathed in deep. The sweet sweaty smell of thirteen-year-old boy was like a drug to him. Chris was so wound up by now that it wouldn't have taken him long at all if Lance hadn't been so adept. Finally he felt that familiar burning in his balls and knew he was going to cum. Nothing could stop that now. He clenched his fists, closed his eyes, shouted out in ecstasy and shot his load of creamy white boy seed into Lance's mouth.

"Oh, yeah!"

Chris slumped weakly and lay motionless on the metal table. He'd never had such a hard cum in all his life. The thirteen-year-old's penis slowly returned to its flaccid state, but, constrained by the cock and ball harness, it remained swollen, his foreskin still drawn partially back, his soft satiny ball sack a dark angry red. The boy moaned. Now that the intense pleasure of his orgasm was fading, the pain and ache of his tortured body began to overcome him once more. Tears formed in his exhausted eyes and he began to cry, softly. He would have given anything in that moment to be allowed to go home. With his blue eyes closed, he didn't see Bruce select a heavy wooden paddle from the wide array of disciplinary instruments hanging on the wall. Lance took the older man's wrist and slowly shook his head.

"Don't, Bruce, please. I don't think he can take anymore."

Bruce brushed his young submissive partner aside. "The boy will take whatever I give him. Pleasure doesn't come without a price. You had to learn that lesson when you were his age. So does he. Get him over to the stocks."

Chapter 31
Shrinking Danny's Dick

As he ran home, he passed a work brigade of slave boys, all white, all under the age of thirteen and all naked except for the iron collars around their necks. They were chained together by their collars, sweeping the dirt and trash from the curbs. Two overseers, young black men in official government uniforms were supervising the boys, with shock sticks at the ready. The two men tipped their caps to Samuel as he went by. Samuel returned the gesture and smirked at the six white boys. His eyes paused briefly at the chastity pods that encased their genitals. The boys on WBG also wore things like those. He wondered what it would feel like to have his penis locked away forever. Just the thought was enough to make his boyhood jump to life in his shorts. Now with a plainly visible erection, the young eleven-year-old turned through open gate of his family's walled estate.

"Good evening, Mister Samuel," his family's white gardener said to him as the boy strode up the walk toward the sprawling single story mansion. Sam knew that once upon at time the gardener's ancestors probably lived here, but today in South Africa whites were kept strictly in their place.

Samuel acknowledged the man with indifference and scampered under the colonnades of the main house.

"Pieter!" he called out rather impatiently when he reached the hallway. His voice was just showing the first signs of puberty. "I'm home…"

Seconds later, a nude white boy scurried into the hall. He was roughly the same age as Samuel, a few months older perhaps, but several inches shorter, with firm little muscles reflecting a life of hard work. He had blonde hair and blue eyes and a sweet round freckled face. An iron collar was welded around his neck, and a small ID tag hung from the steel ring in front of it. His genitals were somewhat small for a boy soon to be twelve. He had plump grape-sized testicles stretched low by a two-inch [5 cm] wide metal band locked tightly around his scrotum. It was a rather painful adornment that he'd received when he was nine. The result was that his balls now formed a swollen purple mass at the end of the shiny metal band. Simply touching them was enough to make the boy wince. The boy had a slim two-inch [5 cm] long, tightly circumcised penis, the end of which was pierced with a thick heavy steel ring. Except for the shoulder-length hair on his head, his body was completely hairless. He'd sprouted a few pubic hairs in recent months, but they were always removed before they could thicken or spread.

"You're supposed to be waiting for me," Samuel almost pouted as the white naked white boy took his backpack.

"I'm sorry, Master," Pieter replied with his head bowed.

"Well, you should be… and why aren't you wearing your belt?"

Pieter normally wore a wide leather belt around his slender waist. The ring at the tip of his tightly skinned cock would be clasped to a ring in the center of the belt, holding his cock up toward his stomach. Pieter's frequent erections were generally ignored, and he was strictly forbidden to touch himself. The belt served as a humiliating and constant reminder of his status in the Nguni household.

Pieter gave Sam an embarrassed look. "The missus, Master Sam, she was washing me this morning… I had a couple of hairs down there that had to come out…" he winced at the memory of the mistress' tweezers. "She sent me out to work in the garden, Master Sam, till you got home, Master Sam. She said she didn't want the belt to get dirty…" Pieter was generally not allowed to say much more than variations of 'Yes, master' or 'No, master', and so he stumbled awkwardly over his words. Like Samuel, his voice was just beginning to change.

"Oh," Sam smiled. "Well, we should go find it. You know you're not allowed to have your thing hanging free like that."

Pieter gave his master a shy grin and gazed down at his soft penis. "I know, sir. It feels weird."

"Let's hurry," Sam said, attaching a chain leash to Pieter's collar. "Gladiators is on at six. If you make me miss it, I'll have your ass whipped."

Pieter van der Merwe, eleven years and nine months old had been a slave in the Nguni house since he was five. He and his young master had grown up together. It could be said that they were friends, up to a point, but Samuel never let the white boy forget that he was a slave, his slave. Pieter knew the treat of an ass whipping was not an empty one. He still had a hard time sitting down from the one he got the week before at Samuel's command. Pieter was always kept naked, even in public, and so his perpetually red and bruised rear end was always on display for everyone to see.

At five minutes to six, Pieter was once again properly secured in his belt and the two boys were in Samuel's big room on the cool south side of the house.

"Turn the television on," Sam said as he took off his clothes and rummaged through his drawers to find a pair of shorts. Pieter had seen Samuel naked since they were little, and of course Pieter himself could not remember ever wearing clothes at all. Still, on the cusp of puberty, seeing Sam's smooth brown skin and his long thick penis, considerably larger than his own, caused him to get a weird tingly feeling between his legs. He turned on the liquid crystal HD set and programmed the right channel. He enjoyed Gladiators just as much as his master did, and for the next two hours, he and Sam would shout and giggle and cheer like best boy friends, rather than boy-master and boy-slave.

Sammy pulled on a pair of white cotton shorts, adjusted the ample contents hidden inside them and sat down on his soft floor cushion. "Go get me a snack," he ordered. "Hurry or you'll miss something."

Pieter took off toward the kitchen. Sam picked up the remote and adjusted the volume. He slid his right hand absent-mindedly into his shorts and fondled his dick. He was fully erect by the time the WBG logo flashed on the screen and the 'Olympics'-style theme music began. He was stroking himself slowly when Pieter returned with sodas and cold sandwiches for them both.

Sam grinned shamelessly and pointed to the obvious and rather large tent in his shorts. "You can take care of this for me after the show."

"Yes, Master Sam," Pieter replied, handing his master, and his only friend in the whole world, his noticeably larger share of the early evening snack he'd sneakily procured from the pantry.

Back on the island. Christopher remained in the training room with Bruce and Lance well into the evening. At the moment he was hanging upside-down, suspended by his slender ankles, a large thick dildo shoved deep into his rectum and a nasty metal clamp on his foreskin. His two temporary masters were beating the soles of his feet with bamboo canes. Already there were livid red stripes on the soft pads of his cute and not-so-little boy-feet. Walking, or even standing, was going to be very difficult for the next few days. The boy was exhausted, but he still managed to shriek and whimper each time they hit him. Even gentle Lance was starting to get into it more and more, enjoying the rare sensation of total power over another human being. Of course, strictly speaking, thirteen-year-old Chris was not a human being. Slaves, even indentured ones, were commodities, often valuable ones to be sure, but they were simply objects to be bought, sold, traded, used and abused as their owners saw fit. There were precious few rules regarding their treatment, and with that great freedom, naturally, came great excess and extraordinarily inventive cruelty.

Thus, it was easy enough for Lance (still legally a slave himself) to believe that the naked, crying and suffering boy was getting exactly what he deserved. Any sympathetic understanding that may have existed between the young man and the young teen had gradually faded away as the hours of torment went by in the training room. Ironically it was Bruce who finally had to grab his young partner's hand and put a stop to Christopher Andrews' ordeal.

"There are rules here about how much pain we can inflict on the boy's feet," Bruce told Lance. "If he can't walk, he can't compete. I don't want to get stuck with an extra fee for damaging the kid."

Lance dropped the cane and gazed at the sobbing upside-down boy. The soles of the thirteen-year-old's feet were a mess.

"Oh, god," Lance whispered. "I didn't mean to…"

"Now you're starting to understand," Bruce said. "Help me get him down."

When Chris was lowered to the cold concrete floor, he curled into a defensive little ball. He was covered in welts and bruises from his shoulders all the way down to his feet. His foreskin was still clamped and the end of the large thick dildo was still sticking out of his butt. His cock hadn't been hard in hours, in fact it was small and shriveled, looking more like it belonged to a little ten-year-old. He felt Bruce's hand on his shoulder and he immediately flinched and tensed, fearing another beating was about to begin. Instead he felt the dildo being slowly pulled from his rectum. It hurt every bit as much coming out as it did going in, but Chris no longer had any strength left to scream. He felt all raw and sore and very wide open back there, and he could feel something wet trickling out of him.

"Roll over, son," Bruce then said in a surprisingly gentle voice. "I can't take that clamp off you dick if you're all curled up."

Chris wasn't sure if he should trust Bruce or not. Maybe this was just a trick. But he really, really, wanted that clamp off his foreskin. It was hurting so bad. With a soft whimper the young teen straightened his legs and rolled onto his back, wincing when his well-punished butt touched the floor. Chris gasped sharply went the clamp came off and the blood rushed back into his foreskin. He looked down at his cock and saw how shriveled and pathetic it looked, and red and sore the tip of his foreskin was.

"You're gonna be hurting for a while," Bruce told him, gently stroking the young teen's soft four-inch [10 cm] penis. "But we didn't break the skin, so I don't want to hear you complaining. Now, on your feet. We'll get you cleaned up once we get back to the room."

Chris had a hard time getting his legs to work at all, and when he finally did, the pain in his feet made it impossible for him to stand up. He tried twice while Bruce and Lance watched him, but there was no way he was walking out of this room.

"I can't do it," the boy mumbled as he dropped to his knees. He was ashamed and humiliated and deathly afraid that this would only result in even more punishment.

"You can crawl then," Bruce announced, attaching the leash to the boy's collar once more. Lance gathered up all of the extra gear, including Chris' chastity cage, and the two men led the boy out of the training room. Chris got no relief from his exhaustion as he was again harnessed to the cart, this time on all fours, and made to pull them back to their luxury suite on the other side of the island. It was painfully slow going. Bruce was at least lenient with the whip. The sun had already gone down when Chris brought the cart and its passengers back to their room. He was quickly released from the harness, leashed again, and led back into the cool air-conditioned opulence of the VIP quarters.

A glass of cold water, a piece of fruit and an hour locked in the cage helped the boy regain a little of his strength. Chris actually felt rather strange as he lay curled up in the cage. The young teenager was growing accustomed to always being the center of attention. At the moment however, he was being largely ignored. Lance and Bruce were watching various clips and tape-delayed action from other parts of the island. Chris caught a glimpse of the black room. There was Josh, covered from head to toe in black latex and leather. Chris had no way of knowing if Josh was actually still being punished or not. Seeing his brother that way actually made his sore tortured penis twitch and swell and become half hard. Blushing and ashamed of himself, the boy looked away managed to get in a quick cat nap before the unlocking of the cage door woke him.

Chris was given the luxury of twenty minutes to shower, all by himself. He was, of course, under strict orders not to touch his genitals, except to get them clean, but given his recent ordeal in the training room, he had no desire at all to play with himself. His nice teenaged cock hung soft between his smooth shapely legs as he stood under the warm stream and let all the sweat and dirt and blood wash away down the drain. He washed his hair, and then took great care in scrubbing his sore and aching genitals. Chris' balls were still red and swollen, and his penis hurt when he pulled back his foreskin to get clean.

With two minutes to spare, his hair still wet, his flanks still dripping, Chris presented himself to Bruce and Lance. He was no longer particularly modest about being naked around them, or anybody for that matter. He served them their dinner that night and once again got the privilege of feasting on their unwanted scraps. He then helped them pack their bags for their return home in the morning.

"Too bad we can't take you with us, boy," Bruce said, running his hands over Chris' taut abdomen and playfully flicking the thirteen-year-old's soft dangling penis. "We've got a nice big dungeon we could keep you in."

Chris wasn't sure if Bruce was serious. He didn't know anything about the legal details of his indenture. Maybe he could be sold. Either way he knew he wouldn't have any say in the matter. He decided it was best just to keep his mouth shut and keep working. Bruce smiled privately, seeing the fear in the young boy's eyes. He'd been thinking about acquiring a new slave boy, now that Lance was a young man, and Chris certainly fit his preferred criteria, intelligent, blond, muscular, and fairly well hung for a boy of thirteen. Naturally he knew young Christopher Andrews was not for sale. His indenture made him untouchable where that prospect was concerned. But perhaps it was time. And there were hundreds of suitable boys to choose from at the regional processing centers. That hadn't been the case back when he'd bought Lance.

Lance had been sentenced to slavery as an orphaned juvenile delinquent, as most boys were in the earliest days of the Child Enslavement Act. The court system was originally the only real source of new stock for the boy slave markets. That was ten years ago. Things were very different now. Boys from all levels of society were finding their way into the processing centers or the sweltering slave pens, some sold by their parents, some seized by creditors in payment for their parents' debts, some still sent there by the courts, and, increasingly a number of boys who had 'volunteered' to become slaves, in much the way the Boy Gladiators had signed their own indentures. Bruce would have no problem finding the perfect boy to keep locked in the dungeon. But he did decide that before he left the island, he would get young Christopher's home address. A visit to the boy's parents might just be in order.

Chris, for his part, spent the rest of the night naked at Bruce and Lance's feet, being a quiet, submissive little slave boy, fetching them food and drinks, sucking their cocks whenever they demanded it. He was free of his chastity device, and in spite of its recent ordeal his teenaged penis managed several strong erections. He was learning to ignore them, and Bruce and Lance made no further comments about it, nor did they touch it whenever it was hard.

The two men took the boy with them into their bed and set the cute young teenager between them as if he was their beloved pet. Chris' cock-cage remained on the table in the living area. Bruce gave him a stern lecture.

"I'm not going to put that cage on your dick tonight, boy. But you are not to touch yourself, and I don't want to wake up to hear you humping the mattress like some dog in heat, got it?"

"Yes, sir," Chris answered sleepily as he stretched his slim lean torso across the silken sheets. It was the first night Chris had spent in a real bed in almost four weeks. With the two men pressed against him, the exhausted boy drifted off to sleep. He was awakened once, to the not unpleasant feeling of Lance slowly entering him. The younger man fucked the boy gently, came quickly, and withdrew his cock from the boy's well-used hole. They were both asleep again in a matter of minutes.

In the barracks the next morning, eight boy gladiators were all lined up in the showers, washing their slim athletic bodies down under the watchful eyes of the guards. The matron wasn't here this morning, which meant that the boys' erect or semi-erect penises went for the most part unnoticed. Still, all the boys were careful not to touch themselves, and their hard boycocks wagged comically back and forth as they scrubbed and rinsed.

"Wow, Danny," Gabe said to his partner as they showered side by side, "I think your dick is actually getting smaller."

"Stop teasing me, Gabe," the twelve-year-old redhead replied. His was the only penis not currently in some state of erection. Gabe's on the other hand was presently at full mast, a nice thick five-and-one-half inch [14 cm] boy-boner proudly on display. Danny blushed when he once again noticed the huge difference between himself and his partner. "I know. I know its small, ok, I get it."

Gabriel's expression turned serious. "I'm not kidding, Dan. It really does look smaller." He pointed at Daniel's little undersized organ. Danny looked down at himself and surveyed his meager endowment. It did look smaller, even accounting for the effects of the ice cold shower. It wasn't even two inches [5 cm] long. The boy swallowed hard and stared back up at Gabriel in dismay.

"See what I mean?" Gabe asked. "I think your balls are smaller too."

Dan lifted his soft little wiener out of the way and took a hard look at his balls.

"Oh, god, they are smaller!" the boy almost shrieked. "What's happening to me?"

By now the other boys had joined the conversation. "Maybe it's the pills they give us every morning," David suggested.

"But that's supposed to make our dicks bigger," ten-year-old Miles observed, wiggling his slender hips and showing off his presently rock-hard little pickle, all two and three-quarter inches [7 cm] of it.

"Yeah, but they changed Danny's a few days ago," David replied astutely. "They're a different color than the rest of us get, so they must be giving him something different… something to make his dick and balls shrink."

Danny just stood there with a dumbfounded and rather horrified expression on his face. He already had a tiny little dink between his legs, now they were giving him pills to make it even smaller. "Oh, man, this sucks," he said, resting his hands on his hips and once again staring down at his genitals. "If they get any smaller, I won't have anything down here at all."

David, as the oldest, took on a brotherly role and laid his hand gently on Danny's shoulder. "I think that's kind of the idea, mate," he said sympathetically.

Danny wiped his eyes. It was totally unfair. If any boy needed help to make his dick grow bigger it was him, and instead they were going to make it smaller. He didn't have time to complain about it though, as the guards turned off the water, lined the boys up and proceeded to roughly scrub the boys' genitals, leaving eight sets of sore red penises and scrotums ready to be locked away in chastity devices once more.

After breakfast, Calvin Mayfair escorted Danny to the medical department. As always, Danny was required to run at full pace all the way there. Calvin trotted along behind, enjoying the site of the cute muscular naked boy in front of him. Danny had a great set of legs, and all the running was toning them up even more. And the kid's butt was simply fantastic, firm, tight and smooth as silk. Calvin could see the blunt end of the plug sticking out as the boy ran ahead.

Doctor Trench welcomed the young gladiator with a clinical smile and quickly put him on the scales.

"You're at your ideal body weight, Zero-Five. Excellent." She then went through the normal quick check-up routine, listening to his heart and lungs, then checking his eyes, ears, nose and throat.

"Any problems keeping your food down?" she asked the boy. Nausea was a common side-effect of testroxil treatments.

Danny shook his head. "No, ma'am," he answered softly, keeping his eyes at his feet.

"Good. Now, let's get that belt off you and have a look. I'm going to give you a very thorough examination, and you'll be getting several injections today. You're going to be a big boy and behave for me, right?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Calvin handed over the keys to Daniel's chastity belt and the doctor quickly removed it and set it aside. Danny remained silent and perfectly still, with his hands clasped behind his head. Immediately Doctor Trench could see that the testroxil was beginning to have the desired effect. The boy's penis was noticeably smaller than the last time she'd examined him, and his testicles were beginning to shrink nicely too.

"What's happening to me, ma'am?" the twelve-year-old red-head summoned the courage to ask.

"Whatever do you mean, Zero-Five?" Trench replied, knowing full well the urgency of the boy's question but relishing in watching him squirm and curl his little toes in apprehension.

"My… umm… my dingle-dangle, ma'am… I think it's getting smaller…so are my, you know… my balls." The boy's face was a red as the hair on his head.

Trench smiled. "A boy your age is old enough to use the right term," she scolded him, gently flicking his circumcised penis with her forefinger. "From now on, in this office, you will refer to it as your penis. Although, it won't even be a dingle-dangle when we're finished with your treatments. I'm sure you've noticed that you're getting a different pill from the other boys.

Danny nodded his head. "I didn't at first, ma'am. But yesterday I saw it was a different color, ay."

"That's right. Your little parts were so small, we've decided to make them even smaller."

Young Daniel gulped and looked down at his little boy package. "How… how small are they gonna get, ma'am?"

"Well," the woman explained in a kindly, matter-of-fact way, "for the most part your penis will disappear entirely. Your little acorn head there will still stick out, but that's it. That should happen by the end of next week. Your balls will take longer to shrink, but they'll end up the size of marbles. Your scrotum will shrink too."

Danny had never really had much interest in that stuff between his legs, but it was still a devastating blow. He started to tear up almost immediately.

"Oh, it's not that big a deal," Alison Trench told him. "You'll be happier being castrated. Trust me."

Danny's green eyes shoot up at her in panic. He'd heard that word before and he knew what it meant and he knew slave boys often got their boyparts removed. "You're… you're gonna cut my balls off?!" he nearly shrieked he was so distraught.

"No, silly. We don't need to. The chemicals are doing the same thing. You'll still have everything down there, they just won't work anymore."

"Is it… is it gonna be, like, forever?"

"No, Daniel," the doctor replied, using his real name for the first time. "Once you stop taking the pills, everything will start to grow back. But the company is going to keep you like this for your entire indenture."

Danny wiped his eyes. It was still terrible, but at least he knew it wasn't permanent.

"When was the last time you had an erection?" the doctor asked as she examined the boy's testicles and gave them a firm squeeze.

The twelve-year-old boy wrinkled his nose in thought. "Don't know, ma'am. It's been a few days, ay. I guess when Josh 'n me were wrestling."

"And your little penis hasn't been hard since?"

Danny shook his head morosely. "Not really, ma'am. It kinda swells up in the morning, just a bit."

"Rub it for me. Let me see if you can give yourself an erection."

By now, the doctor's assistants had gathered round the naked boy. Danny blushed fiercely and wrapped three fingers around his soft limp little penis. After ten minutes of intense pumping and pulling and yanking, he'd managed to make it red and sore, but it was still perfectly soft.

"Good," Doctor Trench announced after ordering him to stop. "No sign of an erection. You won't be having any more of those for a long time. Now, climb up on the exam table and put your feet in the stirrups. I need to administer an injection into your testicles. This is really going to hurt. Strap him down, ladies."

Once Daniel was on the table, Anna tightened the leathers straps over the boy's thighs and locked his ankle shackles to the stirrups. Karin fitted the chest strap snuggly and secured it in place beneath the table. Together they moved the stirrups out and up, spreading the twelve-year-old's legs painfully and embarrassingly wide. Danny's little parts were now utterly defenseless. Anna then buckled a thin leather strap around the boy's scrotum, forcing his balls out from his body. Doctor Trench had meanwhile prepared the syringes for injecting a concentrated dose of testroxil directly into the boy's testicles.

Curious in spite of his terror, Danny watched as the first needle was pressed against his right testicle. The doctor held it there for a few seconds. Danny winced at feeling of the cold thin sharp point. Then, with wide bewildered eyes, he watched as the three-inch [7½ cm] long needle was pushed half way into his testicle. He opened his mouth to scream in pain and panic, but no sound came out, just a shocked and desperate little squeal. Trench pressed the plunger, injecting the clear fluid. Danny's eyes grew even wider and he winced sharply.

"You'll feel a little burning at first, then it will go numb for a while." She pulled the needle out and set it aside, picking up the second one. "Now let's do the left one."

Again Danny endured the horror of having the thin sharp needle jabbed into one of his testicles. It was all over in an instant, but from the boy's perspective it seemed to take forever. Anna and Karin released the straps and got him back to his feet. The leather strap around his balls remained cinched tightly in place for another five minutes while the doctor continued her examination.

"Bend over and grab your ankles. Keep still now."

Danny's butt-plug was removed and he was given a thorough prostate exam. A few clear drops of prostatic fluid dribbled out of his soft little dick.

"His prostate seems healthy," she informed Calvin and her assistants. "It's going to become extraordinarily sensitive over the next few years, a rather wicked side-effect of the drug. He won't have a single erection or orgasm, and he won't produce any sperm, but he'll be leaking almost constantly."

"How humiliating," Karin said in mock sympathy, playfully fondling the twelve-year-old's now dormant genitals.

"We're done here for now, Cal," Trench told the boy's trainer. "We'll get him plugged and you can take him on his way." She picked up the boy's chastity belt and handed it to Calvin. "I don't think he'll be needing this anymore," she observed, "but rules are rules, aren't they?"

Calvin nodded and quickly locked Daniel back into the chastity belt, making sure the metal genital plate was as tight and snug as possible.

"Come on, limp-dick," he said, tugging at the ring on the boy's collar, you've got weight training this afternoon, and I want you to do some laps in the pool first."

Danny nodded, embarrassed at this turn of event, but determined that he was still going to kick everyone's ass on this island.

"You know the rules, boy. Run to the pool and wait for me. I'll be along in a few minutes. Don't go in the water unless there's another trainer there, got it?"

"Yes, sir," Danny said, all too happy to run from the medical center as fast his gorgeous muscular twelve-year-old legs could carry him.

Chapter 32
Getting Back to Normal?

"You wear this," she said, playfully squeezing the eleven-year-old's oversized bulge beneath the thick cotton padding, "or the chastity belt."

Josh wasn't sure he was actually being given a choice, but he hated that belt. It made his balls go up inside him and he hated having his penis pinned down between his legs. At least in the diaper his dick could get hard if it wanted to and no one would say anything about it.

"Besides, you look adorable. Spaceships, huh? I liked the bunnies better, but boys will be boys. Come on."

"Where are we going, ma'am?" Josh asked politely as Hannah lead him by his chain out into the warm humid tropical morning.

"I'm taking you back to the barracks. We need to get some solid food in you before you do anything else. Then Michella and I have something nice planned for you and One-Zero this afternoon."

Josh didn't much like the sound of that, but his growling stomach and the promise of real food, even slave food, was all he could really think about.

At that same moment, Chris was just waking up in the big soft luxurious bed. His body was stiff and sore, his head hurt, and for the first time since he could remember he didn't have a raging morning boner between his legs. He actually reached down and flicked his soft penis with his fingers. It still ached from being pierced with all those needles.

'No wonder it won't get hard,' Chris thought, thinking back to yesterday and the horror of the training room. He moved around under the silken sheet and arched his back and let out a big yawn. Lance was still there in bed beside him. Bruce could be heard moving around out in the living area. Chris managed to sit himself up on one elbow. He gazed at Lance's sleeping face and allowed his eyes to trail down the young man's lean and superbly muscular torso. Rather naturally or artificially, Lance's body was just as hairless as his own, except for that dark patch of pubic hair crowning his cock. Chris' sleeping penis finally seemed to wake up and swelled to a semi-erect state. The thirteen-year-old boy blushed. He felt sort of embarrassed. He'd never looked at a grown man, even though a very young one, this way before.

As if it had a mind of its own, he found his hand slowly running down Lance's smooth chest.

'Oh, god, what am I doing?' the boy thought as his young heart raced. But he didn't stop. Instead he moved closer and continued his explorations until his hand reached Lance's abdomen. Lance opened his eyes and smiled at him.

"I… uh… I was just… umm…"

"You're curious. It's okay. I was a gay boy myself… not too long ago."

"Can I… you know…" Chris pointed to Lance's erection. "Can I suck it?"

"Hmmm, a sexy thirteen-year-old boy wants to suck my dick," Lance said with a grin. "What should I say?"

Chris smiled back shyly. In that moment, with sleep still in his eyes and his hair mussed from tossing and turning, he looked considerably younger than his proud thirteen years. He curled himself up slowly, his bruised and aching body making him wince. He stroked Lance's penis with his left hand first, then, timidly, he took the young man's sex into his mouth. Chris was quickly becoming quite adept at this task, but this was the first time he'd initiated it. It actually felt rather dizzying.

"Don't ever be ashamed of who you are, Chris," Lance whispered, gently stroking the young boy's back, careful to avoid the painful welts that remained from the night before. It didn't take Chris long to make Lance cum, and the boy dutifully swallowed all of the young man's seed.

Thirty minutes later, without breakfast and with a growling stomach, Chris was standing at the entrance to the barracks, once again locked in his chastity device, plugged, and wearing all of the leather gear he'd started off in. His body was bruised and sore, his back, buttocks and the backs of his thighs were covered in welts. The soles of his feet still hurt a lot. He was glad this latest ordeal was over, but he was also scared. He'd missed two days of training, and the next round of competitions was due to start tomorrow. He knew he wasn't going to be ready.

Bruce swatted the boy on the rump after signing him back over to the guards at the gate. "See you around kid," he said. "We'll be back next year."

Lance didn't say anything at all. He gave the boy a kindly glance then turned and walked off with his partner toward the airstrip.

The guards marched Chris inside, removed all of the leather and replaced it with the iron collar and shackles the boy had now become accustomed to wearing. To his delight, there was a breakfast tray waiting for him on the table. It had gone cold some time ago, but he didn't mind at all. He sat down gingerly on his sore tender butt and ate ravenously, occasionally raising his head to look around. The barracks were deserted this morning. He assumed all the other boys were out practicing and training. His eyes fell to the lighted scoreboard which was now a permanent fixture on the far wall. The points and standings for the new week so far were up there. Being out of action for two days, Chris only had the demerits he'd gotten on Sunday, and no bonus points at all. That put him squarely in the middle of the pack, which really wasn't a bad place to be when it came right down to it.

'Could have been worse,' he thought to himself. He saw that his brother was no longer in last place, although he was very much in the red. Illya was leading once again. Generally well-behaved and demonstrating amazing athletic prowess and endurance the shy Russian lad, who seldom opened his mouth, was quickly becoming the boy to beat in the early days on the island. The rest of the boys were spread out evenly. He was surprised to see little Miles in the top three.

'That'll change,' he thought smugly. All the boys liked Miles, but they didn't consider him to be a real Boy Gladiator like they were. He was just a little kid after all, what competition could he possibly be to them?

Chris just returned his attention to his breakfast, now even colder, when he heard a soft and familiar voice behind him.

"Hey, Chris."

It was Josh.

Chris turned and saw his little brother for the first time in several days. Actually this was just about the longest either of them could remember ever being totally separated. Chris immediately noticed Josh's diaper but decided not to say anything for the moment. He was too happy to see him. He got up from the table and the two boys hugged, something they almost never did.

"Are you ok?" big brother asked.

"Yeah, I'm good," little brother answered and the two of them sat down to talk.

"What was it like in that room?"

Josh tried to put on a brave front for his older brother, but Chris could see the fear that flashed into the younger boy's eyes at the mere mention of it. "Aw, it wasn't that bad," Josh lied. "The suit they put me in felt weird, like another skin or something… the hood sucked… and they put this tube thingy in my dick… still kinda hurts when I pee…"

"What's with the diaper, Joshie?"

"They said I need that when they took me outta there, now Hannah thinks I look cute in it, so I gotta wear it for a while."

Chris had to admit his little brother did actually look adorable in the puffy white diaper with the colorful spaceships. If he hadn't been so tired he'd have teased him about it mercilessly.

Josh looked down at his cotton-clad middle and pointed to the ships. "At least these are kinda cool. When I woke up, they had me in bunnies!"

"Bunnies!" Chris laughed.

"Yeah, for serious, man, like I'm some little kid or… or like a girl or something."

"There's boy bunnies too," Chris giggled and nudged his little brother in the leg.

"Duh, I know that. What happened to you? You look like total shit."

"Thanks, bro. I… uh,… I got rented, for two days…"

"Rented? Oh, you mean…"

"Yeah."

"What did they do to you? Did they, you know, make you do sex stuff?"

"Yeah," Chris said with a sigh. Thinking back it was so hard, the things Bruce and Lance did to him and made him do, and yet some of it was really kind of exciting. As proof, his abused cock twitched inside its cage. "Yeah, sex stuff… lots of that…"

Josh was full of questions. "Did they, um, put their, uh, thingies inside you?"

"You mean, did they fuck me?"

Josh smiled and blushed. It was weird hearing his brother say that word. They weren't allowed to use words like that at home. "Yeah, that."

"Often. My butt still hurts. I had to suck their dicks too."

"Bet you liked that part, didn't you?"

Chris was shocked. "You don't know anything about that, so shut up."

"Oh, come on, Chris. I've known you were gay for as long as you've known you were gay. What's the big deal."

"I am NOT talking to my little brother about this, ok? Period."

"K. Just want you to know it think its cool… you know how you like boys 'n stuff. You think I'm cute?"

"Shut up, Josh," but Chris said it with a smile and the Andrews brothers spent the next few minutes joking and teasing just like they did back home. Hannah then came for Josh, and Jason arrived for Chris shortly thereafter.

"Damn, kid, you look like hell. What did those guys do to you anyway?"

Chris didn't bother to answer. He just stood there stoically as Jason attached his chains. "Better go easy on you today. We'll start in the weight room and go from there."

"Yes, sir," Chris replied with a glum and worried expression. He knew he was in no shape to lift weights, or do anything. He just wanted to sleep, but that would obviously have to wait.

In Special Training Room One, Joshua and David were presently on their knees in front of Hannah and Michella who were seated side by side. The two women had tied the boys' hands behind their backs with rope. Josh had lost his diaper and David was temporarily freed of his chastity cage. The eleven and fourteen-year-old boys had their heads between the legs of their boy-hating lesbian trainers and were learning, rather awkwardly, how to pleasure them.

"Mmmm," Michella moaned, turning her gaze to Hannah. "I never thought I'd get so much fun out of a naked little boy…" she paused to kick David in the thigh. "Let me feel your tongue you stupid brat."

"You've got him hard," Hannah said, observing David's throbbing, leaking erection. "Can't say the same for dick-boy here. Get it up, Zero-Two. I want that big thing nice and hard. Get it hard for me."

At eleven, Josh really didn't have too much control over when his penis got hard and when it didn't. He knew it seemed to misbehave at all the wrong times, and now, when Hannah wanted him to spring a boner, he couldn't get one.

"Five demerits, Joshie," Hannah said with relish. The boy whined plaintively, but did not dare stop using his tongue between the woman's legs. "You know, Mich, we really should look into buying a boy. If we went in together, we could get a real cute one just like these two."

Michella leaned back and panted for a moment. David was clearly doing a much better job at his assigned task than young Joshua. "What was that… oh, a boy. I've thought about that too. You don't think Durand would object, do you?"

"What business is it of his what we do in our free time? Keep going, Josh, this doesn't concern you. Durand keeps that pet boy of his, parades him around the island like a trophy. Let's save up and do it."

Michella smiled and gasped again. "Good boy, David. Don't stop… mmmm…"

"We can check the on-line brokerage firms tonight after the reception and see what they've got. Just think, Mich, a little piece of boy-meat all our own… we could do things to him we can't do with these two…"

Michella however was getting close to an orgasm and wasn't really paying her partner much attention. She grabbed the back of David's head and pressed the boy closer. The fourteen-year-old was now groaning and struggling to somehow get his bound arms to reach around to his desperately hard dick, but there was no way he could do it. With the plug constantly massaging his over-active adolescent prostate and his penis normally encased in a stainless steel cage, to say he was frantic for an orgasm was a mild understatement.

"Don't you worry about that little thing between your legs, Davy," Michella said in her most evil manner. "You have a session with the milking machine as soon as we're done."

David moaned again and flinched at the mere mention of that terrible machine. He clearly remembered the last time, the humiliation of being up on that table on his hands and knees, his balls dangling between his thighs, his cock imprisoned in that steel tube, and the exquisite ecstasy and agony of being milked dry by the relentless, merciless machine.

William Durand was interrupted from reading the latest financial reports by Trevor's timid knock at the study door.

"Yes, Trevor," he said rather impatiently. The boy had been cleaning the house today and not being terribly quiet about it.

"I'm sorry, master, but Jason Sanborne is in the hall. He… um, well, he said he'd knock me silly if I made him wait on the porch. He's… he's got one of them with him… one of the gladiators, sir."

Durand raised his right eyebrow. He had established strict rules about who could be admitted into his private mansion, and the ten Boy Gladiators were most definitely not on the list.

"I think he's really mad about something, sir…" Trevor continued, nervously wiggling his toes.

"Really?"

"Quite pissed, I'd say, sir," the small slender fourteen-year-old replied with a worried look.

"Watch your language, Trevor. Why don't you go down to the beach while I take care of Mister Sanborne. I'll join you later."

Trevor's eyes lit up and he promptly stripped off his skimpy thong (a pink one today) revealing his smooth lean body and his tiny almost non-existent genitals. He could get to the beach through the glass doors of the study and he quickly ran through.

"Thank you, master," he managed to shout as his feet hit the wooden deck.

Durand gazed after his prize boy for a moment, then rose, straightened his designer shirt and walked purposefully into the hall. He found Jason standing there with an angry scowl on his face and next to him, wrists and ankles in chains, just as Trevor had reported, was one of the boy gladiators. He stared at the lad for a moment and recognized him as the older Andrews boy.

"Good afternoon, Jason." He did not bother extending a greeting to the naked indentured boy. "I don't suppose it occurred to you to leave that little animal chained outside."

"He's the reason I'm here, sir," Jason said, trying to contain his mounting anger. Chris was simply a mess at the moment. Too sore and exhausted and too mentally distressed from his ordeal to focus on his training. He was going to be useless during the weekend competitions, if he could compete in them at all. That meant demerits, lots of them, and even though Jason had no particular hesitation to see the boy punished in extraordinary ways, the fact was that Christopher's performance, good or bad, reflected directly on him. If Chris lost, Jason lost, in a manner of speaking. "Look at him, Bill."

Durand was no fool. He knew from the first that the boy must have been badly used in the last few days. His lithe thirteen-year-old body was covered in bruises and welts and even extra food and a warm shower had done little to erase his haggard appearance.

"Do I need to explain it further?" Jason asked. "How in the hell do you expect me to get this boy ready to compete, or keep him in proper training, when he's spending his days with our sadistic clients?"

"I certainly agree that Bruce got a bit carried away. He has that reputation."

"That's not really the point," Jason continued, letting got of the chain attached to Christopher's collar. It dropped against the boy's chest. "I have no problem with seeing this boy suffer, that's part of the arrangement, I knew that when I signed on, and so did he for that matter," he swatted Chris on the butt. "But we make money and get ratings when our boys are on camera and when they're competing. It's just bad for business if I can't get this kid into the arena."

"He won't be competing this weekend?"

Jason shrugged his shoulders. "Certainly not in some of the events. He can barely walk, let alone run. Show him your feet, Zero-Seven."

Chris obediently turned around and raised his left foot then his right, revealing the nasty livid stripes that still made each step painful for him.

"Oh, dear. That is serious," Durand replied.

"You are damn right it is, Bill. These boys represent a huge investment in time, energy and money. They're animals, yes, but thoroughbreds. We need to be more careful with them."

Durand was not an unreasonable man. He hadn't become the head (and owner) of the world's most influential multi-media empire without listening to good advice when it came his way. "What do you suggest, Jason? That we stop offering the boys' services to our clients? I am sorry, but that option is just too lucrative to abandon. We made half-a-million this week from those two boys."

"Just tone things down a bit, Bill. Twelve hours, twenty-four max, and certain body parts that would affect their athletic performance must be off-limits from now on."

"That is a sensible compromise. We can't have them laying in medical when we go live on the weekends, can we?"

"That won't be good for the project, sir."

"I agree. We'll discuss changing the rental options at our staff meeting tomorrow. Acceptable?"

"Perfectly."

"Good. I'll see you at the reception this evening. Our newest group of visitors should start arriving later this afternoon."

Jason grabbed the chain attached to Chris' collar and gave the boy a firm tug indicating it was time to go.

"Oh, and Jason. If you ever bring one of those filthy little beasts into my home again, you will be on the next plane out. Understood?"

"Perfectly."

By evening, all ten boys were together again for the first time in several days, just in time for the latest reception for the incoming group of VIPs and special guests. It was only Wednesday, but now that the show had officially begun, guests had started arriving throughout the week in accordance with their own private schedules. The regular weekly reception was thus moved up to ensure that those who arrived earlier in the week had something to look forward to. This would mark the first week of the normal competition schedule as well, with the boys engaged in intense training on Thursdays and a new round of events and ordeals starting first thing Friday morning. The boys of course were not specifically told about these changes. It was none of their business after all. It was their job to go where they were told, do what they were told and not ask questions.

As before they were dressed in their short skin-tight sleeveless tunics and their even shorter and tighter white shorts which revealed ten cute boy-bulges, some very large, a few very small, but all incredibly adorable. The boys' chastity devices had been removed for the evening, and they remained under the strict rules of not touching themselves or having orgasms without permission.

Once again the floor of the main arena played to host to the island's new arrivals. Some had boys with them, invariably clad in a wide array of chains, irons, leather and latex, others seemed to be alone, but all of them were sharply dressed. The boy gladiators stood at attention in the midst of this gathering of well-to-do men and women of power and influence. Showered, scrubbed and all now with nicely bronzed skin, they each turned slowly in a circle so everyone could get a good look at them. Five pairs of muscular berry-brown boy legs were on display, ten firm adorable little butts, presently clad in tight white shorts. Their hair had started to grow in some and by popular demand it had been decided that all the boys would be wearing their hair long. The boys' tunics were all embarrassingly short, revealing their taut toned abdominal muscles and their adorable and highly kissable navels. The guests applauded their appearance.

The gladiators knew their roles this evening without being told and immediately went to the serving tables to pick up their trays of food. They moved about quickly from guest to guest and group to group, having formed a silent pact that speed and agility might help them avoid having their cocks and balls played with. All of them remembered their punishments for having unauthorized orgasms at this same event the week before. The spanking machine was already set up at the far end of the arena to chastise any boy whose penis misbehaved.

Chris alone amongst the boys could not keep up with their swift pace. While the others, including his little brother danced and dodged playfully around the guests, the thirteen-year-old was a boy in slow motion. His feet hurt so bad, and his joints were stiff. As the only easy catch, he was the first of the boys to be relieved of his shorts, forced to walk around nude from the waist down with his nice long teenaged cock swinging provocatively between his legs.

Of course, the boys' plan to avoid prodding and probing hands backfired on them. By swirling and skipping and dashing around the arena, they only incited more excitement and interest from the crowd. Catching one of the boys long enough to fondle the contents of his shorts became each guest's principle objective. The trainers all looked on with wry smiles.

"Little shits thought they were going to get away with something, didn't they?" Roger Bramley said to young Sergei Casparev, Illya's big brother.

Sergei himself, being only seventeen, was receiving quite a bit of attention from certain elements of the crowd too. Those who preferred older boys found him to be rather irresistible, but Sergei wisely turned down their many offers. As the junior-most trainer he had to watch his step, but he was not above flirting and teasing. On several occasions Illya came over to him in an attempt to get away from the grasping hands of the VIPs. The boy had so far managed to keep both his shorts and his tunic, but his enormous semi-erect penis, trapped inside the tight white shorts made a tempting target. Sergei showed a rare moment of mercy, allowing his little brother to stand close to him for a few minutes while he pretended to decide which finger-food he should select from the boy's tray.

"Thanks, Serge," Illya whispered before he was sent back into the fray.

By the time the food was consumed to everyone's satisfaction, Chris, Philippe, and David were completely nude. Danny and Gabe had lost their tunics but not their shorts. Ian, Josh, and Alexei were missing their pants but still had their tunics, and by some miracle, little Miles and tall muscular Illya were still fully dressed, if that term could be applied to those skimpy uniforms.

As a special bonus, the boys were all returned to the center of the arena where a low platform had been set-up by the mules. The gladiators all stood there together wondering what was going to happen next.

"I hope everyone has brought their cameras," William Durand announced. "The boys are now available for photographs. But first I think the ones who are still wearing clothes should take them off, don't you?"

The guests shouted in agreement and soon chants of "Strip! Strip! Strip!" were being directed at the partially dressed boys. Moments later all ten boy gladiators were standing there under the harsh lights in all their pre-teen and teenaged glory. Being so exposed naturally induced erections in several of the boys and that's when the flashes from the digital cameras began.

For the next hour, the boys were subjected to an embarrassing photo session. They had to pose in lewd and provocative positions, bending over and spreading their butt-cheeks, having their genitals photographed from close-up, being forced to kiss one another, masturbate one another to the brink of orgasm, the older boys made to lick their pre-cum off their cocks with their fingers. One group had taken Gabe and Miles (the two British boys) aside and were making Gabriel insert his penis into Miles' little butt. Of course Miles had been plugged and had dildos shoved up there since his arrival, just like the older boys, but Gabe's was the first real penis that had been forced inside him. It hurt a lot and the little boy screamed and cried and begged for Gabe to take it out. Gabriel wanted to, but strong adult hands on his slender waist held him firmly in position as frame after frame of Miles' rough deflowering by an older boy was captured and would soon be in private collections all around the world. This of course was the first time twelve-year-old Gabe had put his five-inch [15 cm] erection into anyone or anything and he couldn't believe how great it felt. He came inside the crying ten-year-old's butt a few minutes later. He tried not to, but it just felt so incredibly good. He clenched his eyes closed, tensed his muscles and shot his milky not-quite-teenaged seed into the little boy's rectum. Miles was humiliated and sobbing and he collapsed on the floor when the adults finally let Gabe pull out. The older boy knelt down beside him and patted him on the back.

"I'm sorry, Miles, I really am," he whispered before being led away to the spanking machine. For having an orgasm without permission, Gabriel would soon discover that he was indeed very, very sorry.

By the end of the evening, only half of the boys had spent time on the Boy-Spank 350, but all of them were rather worse for wear. The march back to the barracks was a dead silent one. They were allowed to shower again, given a small snack and a glass of milk, locked into their chastity devices once more and secured in their cells for the night. The second week of live competition would start on Friday. Tomorrow they had a full day of harsh physical training to look forward to.

"I can't believe they took all those pictures of us," Josh said to David as the two boys settled onto their bunks. Happily he was not in a diaper. Unhappily, his cock and balls were once again confined by the metal plate of his chastity belt. "I mean can't they just watch us on TV like everyone else?"

David, for his part, got a rather strange thrill from showing off his body for camera. He was a well-built kid, with a lithe body perfectly proportioned and toned for swimming. He was proud of the way he looked, and happy about how much stronger he'd gotten since he'd been on the island. "I don't know, mate," he replied thoughtfully, his adolescent voice cracking, "I thought it was kinda nice. The way they look at us, you know…"

"I don't like the way they look at me, they tease me about my big dick."

"So do I," the fourteen-year-old replied with a crooked grin.

"That's different. You're my friend, and I tease you about yours too."

"Mine isn't really that small, Josh. Yours is just way too big."

"Shut up, Davy," the younger boy said, mimicking Michella's sweet sarcastic tone when saying his name.

David was across the space between the bunks instantly and on top of Josh a split second later.

"Wanna wrestle me, huh?" Josh asked, squirming under the bigger boy's weight.

The two boys laughed and grappled for a few minutes before David called it off and returned to his bunk.

"Night, mate. Let's kick ass this week, ok?"

"Totally," Josh said, curling onto his side and drifting off to sleep.

Thursday was a mad whirlwind of activity. It was now September, and the tropical hurricanes had started. The first one of the year was passing well to the east, but it brought torrential rains to the little island, adding to the boy gladiators' collective misery as they were driven along from activity to activity. By mid-day they had gotten used to being soaking wet. At least the strong winds helped keep them somewhat cool.

Still sore and tired from his ordeal with Bruce and Lance, Chris stubbornly struggled through the day, resisting Jason's offers of leniency.

"Kid's got balls," Ian's trainer Anthony observed as he stood beside Jason watching his own boy power through a set of push-ups.

"Not going to do him much good tomorrow," Jason replied. Somewhat frustrated he called to boy over to him. Chris stood in front of his trainer with a defiant look in his otherwise tired eyes.

"What?" the boy snapped, forgetting his place.

Jason reminded him with a sharp slap to the face.

"Don't speak to me that way, boy."

"Sorry, sir," Chris lowered his eyes and seemed to lose his teenaged bravado.

"Are you a complete idiot?" Jason asked.

"No, sir," Chris answered, feeling hurt and ashamed. "I don't understand, sir. I'm supposed to try my best all the time, right? I'm behind, you know… I gotta catch up…"

Jason's tone softened, as did his expression. He liked Chris. He really did. For all sorts of not entirely objective reasons. He reached out and laid a hand on the boy's shoulder. "That's true, but what's going to happen to you if you wear yourself before tomorrow even gets here?"

"I'll lose."

"That's right. So take it a little easy on yourself. No one gets points for being first today."

Chris raised his head and gave Jason a quick smile. That really did make sense. He was glad Jason was thinking about stuff like that all the time so he didn't have to. It was hard enough just being a slave. With a pat on the rump the boy was sent on his way once more. Thursday ended for all the boys with an unusually large if not necessarily tasty dinner, and they were all locked in their cells early that night, with strict instructions not to stay up talking.

At eleven o'clock the next morning the blue and white flags with the WBG logo were fluttering above the high outer walls of the hippodrome, indicating an event was about to begin. Inside the stands were empty, but only because the large crowd was instead gathered along the edges of the two straightaways. Five small wooden sledges were positioned at the start-finish line. With the loud blaring of the Worldwide Boy Gladiators theme over the speakers, the ten young warriors, fresh from breakfast, ran out of the tunnel in military lockstep. Their regular slave collars had been exchanged for thicker, heavier ones with sharp spikes. They were wearing their wrist and ankle shackles, as always, but they were not chained. The boys' various chastity devices had been removed and replaced with tight-fitting cock and ball harnesses that induced erections, or at least obvious swellings in all the young penises. Even Daniel's was hanging longer and thicker than normal, simply because of the blood trapped inside it by the steel rings of the harness. He wasn't hard. By now Daniel knew that he would not be able to have an erection again for the next four years. He wasn't sure exactly how he was supposed to feel about that, but at the moment he had the latest upcoming event to occupy his mind.

Josh, much to his relief, was not wearing a diaper. He stood there in the tropical sun with his hard oversized penis jutting straight out and bobbing rapidly with the beat of his pulse. With his punishment and his time spent in medical, the eleven-year-old had missed the whole week of training, and even though his joints were still stiff and sore he was eager to get back to competing. Everything else about the island and being a slave totally sucked, but he liked the thrill of competition, of pitting himself against the bigger, older, stronger boys. He promised himself he'd never chicken out, no matter what they did to him. A little snarl came to his lips as the crowd cheered.

As a group they ran a single lap around the track, to be sure everyone on both sides got a chance to see them. Then, as with the start of each live competition, the boys formed a straight line in front of the spectators and saluted. They all smiled sheepishly at each other, giggled as if they shared a secret, then in unison they shouted:

"We are BOY GLADIATORS! We've got muscles, we've got cocks, we're brave and strong… and we don't wear socks…"

Young Ian, who came up with this new chant at breakfast, then shouted in his high unbroken voice, "We don't wear anything!"

All ten of them then struck various poses and wiggled their boy-cocks and cute little butts at the spectators. The crowd laughed. The trainers frowned. William Durand, from his luxury box, smiled. His boy gladiators were definitely becoming stars.

With the preliminaries out of the way, and Mike Brussard's camera teams ready, the first of the day's events was set to start. The oldest boys were prepared first. They were made to sit down on the wooden sledges bearing their respective numbers. The sledges were completely flat with two metal rings on each side. The trainers quickly attached their boy's wrist and ankle shackles to these rings, ensuring that the young gladiators would not be able to get off the sled until the event was complete. The boys were sitting up straight, with their arms slightly behind and their legs bent up and spread wide in front of them, their harnesses and excited genitals on lewd display. Thirteen-year-old Illya's freakish eight-inch [20 cm] erection drew gasps of amazement and some laughter from the crowd.

The biggest of the boys just barely fit on the sledges. All of them still had their butt-plugs in, so they were squirming uncomfortably on the hard flat wooden surfaces. Their discomfort only increased when the trainers attached large heavy clamps to their nipples. Poor Chris' nipples were already sore and swollen from being pierced and tortured by Bruce. He screamed and wailed and bucked like a wild horse when the hard merciless steel clamps went on. Of course he wasn't the only boy who shouted, but he was the loudest.

"It can't be that bad, Zero-Seven," Jason told him, "all you've got to do for this one is sit and hold on to the sledge, so stop your whining. I've got even bigger clamps I could use, if you make me look like a fool out here."

That threat was enough for Chris to behave himself. With wet eyes he nodded and tried to regain his composure.

A long thick chain was attached to the end of each clamp. Two more chains of similar weight and thickness were clasped to the d-rings embedded on either side of the boys' cock and ball harnesses. The five older boys now had four heavy chains connected to the most sensitive parts of their young bodies. All the chains were momentarily allowed to lie upon the ground, while the younger boys were prepared for their part in this latest spectacle of pain and suffering. The little ones were first put into knee pads and chest harnesses, then they too received nipple clamps like the ones already bringing tears to their older counterparts' eyes. The five youngsters were given all of thirty seconds to get used to the merciless clamps on their tiny boy-nips.

"Alright, sprouts," Jason shouted, "get down on your hands and knees so your trainers can hook you up to your partners."

The nature of the event suddenly became dreadfully clear to the boy gladiators. A reverse of the positions in the chariot race, with the younger boy pulling and the older boy riding, only this time the boys were chained together by the genitals and their nipples. Ten pairs of young eyes bore very worried expressions. The trainers finished hooking the boys together. One final chain connected the back of the younger boy's harness to the front of his partner's collar.

"Twice around the track, boys," Jason shouted over the rising noise of the crowd. "Winning team is excused from the next event… and trust me, you want to be the winning team."

With a signal from Jason, Roger Bramley blew his whistle to start the contest. The five youngest gladiators crawled forward, groaning in distress as their genitals and nipples were pulled harshly by the chains. Their older partners joined them almost instantly. After moving forward only a few feet, all ten boys were shouting and blinking tears out of their eyes as their most tender parts were yanked away from their bodies. This wasn't going to be an event of speed, but rather simple endurance. Chained to the sledges, the older boys were basically helpless dead weight, all they could do was sit there and shout encouragement, or curses, at their younger partners. Pulling the sled proved to be a particularly difficult challenge for Miles and Ian. Miles because he was by the far the smallest boy, and Ian because his partner Illya was the biggest.

"We are not finishing last, mate!" David shouted at Josh through clenched teeth. His cock and balls had been stretched a good two inches [5 cm] from his hairless groin. His nipples were in much the same painful state. "Go faster!"

"That's easy for you t'say," Josh snapped back. His genitals were now being tugged painfully behind him, his big long oversized penis swinging from side to side as he crawled along. His nipples felt like they were on fire. They were currently in the middle of the pack, but all five teams were within a boys-length of each other, and the pace was slow. Every time one of the little ones tried to speed up and crawl faster, it put more tension on the chains, yanking harder on both of them. And so a team would briefly surge ahead, only to fall back a moment later with both boys screaming their heads off. The boys were absolutely forbidden to stop. The trainers walked or jogged along beside them, delivering incentives with their shock sticks to any pair of boys who looked like they might stop moving forward. All the while the sun blazed down mercilessly upon the anguished naked sweating boys. The crowd cheered and hollered and pelted the young gladiators with pebbles and small stones picked up from the dirt track.

It was, in all, the most painful, cruel, horrible ordeal the boys had yet suffered as a group, but still each team struggled forward, all five of them finishing within a few feet of each other. Danny and Gabe were the winners. Miles and Philippe came in last. This event was particularly unfair to the littlest gladiator. Unlike the chariot race, where the carts were specifically weighted to ensure that each of the pony-boys was pulling roughly the same weight, the sledges were all identical. Small ten-year-old Miles, just barely over four-feet [1.20 m] tall had to pull fourteen-year-old Philippe around the track. It was a testament to the little boy's will and endurance that he managed to finish at all, but last was last, and both boys lost five points for being the final team to cross the line. This left Miles in tears, much to the delight of Mike Brussard who panned in for a close-up as the boy cried. Of all the boys, Miles had had things relatively easy so far, but life on Gladiator Island was harsh and unfair in the most cruel and calculated ways, and things were about to get worse for the ten brave boys who now stood under the hot tropical sun, under the glare of a crowd that was here for the sole purpose of watching them suffer.

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