Scrimshaw & Zelamir

Tribute Boys III:
The Summer Release Festival

Chapter 3-4

Chapter 3

Chapter 3a

Jan carries on the tale starting on the evening of the second Monday of the Games

"We must leave that beautiful golden flesh of your unmarked for your big day, Jan boy, but it would be so exciting to see the arrows thud into you like they did into young Alfonso."

The thought of the arrows piercing me made my cock ache and twitch even harder.

"Randy little boy whore!" My Master said and I knew that I was. "Shall I give you permission to geld yourself and then give you back to your father boy? Then you can watch Mishear dance to his death from his table!"

He squeezed my balls brutally.

"Please Master! Don't let him take me!" I pleaded, but got no answer, he was to intent on taking a length of fine leather thong and tying around my balls and cock . Past him I could see my friend looking relieved, no Tribute Boy is happy about a lonely end. I heard myself moaning and pleading for him to tie me tighter the waves of pain began to wash over me each time he viscously pulled at a knot. I could see my cock purple and bloated straining against my smooth belly.

"We will give you time to feel the full effects that." And he put the clamp on to my left tit.

"Please more!" I screamed and he obliged me by clamping the right one.

For good measure he got an emery board and rubbed each nub until drops of blood formed. Then he started to use the small cane on my swollen cock and balls and I almost blacked out. Then he took my cock in his hand stroking its length, "I think we will make you have a nice swollen penis for your dance." He reached over to the bedside table a picked up what look liked a normal pencil and started to work it into my piss slit; It hurt bad at first but when it got a short way in I realised it was coated with sandpaper. Then without warning my Master drove it hard into me and started fucking my cock with it.

The pain was beyond anything I had felt before and soon the pencil was slick with blood. I screamed and screamed, but would not beg him for mercy. But he was past tormenting me further, his own cock hard and pulsing, leaking the pre cum from the tip; He lifted my legs onto his shoulders and drove into me in one thrust. "Oh please Master! Fuck me! Fuck me, Make your whore cum!"

His coarse hair abraded my bruised balls at every thrust. I contracted my ring about him trying to draw more of him inside me, felt his hands round my neck squeezing brutally, silencing my whore's tongue. Then the flooding warmth in my guts as his sperm filled me. Mine, thick and white now, seared it way out of my bloody piss slit, splashing my chest and belly, then a whirling oblivion full of images of my body writhing in the agony that becomes ecstasy.

I woke, coughing for breath, to the sounds of my Master taking Mishear no less forcibly. I watched him squirm and plead and scream and was hard again. I knew no father would want a depraved whore like me for a son, I would be better dance to my death with my friend to prove my love for the one who had not betrayed my love for him. What glory that would be! I always knew this would be my destiny, but later seeing little Guy's mother weeping tears of joy on the TV made my mind up. Her words "My son's brave and glorious sacrifice has made me and his father the proudest people in the world…" tell me clearly that my father would only despise me eventually if I showed any less courage, just think what our young Master is expected to endure to gain Don Carlos' approval for him as his son and heir!

The interview with my father was embarrassing, how can a freeman be so lacking in respect as to cry and plead like a first year. My Master was strong and firm. "I am afraid what you ask is quite illegal, although I sympathise with your predicament. In any event if I was to loose his services now a lot of my guests next week would want their money back, No! don't insult me by offering money."

My father looked broken.

"There is another thing, the boy made his free choice to gain his Release by dancing with his friend. I could just ignore his request and suggest he gelds himself, right now! Is that what you want, Jan boy? You have your dagger, do it!"

How could I do such a thing and never again feel the sperm surge in my balls? My father would really hate a creature like Secretary around his house. "Please Master, No! I want to make you proud and dance for you!"

"See, quite out of the question! That's the end of the matter. However I feel I should accord with natural justice and have made the boy's guardianship papers over to you. You will then receive full benefit from his performance, and if he just happens to be good enough, you can give your assent to his pardon. You have my word I will give mine. He would then be released into your care, or continue to serve me as we decided was in his best interests."

He turned to me and said "Well its up to you boy, the President might just feel you are good enough… You of course will stay to dinner and spend some time with your son afterwards?" Father nodded dumbly. "And of course you will be my honoured guest at his final performance."

"How can you expect me to just sit and watch my son kill himself, Oh my god this is awful…!"

Then I started to cry. "So I am not good enough for you to watch, I hate you! You are just like my mother…"

Then he lunged at me to strike, but my Master said "Come come, you can have fun disciplining him later, now we must not keep dinner waiting." But he smiled at me and winked.

That night I was ordered to show my Father to the guest room with the words to my father "I do expect you to discipline the brat for his ingratitude, but no permanent marks mind you!"

Father looked grim and angry, I hated him. In the room I stood stiffly inside the door not helping to find where to put his things and unpack as I knew I should but my Master's whispered words rang in my ears. "Make him angry with you enough to beat, then seduce him, you know how. That way he will get the best out of your dance!"

"Jan, why don't you help me, aren't you pleased to see me?"

I knew what would get him going; "No I hate you! You abandoned me to that bitch my mother, you are no better than her! You never wanted me, only Don Carlos wants me!"

"You little bastard…" and quick as a flash his hand caught me round the head and knocked me to the floor.

I staggered up to my knees and realised I was no longer soft. "Go on hit me! I like it, it makes me cum!"

This time grabbed my long plaited tail in my hair and dragged me over to the bed, pulling out his belt as he did so. He threw me on to it and screamed, "You are just a whore like your mother…" and the belt bit repeatedly into my thighs and buttocks; now I was hard and quivering.

"More Daddy! Beat your whore of a son! Please more make me cum!" I raised my buttocks, drew up and spread my knees for him, chest pressed against the bed, I was sobbing now tears streaming down my cheeks. on to my hands.

"Whore!… Whore!… Whore… !" and he struck at my already bruised and battered genitals.

"Oh Daddy… !" and my cum seared its way out of my cock splashing the black silk sheet with white and red, as more blows fell on my buttocks.

Father's anger collapsed like a balloon and he fell on the bed sobbing. "Oh Jan! How could I! How can you forgive me!"

But like any man he responded as I stripped off his remaining clothes, nibbled on his tits, sucked his cock hard, and straddled him and drove him into me. "Come on Daddy fuck your little whore hard and deep!"

He gripped my hips and moaned and thrust into me. "Take my cock right up into your gut Jan! Oh god your cunt is better to fuck than any girl…"

Well I suppose I am a whore, but I am rather good at it and I do enjoy it, I could never live gelded. I got him to take me twice more that night, before creeping back to attend my Master, he always wakes at dawn, I have so few dawns left to show him my devotion.

Chapter 3b

Don Carlos speaks on the morning of the last Tuesday of the Games

It is now seven and there is a loud hammering on the door, who on earth at this hour? A pair of young men in neat suits are ushered in by Secretary. I am handed a large brown envelope.

"I am James Perry, legal attaché to the Central Bureau of Control of Units of Population Resource, Washington. In view of the public concern expressed by the media, the matter of your Units that mutinied has been taken out of the hands of the local court and placed under the direct jurisdiction of the Bureau. I am serving you the sentence on your mutineer. I am instructed to request you to read it aloud to him, and for you to acknowledge you will bow to the will of the Law in this matter. Dr Thatcher here will act as witness, verify that is in good physical condition to make a convincing performance and then photo him for the publicity. I do hope you can produce him for my satisfaction?"

Oh bloody hell! Once the Bureau get involved there is little a mere Master can do to save a brat, or even mitigate the inevitable. Sam is dead meat already, I wonder how many will share his miserable fate? I call for Hassan to bring the boy from Jonathan's rooms where he has been making himself useful. I do not feel this is justified, but I am powerless now.

He stands before me sobbing and shaking with terror, I notice he holds his left wrist where Christopher struck the dagger from his grip, probably broken, well there is no point in wasting money setting it. He is golden skinned with sandy hair, in his fifth year of service and not yet fully into puberty. His little belly still protrudes childlike and his penis has yet to show any real promise. I wonder why Ritchie chose him? Easily dominated to hero worship, I suppose.

"Look at me boy!" He lifts his gaze eyes blank with terror. "You know why you're here?"

He nods dumbly; "But Please Master I meant no harm, I use my right hand so I couldn't have used Ritchie's dagger…"

Touching really thinking his Master could save him, there are some battles one can not fight for the good of the rest. I must show no weakness otherwise tales will be carried back; "Silence you little shit!" and I pick the small whip from off the desk and lash him across the face with it, tearing one ear. He falls screaming and bloodied, Hassan hauls him to his feet, he will be enjoying this. Indeed I feel a sickening excitement at the anticipation of the sufferings of one so young. The boy now stands groggily but without aid. "You will listen to me without interruption, if you talk I will have your tongue taken out immediately and you might need it in your remaining hours."

I took out the summons and read it aloud…

"Noticed served on Don Carlos de Hacienda de los Niños Tributos del Ezzaro, Franchise Holder No 24785123. Concerning Male Unit of Population No UK/2100/456123, temporarily known as Samuel, aged eleven years five months.

The Bureau acknowledges the difficulty of Franchise Holders in dealing with Penal Units and in this case attach no culpability to your handling of the affair. Indeed we are pleased to note you discharge slightly more than your quota each session.

However in the case of this unit, serious public concern has been voiced by the media in view of the public nature of the act of mutiny. Therefore your Franchise on the above Unit will be terminated at 0400 hrs on Wednesday 24th August, 2101. It will be handed over in good condition to the agents of the Bureau, along with culpable siblings Male Unit temporarily known as Thomas aged seven years five months and Female Unit temporarily known as Sarah aged nine years eight months. These will be delivered to you off their flights later this day.

At the appointed hour Dr Thatcher will ascertain that all three units are in such a condition as to put up a sustained and convincing performance; and that they are no longer virgins as required by the Law. He will also administer the first injection to prolong life as long as possible. The media will film them being taken from your villa and paraded through the streets, hands bound behind backs, to the Media Complex, Studio A where sentence will be carried out before an invited audience of Franchise Holders, Loyal Units, and Representatives from the Community and Commercial Interests. These individuals will be invited to comment on the proceedings. The condemned will be given an opportunity to repent.

The sentence of the Bureau is that each Unit in turn, starting with the youngest, will have its shoulders dislocated by being raised and dropped a sufficient number of times by the bound wrists. The ties will then be cut. Each Unit in turn will then be suspended by its wrists and ankles by suitably placed wires and then elevated and stretched into a position that will give the cameras and audience a full view from every angle. The sentence of termination by skewering will then be carried out on the youngest Unit, know as Thomas. A 6 mm skewer will be used inserted though the navel and exiting to the left side of its spine. Dr Thatcher will preside to ensure that the skewer is placed so as to avoid damaging the spinal cord. When further injections fail to get a suitable response for the cameras the sentence of termination by skewering will be carried out on the second Unit, known as Sarah, an 8 mm skewer will be used. When this Unit fails to perform for the cameras, sentence of termination of skewering will be carried our on the Unit held responsible, known as Samuel. In this case a 10 mm skewer will be used. All three Units will be filmed until life responses are no longer present. Unit known as Samuel will be asked by the shows presenter, James Perry, from time to time to comment on his feelings.

The Media proceeds from this performance will be split equally between the three former Franchise Holders by way of compensation and the Bureau in order to cover administrative costs. Finally the Guardians of these Units are to have their breeding permit cancelled and are to surrender their remaining Unit known as William, six years five months, to be disposed of as Grade E Male Unit of Population Resource when it reaches the age of seven years. They are also in breach of contract so all existing pension funds are to be retained by the Bureau.

It should be noted that similar provisions have been made to eliminate the blood line of the Unit known as Ritchie, these five sentences will be carried out in their family town of Brighton, Kingdom of England.

I acknowledge and accept this ruling by the Bureau, etc etc etc.…"

The oily James departs with the good Doctor after a couple of photos of a cleaned up Sam and a cursory medical inspection. He holds the signed document but leaves me a copy. He also makes a leaving comment about watching the performance of my other Penal Unit, Xavier rather closely. "After all Señor it would be so undermining of public confidence if a Franchise holder had had an insurrection and not rooted it out appropriately…" A veiled threat from half knowledge, but none the less serious. I quickly discuss with Hassan appropriate strategies to avoid anything that might embarrass the Hacienda further.

By now Sam has collapsed in uncontrollable sobs of terror. There is only one thing I can do for him now. I have him hauled to his feet "Listen to me boy!" I dictate instructions to Secretary for my Agents to acquire the Franchise of William when it is offered, at Grade A rates. "That is all I can do for you boy, at least that way your parents will not starve in their old age." He grovels at my feet sobbing and clasping my ankles, hot tears fall on my bare feet. "Oh Master Thank you! Thank you! I love you, you are the best Master a brat could have."

I have him hauled away to the cell to await his siblings and his fate, he has distressed me just a little. But on reflection it should be an entertaining show, and as many will pay a premium for underaged termination's twenty five percent of the gate should be good business too. Now I must move on to more immediate things.

First I instruct Jan and Mishear to clean up the brats faeces and urine off the floor, then to train. I order Jan to take his father to the final of the motorbike trials this morning. I feel he has not the taste for our more traditional sports, and then to watch young Tung wrestle in the afternoon. Our little dinner to celebrate Jonathan's marvellous performance will be at dusk so they will have plenty of time together, but I will not let them meet again, too unsettling for a young artist. Before he scampers off to do my bidding I fondle his abused little penis, despite the obvious pain and a little blood he moans and thrusts his pelvis for more. Doing very nicely I think, and I flick his raw nipples for good measure. And so to breakfast, I do hope Jonathan is feeling randy enough to get Aunt Artemis' bitch with whelp. I do look forward to the second generation; it is so rewarding to break the son as well as the father. I wonder if I could get to three generations before I hand over to Christopher?

Chapter 3c

Jan tells of the second Tuesday of the Games

Now there was a lot of hushed speculation about how long he would last, and what his little brother and sister were like, and how they would be deflowered. Mishear tried to bet me five obols that the little boy would not squeal longer than an hour. I would not take him up on it, but there is whispers of special injections that keep you going even after you should be unconscious. It was gross having to clean up after Sam had been hauled off to the cell, but we got Itu and Ino to do most of it.

Another thing that we started whispering about after the free people had had breakfast, is the bitches that Lady Artemis brought with her, and by the same token Sam's bitch sister. We haven't see much of them, but they look very much like us, except having an ugly slit where their penis should be. We wonder if they were as good to fuck as we are. I told them that Father said I was better. Kumu said he preferred boys, but would like to try the black one now he had heard Jonathan had fucked the white one.

"In that case smart arse you are just going to have to harpoon and cut up all those other little whale boat boys and win! And you might not get a pardon even then!" I said.

"Of course we are winning man! We the best there is! Ain't we boys?" said Kumu.

"Yessss!" They all chorused and slapped hands.

"Kumu is going for the little Nips, he wants to see their pale bodies squirming as he sticks them one at a time! Revenge for Master Christopher loosing the Sword!" said Rodolfo

"Easy meat! Not brave or big!" chorused Vasco and Vincent. But Christian and Manuel did not look too sure, neither was I. There are tales going around that Jap boys can't be killed, if you get one then another springs up in his place and you have to start again.

For the next two hours Mishear and I practice our dance routine over and over until the sweat ran off us in the hot morning sun. We have added a sequence with whips for the second set. We practice with plain soft leather but the lash still hurts. For our big day Hassan has prepared a pair with little blades set in the tips. He reckons they will only make a shallow cut, but enough to bleed well, and that the audience will get really turned on by a golden boy and a dusky boy slowly turning crimson as they dance and lash each other. We have also perfected a routine as an encore should we manage to last out the third set, maybe, just maybe, the President will think us sufficiently talented in arousing our audience to consider a pardon. Then of course the audience will be screaming for blood, if not ours then Itu and Ino's

After practice I go and say "Good Luck!" to Tung.

He looks strange now his head is shaved to prevent a grip there. He is mediating legs crossed and hands palm up on them, he calls it Lotus. He is far away so I just touch his shoulder. Last week he told me that his people believe that if you live a really good life as a Tribute Boy you will be born again after you die as a free boy, somebody called Buddha told them. Then he added, but if you are really good you get born again as one of the free animals that are left then everybody takes extra special care of you. Sounds strange, but how awful if you came back as a Tribute Boy again and again. Once is bad, but we know there is oblivion like sleep at then end. Now I must meet Father, I have never seen the motor bike trials as Master says its a waste of fuel and we should do things without squandering resources, but it will be exciting I think!

It is strange to be walking holding hands with Father through the town, I have been to visit Gardener and he fussed over me saying that he must make as beautiful as his flowers and finding special ones to weave into my hair. He was so kind and gentle that I let him kiss and suck my cock even though it did hurt a lot, and to work his finger into my arse. He let me feel him too, just a scar and a little hole to pee out of, but he still moaned as I rubbed him. He told me he still remembers how wonderful it was when the sperm came. I think he was crying when he hugged me and swatted my bum and told me to bugger off and stop pestering him any more.

In the streets I get lots of stares and I know the flowers have made me look really sexy, or perhaps it is the soft black leather harness round my cock and balls. Lots of people stop us and comment on me being cute, and isn't he one of the trio that Señor Carlos's has released early? One man ran his hand down my flank and squeezed my bruised balls;

"Well you seemed to have given him a good work out last night. Good fuck is he?" Father growled and looked embarrassed, but like all Tribute Boys I look to the place a man shows what he is really thinking, I was right! Being reminded of last night is making him hard! At the square Father called a trap pulled by two sturdy blacks. The driver flicks his whip and off we trot towards the stadium outside the city; After a few kilometres the blacks are drenched in sweat, their thighs piston, their tails swing between their taught buttocks and their breath comes in rasps.

"Fancy a gallop?" the driver asks father and passes him the whip. Father says nothing but slashes each boys back in turn until they are going flat out and their backs running red. At the stadium the driver hauls on the boys bits and they pull up, then collapse on to hands and knees; Both are coughing and retching, one with blood running from his lips.

"No stamina brats these days!" remarks the driver. "I reckon once the Games and the holiday season is over they'll be begging me to Release them. Won't you, you black filth?" he adds kicking the near one in the ribs and starting a fresh bout of bloody retching. The boys white eyes roll in terror, but they have no breath to speak.

"Really looking forward to them doing it, got a friend in the City Recycling Department. Going to take 'em to the worm tanks and get em to stuff their guts full of the little fuckers and sit back with me mates and some bottles to watch the antics as their guts get eaten from inside."

Father says nothing but he is still hard.

"Bet you will really blow a wad when this little beauty finally misses his footing and you are watching him thrash about on the coals?"

Father just hands him the fare and we walk towards the VIP entrance, further down is the second class entrance thronged with stalls with boys for rent on them. I can see they are miserable sick creatures, well marked and used, probably bought up cheap as E grades. The signs say things like 'Bonus Boy Fuck', 'First Year Virgins, Special Rates!', 'Fuck Em Before They Snuff for U'. With sick horror I see the tip of the Tribute Boy world that is hidden from us privileged servants of a fine Master, thank god I was A grade at school. In our line the adults are too wealthy to bother with such trash, any way most are accompanied by fine looking brats of their own and a few bitches too.

Father offered Don Carlos's pass and the attendant got all grovelling with praise and help. He called for a brat and a local looking brat about second year scampered up. He had a sash round his shoulders and waist with 'Comfort Boy' written on it. On the back was a number 13. When we were seated in the special box with just one hundred places and a special space for the President, over looking the track he scampered off and came back with a bottle of that fizzy wine my Master drinks some time.

"Señor! I am Guillermo, I am eight years old, I am to look after you in any way you order. My champion is number 13 if you want to bet on him. He got one of those new Jap bikes goes like fuck! First let me help you get comfortable to enjoy the spectacle!"

He drops to his knees and starts on Fathers belt…

"Jan what is he doing that for!"

"Shh! Dad! All the other people have boys like him. He is the mignon to one of the riders, of course they can't be with them in this event. He will take your trousers off to be pressed, and your shoes to be polished, then I can suck you as it gets exiting and you are free to fuck me whenever you want."

Guillermo is no slouch, he has Dad stripped below the waist in a flash and is sucking his balls with his eyes closed. Dad slumps to his seat, legs spayed moaning, but he pushes the boys little black head anyway!

"You no like Señor? Guillermo good fuck too!"

He turns and displays his spread buttocks, the anus is bruised and puffy and gapes open.

I go over to him and whisper in his ear "Piss off you little cum dump or I'll cut your prick off, He's all mine."

"Why don't you get him to fuck you as you fuck me that would be cool!"

"Maybe be later, but bugger off now or I will cut it off!" I said with my hand on my dagger. I can get away with things with Dad that Master would notice and punish me for!

He quickly scampered off looking scared.

Dad said "Has he gone already? Will he come back later?" I didn't answer, just went and sat on his lap and bit at his ear, absent mindedly he stroked my thighs and I moaned willing him to touch me.

"Jan, I can't believe what is happening to me. After all these years I have found you and on our only day together we are going to watch lots of little boys just like you die. What is worse I am excited by it, and by you god help me."

"Don't you have brats where you live, dad?"

"No its a big city, not too clean; Most people work from their apartments with computers. Only a few people have space for a brat. They go away on holiday if they need one or to special houses where they are kept. Also there are sports clubs, like soccer and ice hockey that have brats teams. People who like sport join one of those."

His revelations of a different world were interrupted by a cheer and the President entered with his attendants.

In front of the stand the boy riders lined up in ranks, there were one hundred of them as this was a one off event to the death. On course, like all Tribute Boys, they were naked but wore the colours of their Master round their heads and had a number painted on their chests and their backs. Guillermo came back and gave us a programme with all the names and numbers on and proudly pointed out his champion, then he knelt down just out of my reach looking wary. The bikes were limited to 150 cc small economical and fast, they were stripped down for lightness and in particular had no padded saddles, just a frame and a steel plug that they sat down on, right up their arse. I asked Guillermo why and he said going over the bumps made the riders cum as the plug rubbed the good place inside them. The course was quite long, well out of our sight, but there was a big screen to show the bits we could not see. The course had lots of bumps and turns in it, and the winner was the one who finished first after twenty five rounds. Guillermo just said wait and see, and drew his finger across his throat, when I asked what happened to the rest!

The boys mounted, started and revved the motors, and the flag dropped and they were off! Almost immediately there was a collision between two bikes and the naked boys were thrown arms and legs flying to crash into the track and slither along bloodily. One staggered to his knees, I could see the whole front of his body was scraped raw. One of the oncoming bikes tried to miss him but failed and hit him head on. The blonde boy riding it catapulted through the air to hit the track head first and, his skull seemed to split open. Neither boy moved further but the third boy, Spanish looking, was pulling himself across the track towards us and end of broken bone projecting from his thigh, you could see the muscle contracting and pushing the bone out still more. Boys jumped on to the track to rescue the bikes before they got damaged further, the counter opposite clicked to 97 and the crowd cheered. I could see most of the big people in our box starting to get hard, and I squeezed and fondled Dads balls.

Nothing much happened for the next six circuits, there were a few losses elsewhere the screen showing a boy being thrown on to the track or into the barrier from time to time. The counter now showed 92 as the boys roared in to start round 7. After most of the field had passed the President made a signal a rope twanged out of the track and stretched taut about a metre above it. The back of the field cannoned into it, mostly catching the boy riders at chest height, or at throat height. Bodies of all colours flew through the air and into the track. The bikes slithered clear and were retrieved, but the track was now full of bodies of naked boys. The ones caught on the throat had been killed instantly, but the rest were badly injured and screaming. The crowd went wild, and so did little Guillermo. I felt Dad stiffen and he moaned "Oh fucking hell! What a scene!"

Ever since I saw the boy climber fall I have been turned on by other boys suffering and my cock grew swollen with the lust of it. Some of the injured boys were managing to crawl to the side of the track but of course nobody helped them. A Chinese looking boy who seemed to have both arms broken, managed to join the other boys just beneath the stand. A lot of people were now being wanked or sucked by the brats they had with them, and the counter clicked down to 73. They same thing happened at the start of round 13 and more boys died or were injured. The track was now slick with blood and the counter clicked down again to 48.

But the next trick was a surprise and it happened after the leaders had passed through for the start of round 19. There had been a few more crashes below us as a boy rider failed to negotiate the dead or living boys scattered across the track but there were still plenty going strong. In front of us was a small concrete ramp across the track, with a concrete gutter in front of it. As the bikes hit this the boys were lifted clear of their saddle plug and it drove back into them as they landed, I distinctly saw a couple throw their heads back and scream as the cum jetted out of their erect cocks. This time we watched some liquid flow into the gutter and as the tail of the field hit it there was a whoosh and it ignited into a wall of flame. The boys had no chance of avoiding it and as they landed were doused in the burning petrol. Some managed to keep on their bikes… engulfed with flames, others were thrown of and were rolling on the ground screaming; Boys with fire extinguishers scampered about putting out the burning machines but the crowd was really into the agonies of the boy riders. Dad was really turned on by this and I shouted into his ear "Dad, dad, let me fuck Guillermo whilst you fuck me and watch the brats burn!"

"Oh Yes! Do it!"

I got Guillermo who was still screaming encouragement at his champion who had survived so far, on hands and knees on the barrier, gripped his hips and pushed in, he was tighter than he looked and my lacerated cock hurt like hell, but it was really cool to be giving it! I dreamed it was Mishear that was taking me into him as he writhed and burned like the brats on the track. I screamed out

"Fuck me Dad, fuck me! Look at the boys and fuck me!"

He did brutally and with abandon, every thrust lifting me off my feet and slamming me further into little Guillermo until he screamed. "Take the sperm that made you, whore! Oh! Oh! Jan I'm coming… !"

I did too, I am not sure if it is Guillermo's or my blood that runs down his thighs.

There was still plenty of action on the track, and the air was full of the sweet sickly smell of burning flesh and hair. Dad collapsed in his seat again and Guillermo, came over and licked first him then me clean. Dad tousled his hair and gave him ten obols.

The counter was now down to 18 but lots more had been burnt by the flames and fell as their injuries became too much to carry on. By the start of the final round there were only 7 left. Number 13 was still in there and what is more had got a good lead. Guillermo was beside himself with joy, even more so when he came into sight in the final straight and made a skidding turn to end up in front of the President. He was unnoticed for the moment because after he had passed a thin wire twanged tied tight across the track. It was too quick for the next two riders who hit it at over sixty miles an hour almost simultaneously, the thin wire completely severing their heads which bounced and rolled along locks flying. The headless bodies stayed on the machines for some metres before toppling over the blood pumping out of the neck. The next three boys tried to evade their doom, but all too late and tangled to plough into the wire to fall the other side in a tangle of broken limbs. One black arm had been severed and lay apart. The sixth rider however managed to pull up and the crowds screams of blood lust turned to a chant of "Kill Yourself Coward!" Dad was screaming with the rest.

The boy, an Asian, with long black hair gave the crowd the finger and roared off down the track, but after a good distance skidded in a turn, revved up and roared towards the wire. The crowd went crazy, then even better he managed to stand upright, arms out stretched, still keeping the bike roaring on track. The wire caught him across the sternum and pulled him viscously off the bike, for a few moments he hung there limbs flailing, the wire had nearly cut him in half. There was blood everywhere. Then he rolled off and you could see the huge wound as he jerked and thrashed in his death agonies. Then he coughed up a great gout of blood and lay still.

"That was awesome Jan, what a performance!" said Dad.

Then the loudspeaker boomed calling for Guillermo to join his champion Mario. The little fellow scampered out and jumped on the back of the bike and stood upright behind Mario and they roared off on a lap of honour. The President was in discussion with a Spanish gentleman and they shook hands and agreed on what I knew was the fate of one or other of the winning boys.

Dad did not understand, he said "I am really pleased that our little fellow got to win with his friend, its made my day!"

The pair halted in front of the podium. Mario was awarded his gold medal and ordered to fuck his mignon which he did with gusto. Then the two boys knelt in front of the President, who approached them carrying a long length of chain. "Mario you are hereby declared the winner of the Motor Cycle Trials and by the Power in vested in me I grant you a free pardon to be educated as a Free Citizen by your Master Señor Rodriguez."

Dad whispered in my ear "Why has Guillermo started crying?"

"Hush Dad, Watch!"

The President continued; "Your final duty as a Tribute Boy is to Release your mignon Guillermo as is required by the Law. Please attend to it."

He handed the bigger boy a the chain, who then clipped it on to Guillermo's collar. The crowd were now chanting "Release! Release!" He led the little boy who was by now sobbing uncontrollably over to his bike and kissed him full on the mouth and hugged him. Then he clipped the other end of the chain on to the back frame of his bike. He mounted, kicked it into life and moved off slowly, Guillermo, struggling to keep up running behind. As the speed built up the little boy lost his footing and tumbled to the ground to be dragged behind the bike, limbs flailing trying to get to his feet and screaming as they out of sight down the track. When the bike returned behind it dragged a bloody lifeless carcass of what had once been the boy Guillermo whose warm guts I had fucked not half an hour before.

Dad was silent as we drove back into town. He took us to one of the expensive restaurants, refused the proffered brat bowl on the floor and insisted I sat at the table with him. He fed me with chips, and burgers and ice cream.

"Jan," He said at last; "I love you very much, I want to take you away from all this… but I am very excited by the idea of your dance. Is that very wrong of me?"

"Dad don't you understand I want to dance for you! And for Don Carlos to show how much I love him, he cared for me, not like those pony boys were treated! If I am good enough maybe I will get a Pardon like Mario and Jonathan. If not I want to die bravely with the crowd cheering like the Asian boy on the wire…" He lend over and kissed me full on the mouth, I do hope I can get him to fuck me one last time as we watch Tung in the Unarmed Mortal Combat this afternoon.

Chapter 3d

The Unarmed Mortal Combat… as told by Jan

When we got to the sports hall my Master's pass again got us the best seats in an auditorium surrounding a raised wrestling ring. The ring was covered in red canvas, the ropes and posts white. Everything else was in black. Overhead where some very bright spotlights, it was extremely hot. The audience of well dressed men and women, some even had free children with them, were mostly stripping off their clothes and folding them under the seats. Almost all of them had Tributed Boys or Girls with them, they of course knelt like me at their feet on the floor waiting to serve. Dad stripped too and I stroked him until he was hard.

We were in the front row, next to us was a middle aged Indian looking lady, breasts beginning to sag but otherwise in good shape. Her pubic hair was shaved and as she sat legs splayed a very white skinned brat about ten years old with a shaven head licked her. On the other side were a couple of men, one a young Negro with a huge cock, almost as big as Hassan's, and the other a greying Hispanic. They were fondling each other as they tousled the heads of a pair of Chinese brats about eleven years old. Dad was getting into a conversation with them, they knew who I was and had bid successfully for seats at my performance. They were telling Dad what a turn on it would be when fatigue made me slip off the bar, and how good it would be to watch the Jap brat squirming as he impaled himself. They were talking as if I was not there, had no feelings of terror building inside me… Of course Tribute Boys have no souls and feel nothing they think. The women took a long pull of her cigarette, then stubbed it absent mindedly on her brat's neck. I could see him shudder with the pain but he did not falter with the ministrations of his tongue. Then the light dimmed.

The first bout was between Tung and a Chinese boy. Tung, with his Thai kick boxing soon gained the upper hand of the martial art technique of the pale skinned boy. Both boys were oiled and running with sweat. Their smooth bodies shining under the hot lights. The audience were beginning to cheer Tung on as he kicked the other boy back against the ropes. You could see he was beginning to get hurt bad as Tung smashed his fist into the lads face. The next kick got him just below the belly button, it must have ruptured him because there was blood coming out of his cock. The Chinese boy was trying to stay upright on the ropes, his mouth open in a scream, drowned by the audience chanting "Kill – Kill – Kill!" Tung obliged and pulled the boy off the ropes by his hair, he scrabbled feebly on his belly as the Thai boy straddled him, gripped his head and pulled sharply back and twisted. The boy twitched a few times and then lay still. The referee lifted Tung's hand and declared him winner. I was so pleased that I forgot myself and jumped up and down screaming too! A smiling Tung was led out and the referee signalled a couple of attendants to tip the Chinese boy's body off the ring, no doubt his little mignon would be swiftly severing the genitals to present to his Master for the audit.

I had not taken much notice through the bout but had carried on fondling Dad as he screamed with the best of them, I was really hard too. Now I glanced and saw that the shaven brat was huddled on the floor sobbing, and his mistress was lying back panting. Obviously she had entered into the spirit of the contest by hitting her brat, the bruises were begging to show on his white flesh. The men were fingering one of their brat's rings. They were arguing over whether the black guy would split him if he entered him later. Small boys brought round refreshments, you could here squeaks of pain as they were toyed with by the aroused audience.

Then the lights dimmed again and the next bout started. This time it was a big black kid, and a well muscled white kid, with long blond hair. The bell rung and they came out of their corners and started to circle each other. At first the white kid, who was a good wrestler, got the advantage, twice knocking the black kid to the ground, and once managing to drop hard into his belly. The boy got up shaking his head and coughing up blood. Then he launched a rain of blows on to the white kid landing one into his belly and when he doubled up delivering an upper cut to the boys jaw that sprayed blood and broken teeth. I guess his jaw was broken because it hung loose and open, he was making gurgling sounds. The crowd was cheering and I felt Dad starting to get really randy so I pushed my bum back so he entered me, he grabbed my hips and thrust. The black guy reached across and squeezed my bruised balls and yelled, "That's it kid, get your Daddy to fuck you like a whore and watch the brat die! He'll be fucking a new boy when he watches you die!"

To the other side the woman was punching the pale boy in the guts and balls and screaming "Kill!", then she pushed his head into her cunt and moaned as she fondled my hair. Somebody else reached over from behind and twisted my tits savagely. In the ring the white boy was on his knees, the black held his hair and smashed his once pretty face into a bloody pulp. The boy was still groaning on the ground when the black was declared winner, and his body unceremoniously dumped at out feet. He was still living when the mignon sliced off his genitals and presented the bloody trophy to a man further down our row. Dad thrust into me and shouted as he came inside me.

In the next two bouts another Chinese boy won over a Hispanic, and a small Japanese boy put up display of virtuosity that prolonged the death agonies of his opponent an Indian until the audience were going wild. I no longer knew who was fondling me as bodies on all sides intertwined and probed. I had a cock in each hand and then one in my mouth. I felt the hot semen splash my body and down my throat. I am not sure what happened with Tung's semi-final, but he seemed to have won again, though I noticed that his hands were bleeding. In the other semi-final the Japanese boy played cat an mouse with the big black boxer, easily avoiding his blows and landing cuts or kicks of his own. The black kid was beginning to get tired as the Japanese glided round him, then whirled with a kick that connected with the boy's arm, the crack of bone was audible and he screamed, mouth wide and pink in a black face contorted with pain. With his right arm hanging useless he was dead meat already but the small pale cream skinned boy took his time, landing blow after blow but not the killing one.

The black kid was now bleeding from the mouth and out of his arse, red and glistening against the black flesh. Finally he could rise no more, and flopped on to his back, arm all crooked. The Japanese boy took his time, knelt across his chest and gripped the black boys throat, his eyes were wide and white with terror, and he struggled ineffectually. I noticed the Japanese boys eye were blank of expression though he was hard, the muscles in his arms rippled as he squeezed the black kids life away. Then Dad yelled, "Oh just look at that big black cock, it's going to cum!" Sure enough as with when a boy is hanged the black cock stiffened, the boy's body went rigid and arched off the floor before shooting strings of white cum down the pale cream back of the winner…

There was a half hour for the audience to recover before Tung's and the Japanese boy faced each other in the final. Dad was panting as he stroked my hair. The woman was stroking the pale boy who seemed to be in a bad way, nose bleeding and one eye puffed and closed, she must get off on hitting him. The two men seemed to have agreed which little boy was going to be impaled on the big black cock, he seemed not to be too happy about it and was sobbing. Elsewhere the audience was getting ready for the final orgy, and the final boys to die for their pleasure this afternoon.

"Dad!" I whispered, "Please make me cum one last time as Tung fights?"

"Sexy whore!" was all he said but I knew he would.

Tung's fight was announced and the crowd cheered as the two naked little boys entered the ring. The brown skin and shaven head of Tung sharply contrasting to pale cream and straight black hair of the Japanese. For the first half an hour both seemed evenly matched and the crowd cheered and roared at every contact, it was obvious though both were getting exhausted, their glistening chests heaved and their breath came in painful sobs. Tung's hands were bleeding more now, and he gasped with pain when he got a blow to strike home. It was not clear how long either boy would last now as they seemed to have lost the ability to avoid each others blow, and staggered as though drunk. Then Tung's luck ran out, perhaps too exhausted to care he did not notice the Japanese punch with outstretched fingers into his left eye. He screamed shrilly as the punch left him blinded, the eye ball seemed to have burst and bits hung out of the socket. He staggered then fell to his knees hands clutching the wound. The Japanese panting heavily strutted round him realising his opponent was finished, so did the crowd who screamed for blood. The boy obliged and struck the same blow into Tung's remaining eye, he screamed and let his hands drop, blood and maybe tears streamed down from his sockets. Then an amazing thing happened Tung's stopped screaming, arranged himself in Lotus position and waited to be finished. A good winner would have finished him quickly, but this one did not raining blows on the unprotesting boy.

At this moment I heard an agonised scream from next to us, the Hispanic gent had the little Chinese boy who they had chosen held doubled up and his massive black friend was pounding into him, well no boy that young could take a twelve inch cock, and as I watched the poor boy ripped open and the black cock drove in, it must have broken him inside too because he coughed a bloody froth.

"Oh please Dad, take me!"

He lifted me and threw me across the seat back and drove into me. "Somebody fuck the little whore's mouth!" and somebody did. Then they both flooded their sperm into me. I got taken several times, I could hear Dad encouraging guys to fuck his 'insatiable little whore of a son', so I did not see Tung actually die. When I next looked the audience had gone quiet and the Japanese boy was saluting over his broken and bloody body. Something broke inside me, he was never a close friend but he was one of us and we often played together, now all life was gone. Dad took me on his lap and cuddled me saying, "Hush silly boy, its going to be all right…" It felt so very good.

Then the President stepped up on the stage and raised his arms for quiet, everybody waiting to see if the hero of the combat would be reprieved. "The winner of the Unarmed Mortal Combat is Shinzu Corporation No 71, let his mignon approach and give him his reward!" What a funny name for a boy, but Masters have funny ideas sometimes! A boy looking exactly the same but a few years younger approached, and the winner knelt and then leant his body right back to the floor arms out stretched in the ritual sacrifice position we must all learn. The small boy sucked him hard then straddled him and impaled himself on the hard cock, like all Japanese boys he was not very big, it was not long before the winning boy gasped and tensed as his orgasm came. Then things changed from how we do it here.

The mignon rose and knelt facing the bigger boy, holding out a small dagger in an ornate wooden sheath, decorated in ribbons. An elderly greying Japanese man and a boy, it must be the one who caused young Master such hassle entered the ring. Across the mignon's outstretched arms he placed a white scarf with black writing and crimson sun emblem on it. The two stood stiffly to attention behind the mignon. The President spoke again "Under Article 47b Cloned Units, I have no alternative but to give you the Honour of completing your Release in the custom your Master and Country. You will die with the full Honour of the overall winner of this event."

I had no idea what all that meant except he was going to die and not his mignon. The Japanese boy, face showing no emotion pulled himself to his knees, pale cream body glistening with sweat and oil. He took first the white scarf and tied it round his head, then took the dagger from his mignon, drew the gleaming blade and handed the sheath back.

The boy with the gentlemen, presented him with a small porcelain cup which he accepted with a bow, drank and spluttered slightly before handing back. He rose to his feet and bowed deeply, which was returned. The next bit was awesome. He moved his feet far apart and stood panting straddled legged, he was hard again. First he raised the blade to his lips and kissed it, then he placed it just above the right knee and a cut up to his hip, not deep but the crimson blood flowed, then the other thigh. Next he made two cuts across his pectoral muscles and more blood flowed. Still no emotion showed, but he was panting with the pain. Now a moment of fear flickered across the eyes, the old gentleman barked an order and the blank look returned. He placed the blade vertically against the tip of his penis and drew it up across it so it was sliced into two halves down to the root, next keeping the blade in the incision he cut round underneath the ball sack until it was completely severed and the whole dropped into the mignon's out stretched palms.

The boy arranged it a little so the two halves of the cock rested either side of the severed testicles and then presented it to his Master. The bigger boy was now staggering slightly, blood streaming down his pale thighs from his wound, collapsed to his knees but kept his body straight. He then pressed the blade into his belly just above the pubic bone, and to a gasp from the crowd slowly pulled upwards until the sternum was reached, the wound gaped and you could see the coiled intestines. Again he kept the blade in the incision reversed it to cut down to the belly button across to his side, reverse and back to other side, and back to the middle before presenting the blade to his Master's son with the last of his strength. He had carefully only cut the skin and muscle because great rolls of guts spilt out of the opened belly, now he did scream and his body thrashed in his uncontrollable death agonies, but his noise was drowned by the applause of the audience.

I knew I was a mess when we got back to the Villa. Don Carlos greeted Dad and said, "Well my man you do seem to be getting on well with your little boy don't you?"

Dad looked embarrassed. "Please Señor, one last time I beg you to find a way to save my son's life, Please!"

"His life is in his own hands and that of the President now, I am sorry but that is the Law. Now I would ask you to say your good byes to your son, he must be ready to serve at table in two hours. The rest of his final days must be spent in training, not the sort of wild excess you have been playing, otherwise he will roast before the first glass. In the circumstances I have arranged for you to stay at my friend Don Pablo's Villa. You will of course attend your boy's performance, I know he wishes it to excite you and please you!"

Dad just nodded dumbly. "Oh and Señor let me assure you if by chance he is granted his pardon I will be most happy to act as guarantor and sponsor to provide for his education and employment… You have my words on that, it is the best I can do…"

Dad took me up to our room, he wept and held me close and said, "You must be brave, Jan boy, give them a stunning performance I know you can!"

Then sadly he packed and left. I had to get on with the real life of being a Tribute Boy so I went to find Mishear, he sulking a little at all my attention, but was soon excited to hear of all the details as he helped me get clean and ready to serve our Master, the great Don Carlos.

Chapter 3e

Jan continues his story… it is now after dark on Tuesday in San Diego de Campos

Jonathan sat with Señor Maurice and Señor Karl, I had never seen either so happy or so filled with drink. Jonathan just looked dazed. An elderly man with grey hair, obviously my Master's Father was greeted with warmth. A severe looking woman, with an almost grown girl, greeted my Master as, "Charles Darling boy, let me introduce Gwenllian." The girl stared hard at my swollen little cock and giggled.

"Not bad is it for a little boy? Will he get a pardon do you think?"

"Hush dear, you will just have to wait and see."

"Ah dear Aunt Artemis, I am so pleased you could join us."

Then a gentleman as dark as my friend Mishear, was greeted as, "My dear Umur, I am so sorry for that disgusting behaviour the other afternoon."

"Never fear my good friend, I rather enjoyed Ritchie's fate! Anyway your man Karl tipped me off and I put my stake on this fine young man here. I am deeply indebted to you, Jonathan, I am now in the position to increase my Tribute holdings considerably."

Jonathan went bright red and mumbled something.

"Anyway I thought I would celebrate tonight with a little after dinner performance, to Release one, now I can afford a new batch."

He indicated an Indian boy, lean and lithe standing in the Tribute Boys enclosure. He had his long hair tied up in a cloth on the back of his head, later I found out he was what they call a Sikh.

The woman, joined in, "And please do let me contribute a little light entertainment as well?"

"But of course Aunt, how could I forget your inventive little games that so enlivened my boyhood years!"

Then there was a sort of embarrassed silence as a grey headed Japanese, and a youth which must be that Sushi were ushered in. With them were six identical looking boys, who knelt obediently at the edge of the patio next to Rodolfo and his friends who had been invited to dinner as Don Carlos was being their sponsor. My master greeted the man with cold politeness, hoping that the disputes of the field would be forgotten with the sharing of a meal and entertainment. The man and his son bowed deeply in their long silk robes, and sat where directed.

We Tribute Boy's notice things that effect us very quickly, I could see that Kumu was speaking to the visitors without moving his mouth much and the others were smirking. The Japanese boys looked impassive, but I could see they were colouring with anger or embarrassment. What is more I could see that Kumu was rubbing his cock, like a lot of black kids he was very big and it was jutting out between his splayed legs in an impressive fashion.

Just then the free girl Gwenllian walked over to the group, and my attention was taken by the arrival of two brat cages with Sam's condemned brother and sister in them. My Master had them spirited away to be presented after dinner cleaned up for inspection. The last arrival was The Duke, with little Garcia leaning on his arm, looking smug.

"Salut mon amies! A demain ce la plus beau jour pour ma berdech la!" He stroked Garcia's long plaited and be ribboned hair. "Il aime danser avec les Torros!! Ça va! La reste en anglais pour les autres!"

"I am very please you could come for just a short while, I do hope he is proving a promising investment?"

"He has every confidence in wining for us both tomorrow, but just maybe one of those long horns will just find this taut smooth belly?" He rubbed Garcia who was getting hard. "He gets very exited when he is being penetrated, don't you, slut!"

"Yes Master, because you are so big!"

"Well you will be wanting to bed him yet again so will not stay long. May I introduce Señor Yatamamo? I was remarking on the perfectly matched crew he has put up against my motley crew in the Whale Boat Competition, impressive don't you think?"

"C'est vrai! Perfect specimens, you must have paid a fortune to get them matched like that?"

"Thank you!" He bowed deeply again. "They are my dutiful offering to honour my own Lord, the Shinju Corporation. When one is given the honour of proceeding to the Senior Management Team one is permitted to breed a son. In thanks we are required to provide his genes to the company laboratory to enable seven clones a year to be produced for three years. This is to advance science and then serve in the Corporation Entertainment Complex. The whale boat competitors are all my son's identical brothers, younger by just nine months, as was the brother who beat your boy in the Unarmed Mortal Combat this afternoon. Of course you realise that this is a special dispensation to compensate for the lack of authentic stock for such service, my countrymen find it offensive to use a mongrel brat."

"Fascinating I am sure!" said my Master, "Ah Artemis! Dear Aunt, just what were you planning to entertain us with? When are we going to meet the unfortunate?" She clapped her hands and a pretty little red headed boy with very white skin ran over and dropped to his knees at her feet, head pressed to the floor, he must have been about twelve years old.

"Rose, my dear, do stand and let the gentlemen see you."

He did and I could see he was quaking in terror. She ran her hands down his flanks and squeezed his testicles, he immediately became hard.

"You see he has just started producing semen, and these will get so big and ugly, I just do not know what to do about. I had thought I would get a couple of seasons steeple chasing out of him, he does run quite well… especially when the dogs are after him."

Then she turned to the boy; "Well, my darling little Rose, would you like a coke while I think about it?"

He looked scared as he said, "If it pleases you, Mistress!"

"Oh indeed it does, and it is going to please all these fine gentlemen here too, but you must drink every drop… Understand?"

She reached for a litre bottle from the buffet and handed it to him, greedily he gulped down the precious liquid, almost forbidden to the likes of us. He burped loudly, looked apprehensive.

"Do finish it darling… you do know how ingratitude makes me angry."

He did, she handed him a second, this went down with something of a struggle.

"Now come to your Mistress, Rose darling!"

She reached between his legs and rubbed his little cock hard between two fingers, I could not work out how this was getting anywhere that would be entertaining. Then she took a small tube, placed its nozzle into his piss slit and squeezed, then pitched the tip of his cock tight for a few moments.

"Well you see gentlemen, I really could not decide his fate, so I thought it would entertain us all for the darling to decide his own. You see his urethra is now firmly shut with Super glue, and very shortly he is going to want to relive his bladder most urgently… and that's not all…"

She quickly rubbed the boys cock, and like all Tribute Brats he wasted no time but arched his back, thrust his hips and went rigid in orgasm, his breath coming quick pants and his pale skin glowing pink.

"That's why he's called Rose, has a tiny prick and goes a nice pink colour, especially under the whip…"

The boy was looking frightened and confused, I realised how good our Master was to us all, none of these terrifying games?

"Now my Darling, little flower, you have a choice, during our buffet all these fine gentlemen are going to want to give you something to drink, or to masturbate you. In a couple of hours your bladder and penis are going to be so full, just bursting in fact… Now what you have to decide is what I want you to do… you can either take one of the knives off the table and cut everything off, just think what a relief and you will be able to clear all those fences with out catching anything… or you can stick the knife in your belly to relive the pain, you might live another couple of years… or you can do nothing at all, in which case eventually you will rupture and give us such a pleasant display of your prolonged death agonies… Now what do you think, my little Rose?"

There was no immediate answer, only a wail of utter confusion and despair, I notice his cock twitch as though getting hard.

"Just shows, these Tribute Brats, give them an opportunity to take their destiny into their own hands and what do they do? I believe that this one has just pissed himself, but we will never know will we?"

Señor Yatamamo bowed and said, "Well Lady Artemis I must compliment you on your refined sense of cruelty, in my land we greatly appreciate such finesse…"

He was interrupted by Gwenllian returning, "Oh Auntie dear! I have just been inspecting the whale boat crew, such magnificent specimens, the harpoon boy has got such a big weapon, almost as big as my pony! Can we get him to cover Blanche, he'll probably split her, then I can have him? I do think he will win!"

"Of course dear, just wait and say your prayers, where were we Señor?"

"And Aunty Dear those squint eyed kids have such tiny little pricks that they would be quite useless to boy or girl!"

Señor Yatamamo went purple with rage, speechless in fact… there was an agonising silence then…"I did not come to this house to have my blood line insulted by a man who's son does not abide by the rules of honour, and whose Tribute Stock are so ill trained as to be able to rebel. Let me assure you my blood sons will take great delight in the prolonged death agonies of your motley group of mongrels, before they bring Honour to their Father and their Corporation by winning… I will not bid you Good Night! Come boys!" And he swept out of the street door from the Patio…

At first nobody said anything and Don Carlos looked like thunder. "Well my dear Aunt you might have the talent for cruelty, but your niece clearly has the talent for total lack of tact and sensibility… and you lot had nothing to do with this either did you?"

He glared at the smirking six…"but she was right about you… Kumu lad, singularly well endowed!" And a brief smile passed his lips. "Well I suppose the arrogant bastard can't cause any more hassle than we are already in… and you lot better damn well finish off his precious little clones… or else! Understand?"

"No problem Master!" said Kumu, and the rest chorused their agreement.

"Cocky little Bastards! Now bugger off and wait for me in my room! And you two can stop smirking as well!" This to Mishear and I.

"I think Jan needs his beauty sleep after all his exertions today, so off to bed with both of you!"

Regretfully we left for our little room and to the sounds of adult merriment we drifted off to sleep. Later there were cheers punctuated by the shrill screams of a child in torment but they scarcely registered, such things are such a common part of a Tribute Boys' world.

Later that night after dinner. Don Carlos writes in his diary

I took my father on one side and confided my concerns for the good of the Hacienda with him

"I agree Charles that this is a serious problem, but being a Penal that started it is hardly going to run after they have spilt the siblings blood tomorrow is it?" I agreed, somewhat relieved at his assessment.

"The Japanese on the other hand are something of a problem. However delightful their stock we can not sit idle if they start cloning them by the hundred can we? After all the humane aim of the Tribute System is to control and reduce population, not breed them so that the fat cats can torment them without hope. My aim, which you have so nobly and adequately taken up is to make sure every boy under our control is given a better than average chance. This is not only good business, it enhances and enriches our common stock considerably. Boys like Jonathan will make such a big contribution to society…"

He paused thinking.

"Do you think your boys can finish off the Japanese clones, even if they do not win?"

"I think they have an excellent chance, they are a great team and unruly enough to be able to think well when things get tough…"

"Then I think you should convince them that they should target the Japanese crew, but it's not good enough just to kill them, in fact it is best that they do not kill them, they have to disable and dishonour them too. The best way to do that is to rape them before they hamstring, geld them or something of the sort. I can't give you any details yet, but I think if you pull it off you will find the results deeply satisfying."

"I think that they will need very little encouragement, I have a feeling that there was a deal of provocation going on tonight which I will not punish, but now will you join me as I talk to Don Pablo?"

"But of course, dear Boy, I do like the scheming, Machiavelli really was essential reading don't you think? But I should add you do need to be thorough with the condemned brat and his wretched siblings, the media will pick up on any laxity you know?"

Normally I would not take such a step, but Jan and Mishear were to perform their Release at my private function rather than in public. In the circumstances it was my prerogative to invite the presiding President, one does keep such things within the circles of friendship and obligation. I broached with him the possibility of the pair being granted a pardon.

"I thought you had set your heart on them frying on the charcoal my friend!" Was his answer. I explained that sometimes it is expedient to alter one's objectives.

"Well of course with your guarantee for patronage there would be no real obstacle, provided the performance was good enough. Do you think they can produce three good half hour sets, and something really inventive for their wretched mignons?"

I assured him they would put up a credible performance, and a satisfyingly horrific denouement.

"Well the only thing I will need further is a reasonable amount of spontaneous popular support, I am sure that can be arranged…"

We shook hands in that perfect understanding that only professional gentlemen can attain when they have a shared interest in the finer things in life.

"Should the pair be lucky enough to get the applause you need to convince you… I am sure that they will wish to be your guests on many occasions…"

"We understand each other perfectly. Now on to the entertainment that is on offer."

Well as is often the case when a group is gathered together in friendship and family as well as appreciating the pleasure of the flesh several things were happening simultaneously during the rest of the evening. To tell them like that might confuse a future reader of these diaries so I will relate each little tale separately. Neither will I bore you over much with the actions of the free citizens, for the evening was one of spectator sports. The first tale will be the sufferings of the beautiful little Rose.

As my father says friends and Tribute Brats you can choose but family you are saddled with. Brats have the added advantage of being easily and painlessly disposed of, painless for us that is, certainly not for them. My Aunt was a prime example, her murderous cruelty had haunted my boyhood, and her brats and bitches never had easy end, though frequently an entertaining one. So it was with Rose. I doubt if she had any idea what she wanted the poor boy to do, except to enjoy his agonies of indecision as they mounted in response the gnawing pains in his belly. Of course how can one expect a Tributed Boy to make a decision like this? Whatever he decided was likely to be considered sinful.

Rose was encouraged to visit each adult in turn and beg for a drink, "No booze mind! Don't want him drunk!"

He was now in considerable pain and seeing him force yet another glass of water or fruit juice into his already distended belly proved entertaining. His pale body was streaked with sweat and he was panting hard, occasionally doubling up as the craps hit him.

The first time round he was ordered to do his 'Party Trick' in thanks for each offering. This comprised placing both hands on his flat buttocks and slowly leaning back until first one then the other palm could be placed on the floor. In this inverted crab position the pressure on his bladder increased considerably and his bloated penis strained towards the stars. His first screams started as he frantically tried to maintain the pose before collapsing. His agonies increased as on several occasion he was wanked to an orgasm in this position, further filling his tortured prick. I noticed that Jonathan could not resist this added torment, his own tumescence showing his interest in others sufferings, they quickly adapt usually.

When he had finished his rounds a second time he knelt before Artemis.

"Poor little Rose come and sit on your Mistresses lap and watch the Indian boys dance."

He complied and she stroked and caressed him in a bizarre parody of motherly love, the more so as she continually pressed his bladder and squeezed his prick. "Hush little Rose, you can tell Mistress and the gentlemen what you are going to do after the performance!"

The uncontrolled sobbing of a brat in agony is considered by many to make a suitable ambience to an evenings entertainment, Rose proved an adept as we watched Umur's boys perform… but of them more later; and I had the condemned trio to attend to as well…

It was well over an hour before anybody noticed Rose again, he was doubled up at his mistress' feet, eyes glazed in pain, lips parted in a grimace of agony and red hair plastered darkly with sweat. His hands were clutched into his belly. "Come now stand up and let the gentlemen see you and don't be a silly boy!"

Groggily he hauled himself to his feet and she caressed his body as it shuddered with agonising cramps, he must have a most terrible fear of her, I wonder what else she has done to him?

"Well boy! Its time for you to entertain us now, what is it going to be? Geld yourself? Puncture your belly and let all the piss out? Or do nothing and we can watch how long it takes? Come on! You know you can talk to your Mistress, ask me anything!"

"Oh please Mistress…" he wailed, "I don't know what you want me to… arggaaaaaaa… oh please, cut me please it hurts so bad please!"

"Now here is one of my nephew's nice sharp Languienol steak knives…" she offered it to him and he looked as though she were offering it him red hot.

"Please Mistress, we are not allowed to touch knives are we?"

"Well no, but maybe I want you too take it? Come on you have to decide!"

Reluctantly he took it… so she tormented him every time he placed the knife under his genitals questioning and giving him doubts, the same when he started to press the point into his lower belly, and chiding him for delay when he writhed and screamed in the ever more frequent cramps.

He kept wailing "Please Mistress, you do it, I don't understand what you want, oh Please!"

The agony of indecision overcame him and he dropped the knife. The pain swamped him and in desperation he picked it again.

"Well if you are going to… do go and stand next to the flower bed so you don't mess up the paving… Well gentlemen what do you think belly or cock and balls?"

A cheer went up as the boy chose the latter, hacking inexpertly until blood and the pent up urine streamed down his pale thighs. He collapsed screaming and writhing, but clutching the severed genitals. Artemis clapped her hands and Blanche ran in holding a bowl and a ladle.

"Hold the little beast will you, Dear," and Gwenllian pulled his hands clear of his wound. Who could think that any boy could scream more than he had? But Rose did when my dear caring Aunt applied a liberal ladle of hot pitch to the lad's bleeding pubis to cauterise it.

Mercifully not many seconds later he lost consciousness and was silent.

"Well nephew, a little brat blood is good for the roses don't you know? And it just shows that gelding them can be entertaining too!"

With that she bid us good night and organised her departure, Rose being thrown into a hand cart that seemed to have been ordered to wait… crafty bitch, she planned it this way. I suspect the brat would have found it less painful to have died of a ruptured bladder than he will if he is unlucky enough to survive to her loving care. I do hope she does not win Sky in our wager. I'll make sure a whisper gets back to him, make him run just that little bit faster maybe. But now I must return to Umur's outstanding entertainment…

Chapter 4

Chapter 4a
Xavier's Release

Christopher describes

The brat grinned at me gratefully revealing a mouth full of shattered teeth and lowered himself slowly face down onto the bed. The bandaging about his rib cage prevented him from moving quickly. I stood looking down at him while his mignon little Pierre smiling broadly lubricated my cock with slim eager fingers. Pierre could safely smile I reflected. His balls were quite safe. Xavier as a penal Tribute Boy was doomed to die however well he did in the remaining rounds of the quarter staff competition. He was through now to the quarter finals but whether he would survive beyond them was, I knew, and I am sure he did as well very unlikely, for he had taken terrible punishment.

The TV Cameras while dwelling on the savagery of the actual contests edit out injuries in subsequent pictures of the brats involved. You can see a slut suffering horrible injuries in the ring apparently miraculously made whole in the pictures of the post contest interview. So it was with Xavier. The TV cameras did not show the smashed teeth, the empty eye socket, the smashed fingers of the left hand nor the heavy bandages holding his shattered ribs in place.

The last least of all for these we were trying to keep secret. Since his last fight when the damage had been done we had kept him in the villa out of sight. When he fought tomorrow he would do so without the bandages for any covering or protection was forbidden. If his opponent had any idea of the extent of the damage to his ribcage he would concentrate his attack there and Xavier would not last long.

Looking down at the brat's disfigured body I understood why Maurice had told me when Dad had given me responsibility for training the slut that it would be one of the hardest tasks I had ever undertaken. Also why Dad himself had given me one of his long lectures this time on the responsibilities that privilege brought and the need to fulfil my obligations to my inferiors. (I like Dad and everybody looks up to him but he does go on a bit.)

I would much prefer not to spend the night with so disfigured and broken bit of boy's flesh especially when young with his smooth tanned body and tight little rump was so near to hand but I had an obligation to the Hacienda to deliver him to the bull ring tomorrow in a condition that would ensure his death brought honour to the Hacienda and the brat himself. Xavier would fight for those things too and for the love he bore his Master my father and I knew very well myself but if he was left alone to be allowed to think about what lay ahead of him the next day, the flailing staff cracking his bones as the crowd bayed for more blood, then his nerve would crack. He was after all, I reminded myself, only a Tribute Brat. He did not have the moral strength that we of the privileged classes possessed. It was my task to ensure that he did not think about what lay ahead of him and that I would achieve by giving him liberal dose of what I have heard Dad describe as the 'opium' of the Tribute Stock… sex."

Xavier had stretched himself painfully face down on the bed a pillow beneath his legs raising and opening his bottom for me Pierre parting the lad's anus's lips with the tips of his finger, began to grease his hole. I saw Pierre's little prick was rock hard, wobbling as he worked. He was certainly a hot little bitch and I was very tempted to take him now and to leave poor Xavier to his fate. But Xavier, tough little penal tyke though he was, had been a faithful brat from almost the first moment I came across him and I was not going to abandon him now and after all Pierre would be there to be fucked tomorrow after Xavier had been killed.

While I waited for Pierre to complete his work preparing Xavier for my enjoyment I thought back to that occasion four years ago when I had first come across the slut of whom I had become very fond over the years. So fond indeed that if he had been a free boy I would have regarded him as my friend. That was not possible with a brat – the gulf between us was much too great.

I would not have behaved in the way I did then now but I was young then and knew no better.

I had just returned for my Summer holidays from my Prep School. It was the end of my last term there and I wanted to revisit and check all my old haunts around the Hacienda. I picked up my .410 stuffed a few cartridges in my game bag and slung it over my shoulder. I looked into the kitchen and cadged sandwiches and a couple of oranges from the cook. Two brats hoeing the gravel outside the front door of the house, their naked bodies glistening with health, dropped to their knees as I passed with a cheerful "Long life and good health Master and welcome back home young Master."

The smooth curve of one sluts bottom was ribbed by fresh cane marks but still he grinned at me happily the pain already forgotten. A bruised bottom is of no great significance to a Tribute Brat after all. It was good to see brats so eager in their service and so ready to acknowledge their subordination to their betters. I acknowledged their salute with a wave of my hand and a smile but did not stop to talk to them. As I made my way round the side of the house I heard their hoes scratching away again at the gravel. No doubt they had hoped I would have told one of them to carry my bag. It would have been a good deal more fun than scratching up weeds in the hot sun. I was sorry to disappoint them but I wanted to be alone and maybe a couple of my father's guests would be along before too long and take a fancy to them releasing them from the tedium of actually to having to work.

Soon I was clear of the paddocks and cultivated fields. The forest closed about me dark and silent the warm air heavy with the scent of pine needles. I made my way steadily upwards. Glancing behind me I could see between gaps in the trees the red tiled roofs of the Hacienda buildings and beyond them the broad strip of yellow that was the beach and beyond that again the sea glittering in the morning sun.

By midday I had shot three rabbits and the bag was feeling so heavy on my shoulder that I regretted that I had not brought a brat with me to carry it. The obvious way to lighten my load was to eat my sandwiches and one of my favourite places on the whole estate was close at hand.

I thought of it then as my secret place and it had become somewhere where I went to when things were going wrong, when Dad had shouted at me or the time for returning to school was nearly on me and I wanted to nurse my fears and resentments to myself. Of course I was very much younger then. I hardly ever go near the place now I'm bigger.

A small stream had cut a nick in the side of the hill and then suddenly bursting out of the shadow of the pines tumbled some thirty metres down an almost sheer cliff. At the very edge of the cliff there was a slab of flat rock on which you could sit in the sun, your feet dangling in space, to look out over the woods and fields to the sea beyond. The valley such a it was, was a narrow one and you could only look down into it when you are on it's very edge. I set off towards it guided by the sound of the waterfall.

Squatting on the slab staring out towards the sea I squatted a naked boy the plain iron collar round his neck marking him as Tribute Stock. The murmur of the stream had masked the sound of my approach and he clearly did not know I was there. My first reaction was one of anger. How dare anyone, let alone a bare arsed slut, intrude on my special private place? Then I began to think. What was the brat doing here anyway. He was slightly smaller than me so allowing for the fact that Tribute Brats' growth is generally two years behind ours, another illustration of our natural superiority, he must have been in his sixth or seventh year of service. Yet I didn't recognise him as Hacienda stock and even if he was from the Hacienda he should not have been out here in the woods by himself. It looked as though he was a runaway. It was lucky I reflected that as I closed the breech on my small shotgun and slipped the safety catch off that I had my .410 with me.

The sound alerted the brat and he rose to his feet in a single smooth movement. Doing so he turned his left side to me and for the first time I saw the brand mark on his flank. It was a fresh one, it's sides raw, the skin around it still blistered from the heat of iron. He was not only a runaway. He was a penal also and that made him probably about the same age as myself. He was a bit smaller than me but then only boys from poor families are generally caught by the penals and code they tend to be smaller.

His being a newly Tributed Penal Brat explained why I did not recognise the slut. He must have been allocated to the Hacienda by the Surplus Population Executive while I was away at school. No doubt Dad had protested at his being sent to us. He always did, complaining that the arrival of the unbroken brutes up to six years older than the youngest Tribute Stock disrupted the smooth working of the Hacienda. His protests seemed generally to have little effect, although the animals allocated to us in this way were always in good physical condition. This was certainly so in the present case for the boy was a handsome one dark haired with a certain lithe grace.

I know I should really have let the slut have it in the guts with both barrels of my shotgun there and then. The gun was a small one but he was well within range and the lead shot and wadding would have mangled his belly wounding him fatally. He was a penal, a runaway and there are too many sluts anyway. That is why we have the Tribute System. He would have taken some time to die but not so long as he would if I succeeded in dragging him back to the hacienda and he was skewered, as he inevitably would be as a runaway, to the compound gate.

"T'es un lache comme tous les autres," he spat at me, "C'est facile pour toi quand t'as le fusil."

The insolence of the brute knocked me off balance. First the rule was quite clear. A brat spoke to his Master in his Master's language. If the brat couldn't speak it he learnt fast enough with the aid of the lash. On top of that, although my French wasn't much good then, it isn't really very good now, but our French teacher had warned us about not using tu and t' to a grown up and here was a slut using it to me, a free boy. Then while I didn't know what 'lache' meant I understood the rest.

Anger took over. I would show him that a free boy was better than a brat. Keeping my eye on him so that he did not take me off balance I slid the strap of my bag off my shoulder and dropped it on the ground. Then I broke open the shotgun ejecting the two cartridges and quickly propped it against the trunk of a tree. He watched me all the time. I expected him to try to jump me when I was putting the gun down but he did not make his move until I had done that and moved away from it. Then he moved quick enough. I had the advantage of reach but I only landed one good punch before he was on me. Head down he rushed at me. I managed to land one good punch before he was on me driving his head into my face and sending us both tumbling to the ground in a flurry of flailing arms and legs.

On the ground we were evenly matched for there the slight advantage I had in reach was of no use to me. Indeed I have to admit the brat at first had very much the better of the exchanges. He fought with an uninhibited vigour and a complete disregard for any rules. It was not long before he had managed to get astride my chest and his hands were at my throat. The blood roared in my ears and the world began to darken. I grabbed his wrists with my hands and tried to wrench them away from me. He bent forward and sank his teeth in my forearm. At that point I too abandoned all thought of fair play. I bucked and wriggled and kicked until I managed to get a knee under him and with a fierce jerk sent him rolling away from me. It was my turn to go after him and in a heap of flailing arms and legs we rolled biting and scratching and kicking on the ground.

I had set out that morning wearing the simple loin cloth of a free boy. Used to running round the Hacienda in bare feet from when I could first walk I scorned shoes or boots for the souls of my feet were as hard as any Tribute Brats. The loin cloth did not last long on the struggle and soon the pair of us were both naked the sweat running down our bodies, our breath coming in hoarse gasps as we struggled. Surprisingly although we were fighting each other for our lives we were both hard.

Every chance the brat got he tried to manoeuvre the fight nearer and nearer to the edge of the cliff. Suddenly I understood it was a fight to the death. The brat could not let me live for, if he did, his own fate would be sealed. That meant that the only way I would survive is if I killed him. Of one thing I was resolved if I went over the side of the cliff I would take him with me. I remembered thinking that if that happened they would need to find the bodies quickly so that they could distinguish the bits belonging to the free boy which were to be given a proper burial from the Tribute Brat carcass destined for the fertiliser plant.

We were at he very edge of the cliff. My strength was draining from me but then the brat too was not as strong or as fast as he had been. We were still down on the ground together both our bodies slippery with sweat. I managed to lock my legs around his waist and reached for his eyes with my fingers. He grabbed my wrists and I saw in his eyes that he knew he could not win and that he had made the same decision as I had that he would not let me win either. I was on the underneath and I knew my head was now over the edge of the cliff. I got my feet braced flat on the ground ready to tip the pair of us into eternity when suddenly the brat was dragged off me. The square figure of Karl was standing over me in his inevitable keepers uniform of breeches, leather leggings, cap and hacking jacket.

"Are you all right, Master Christopher?" he asked extending a hand to help me up.

"Fine," I panted as I scrambled to my feet.

"Well now to get this slut down to the compound," Karl grated, "so he can be nailed to the gate as he deserves. I just hope for their sakes that he has no brothers or sisters to join him there."

"Karl," I said with a somewhat breathless laugh, "what do you think was happening. I brought the brat out with me this morning. We were playing free boy and feral. You don't think the fight was a real one did you?"

I could see the brat was crouched some way away where he had been thrown by Karl. He was staring at me with hatred and contempt in his eyes. A cold fury gripped me. I was not going to let any bare arsed slut look down on me. I would teach him that a free boy was better than any Tribute Boy whore.

I walked a little unsteadily over to where I had dropped my bag taking care to keep my left arm close to my side so Karl could not see the blood running from the wound where the boy had bitten me… I picked it up and threw it at the brat.

"Come on slut," I ordered impatiently, "get a move on. The games over now."

The brat clambered to his feet and slipped the strap the bag over his head. I picked up my gun.

"Thank you Karl," I said looking up into the man's puzzled face, "I must get on now. I've got a brace of rabbits already and I would like to get a couple more."

"Come on brat. Get a move on you lazy little brute." I said over my shoulder as I walked up the valley away from the cliff.

I walked on until I was sure we were out of Karl's sight and hearing. All the time I was aware that the brat who had just tried to kill me was walking close behind me and could attack me at any moment but I forced myself not to look round. It was the longest kilometre I have ever walked.

I stooped and turning rested my gun against a tree. The brat stood still, his hands down by his side his head bowed.

"Now we'll finish what we started," I said and swung at him. The blow caught him on the ear. He staggered but kept his feet. He made no effort to defend himself.

"I said we'd finish it slut," I shouted and slapped him open handed across the face. His head rocked sideways as my palm cracked against his cheek.

"Master please forgive me Master," he said struggling with the unfamiliar language and began to cry.

I stood not knowing what to do. Suddenly he had changed from the fierce rebel of a few minutes ago intent on killing me into a humble Tribute Brat. I suppose I should have marched him straight back to the Hacienda and handed him over to Dad for execution. The idea did not even occur to me.

After a pause I said, "what's your name, brat?"

"Xavier if it please you Master,"

Then after a pause he said again in almost a whisper, "Master please forgive me Master."

"Master," he continued, "I was going to kill myself before you came."

"Then you were going to be a very wicked slut," I said firmly. "You can't love your parents nor your brothers and sisters nor your Master.

I was shocked by his confession. Every Tribute Boy knew that killing himself was one of the worst things he could do. It was an act of rebellion and ingratitude, a denial of the legitimacy of the Tribute System, a form of theft from his Master. What made it worse was that the brat had placed himself beyond punishment so the penalties imposed on his family had to be that much greater to dissuade other sluts from indulging in the same wickedness. His siblings and mother were skewered, his father publicly castrated, so that the line that had produced so evil a creature could no longer propagate itself, and blinded and driven out of his community to starve to death.

And yet, although I felt horror at the sluts admission, I also felt his confession had put me under an obligation. He had told me something that if I repeated it would lead not only to his own skewering but the destruction of his family. For there could be no question of his later denying it. My evidence as a free boy would naturally outweigh anything a mere brat asserted. He had placed himself and his family in my hands but in doing so he had shown me what he could not tell me, for the distance between free boy and brat was too great, that he trusted me. I knew instinctively that I would not feel comfortable with myself until I had found someway of acknowledging and returning that trust. I know it is strange that I a free boy, a member of the privileged classes should care about what a brat thought of me but so it was.

"I know Master but it's not easy for me Master, Xavier burst out. "I was a free boy too like you a week ago and then the I was informed on for unruliness and Tributed by the state. It's not like I was a brat from seven. And my Master doesn't care about me at all when I was taken in front of him he just growled at me and handed me over to that cruel black bast…"

I hit him as hard as I could in the mouth. He staggered and lost his balance and fell.

"Don't use language like that about your betters slut," I said coldly.

Xavier sat for a moment looking u at me blood dribbling from a corner of his mouth. For a moment anger flared in his eyes and I braced myself for another fight. The he dropped his gaze and I knew that the danger had passed.

"My Dad does care about you," I said quietly. "He cares about every slut on the place and he handed you over to Mr Hassan so that you can be taught to be a good slut and a credit to the Hacienda."

"Yes Master but Master Hassan is cruel Master. He keeps me kneeling on that bench of his forcing my knees wider and wider apart and it hurts so much Master. I was meant to go to him again today Master that's why I came out here."

"The Hacienda brats are meant to be able to kneel with their knees wider apart than any other brats," I explained, "so that our the guests can see their balls and cocks. That's why you have to spend time on the bench."

"Now get up slut. Since you up here now you can spend the rest of the day as my bearer."

I lead the way back to the little valley. Karl, as I knew he would have, had left there by the time we returned. I sat on a rock eating my sandwiches as Xavier squatted at my feet.

I could have let him have some of my food but I had only brought enough for myself and as my Dad so often told me you must not spoil Tribute Brats. It is not fair on them if you do so.

The first rabbit I shot after lunch I did not kill outright. The shot broke it's one of it's back legs and it began to drag itself. Xavier ran after it and collected it. He brought it back to me holding it by it's hind legs as it twisted desperately in his grasp squealing piteously in the way rabbits do if they are hurt.

"Put it out of it's misery boy," I ordered. I don't like to animals suffering unnecessarily and both Dad and Karl say a true sportsmen does not leave a wounded animal to suffer. Xavier looked at me blankly and I realised that he had no idea how the job was done.

"Hold the gun," I said passing the .410 to him, "and be careful with it, it's loaded. Now pass me the rabbit."

"Watch me. This is how you do it," and I broke the animals neck with a sharp blow to the back of it's head.

"Now pass me the clasp knife you'll find in the bag and watch again. Next time you can do this," I said as I paunched the animal.

The job done I recovered my gun from Xavier. Neither of us said anything. It was not something that could be mentioned between a free boy and a Tribute Slut but we both knew that Xavier's moment of rebellion was over and forgotten. He had submitted to his service and I had shown that I knew that was so.

By late afternoon I had had enough. They would be beginning to wonder where I was at the Hacienda and I was tired from walking. It was lucky I reflected that as I trudged homewards that I had got a brat to carry for me. I had killed four more rabbits and these together with those I had shot earlier would have made a heavy additional burden. As it was they hung, suspended by their hind legs from the strap of the game bag their bodies leaving smears of blood against the side of Xavier's bare thigh as he padded wearily along behind me.

Back at the Hacienda I told him to take the rabbits to the kitchen for the cook while I waited for him on the terrace. He returned grinning slightly and chewing. I knew the cook was generous with scraps for any brats who called at the back door of the house with things for the kitchen. That was why I sent Xavier there rather than going myself.

"Xavier," I said, "I am pleased with you and if my Father agrees I will use you as my bearer when ever I go shooting this holiday."

His face split in a grin of pleasure. Apart from anything else I suppose it was a good deal better I suppose than having his knees pulled apart on Hassan's bench.

"You will have to learn to clean my gun. Come with me and I will show you how to do that."

I led him through the house up to my room. Soon he was kneeling in a corner busy buffing the inside of the barrels with a woollen brush. While I sat on the bed watching him and giving him occasional words of advice.

We were occupied in this way when my Father came into the room. As was often his practice in the Hacienda he was naked.

"Hello Christopher," he said, "just looking to see you were all right."

"I'm fine Dad," I said a little surprised. He was not usually given to fussing.

"It's just that Karl looked in on me earlier on in the day and he'd run into you on he hill and he said you seemed to be having a bit of trouble and Hassan was around as well saying a brat he was going to train had gone missing. For a time we had a runaway who might attack you," at this he looked sharply at Xavier who like a good brat was getting quietly on with his work while his betters talked.

I moved my left arm quickly to hide Xavier's tooth marks. The wound had stopped bleeding but it's shape and nature made it's cause obvious. I tried to laugh easily.

"Oh Dad," I said, "I told him that it was only a game. I had met the slut there by the Hacienda and told him to come with me to carry my bag. I was bored. It was just a pretend fight."

Dad looked closely at me his eyes fastening for a moment on my left arm that I held closely to my side.

"Um," he grunted eventually turning his attention to Xavier, "that's the boy is it. I must say you seem to have improved his attitude. When he was brought before me on arrival here he struck me as a a sulky little brute. Typical of the penals they wish on us."

"Stand up boy," he rapped, "and come here. I want to have a look at you."

Obediently Xavier scrambled to his feet and crossed to stand in front of me father. I felt a thrill of pride as he stood there head bowed, right leg slightly advanced, open hands down by the sides of his thighs, the very model of a humble little Tribute Brat in the presence of his Master. A complete transformation from the rebellious tyke of that morning. Many years later I told my father the true story about my fight with Xavier and commented on my surprise at this change in so short a period. Dad said it just showed that the brat's themselves wanted to serve and only needed a little firmness to bring them to a proper sense of duty and obedience.

Dad tipped back the boy's head and looked down into his face. His hands began to move over his body. I saw Xavier tense but my father spoke to him quietly and slipping his left hand between the brats legs began to gently stroke his genitals and the boy relaxed again.

"There whore, my father murmured you like that don't you? Eh boy? Now turn round let me have a look at the rest of you."

Both my Father and Xavier were now hard. The boy's small cock and tiny hairless balls contrasting with my Father's massive rod and heavy balls with their covering of dark coarse hair.

Dad ruffled the brat's hair squeezed the back of his neck and ran his hands over his thin shoulders. He moved his hands down to the boy's bottom and Xavier started and I saw his eyes roll back in panic.

I was on my feet even before Dad called me. I started forward and took hold of Xavier's hands in mine.

"Steady now slut," I murmured, "let Master look at you. Lucky little slut Master likes your bottom. Lucky slut."

As I spoke I wondered how it would feel to be penetrated by Dad's swollen prick. It was so large that I wondered how any boy could take it up his bum. Of course as a free boy the law forbade my penetration by an adult before my fourteenth year. No such protection was extended to Xavier or any other Tribute Brat who were available to be used in anyway that appealed to their Masters from the day they entered service at the beginning of their eighth year forward. I imagined it's tip being forced between the lips of my anus, the tearing pain as it breached my sphincter and then the further pain as he drove it's full pulsating length into me burying it to it's roots in my bum. I had seen other brats fucked and I knew there was pain and I knew too there was pleasure as well for I had seen and heard them as their little cocks rigid they had ridden their masters' cocks.

I too was rigid now. I almost wished it was my bum not Xavier's that Dad was about to enter.

"Part yours legs, whore," Dad ordered softly.

Xavier's eyes widened in fear.

"Come on, Xavier," I encouraged the brat, "show me what a hot little whore you are. Come on now."

I lent forward and kissed him on his parted lips.

I heard Dad say, "a virgin at twelve it could only happen to a penal."

I did not see Dad force his way into the boy but I knew that he had done so when Xavier pulled his mouth away from my lips and throwing his head back and screamed. Slowly the volume of his cries subsided and to a low moaning. I bent forward again and fastened my lips on his. I took both his hands in my one of mine freeing the other so that I could stroke his small quivering cock.

Every time Dad drove forward he lifted Xavier's feet from the floor and I would be forced give ground. Eventually my back was to the wall and I could retreat no further. Dad gave three final massive thrusts and was still. Cum spouted over my fingers from the end of Xavier's prick.

Dad stepped back and I heard a popping sound as he withdrew his cock from Xavier's bum. I wiped the my hand clean on Xavier's chest. I could see his cheeks were wet with tears.

"Good little whore," I said comfortingly, "Master liked fucking you. Well done slut."

Dad slapped the boy firmly on his bum.

"Come on now, brat," he said, "finish the job off and clean me up."

Xavier turned and dropping to his knees buried his head in Dad's crutch licking and sucking the filth from his cock. I could see a mixture of blood, shit and cum trickling from his hole and down of his thighs.

"I thought Dad, I might have Xavier as my boy this holiday?"

"Of course you can, Christopher, but only after Hassan has satisfied himself that he is properly trained."

"Oh Dad," I protested.

"Yes Christopher, you can't get the brat off everything."

"That's enough, whore," he said pushing Xavier away from him, "You've done a good job and you're a good fuck too."

He stood up to leave the room.

"By the way, Christopher," he said turning at the door, "after you've taken Xavier over to Hassan you'd better get the housekeeper to dress that bite wound on your arm. It's a deep one and they can turn sceptic."

After Dad had gone I wiped Xavier's lips clean with a paper handkerchief. He did not protest but I could see he was very frightened at the prospect of being taken to see Hassan. I did not blame him. Hassan can be very rough with Tribute Brats who have annoyed him. However we neither had any choice in the matter so taking him by the hand I led him from the room.

On the way to Hassan's workshop we passed a group of third year brats making their way up from the beech giggling and fooling around as is the way with sluts of that age when they are not being supervised. They fell silent when they saw me approaching and dropped to their knees giving me the usual brat greeting of, "Health and long life Master."

Then they caught sight of Xavier's bottom and a chorus shrill excited of questions rang out.

"Who fucked him Master?… Did you fuck him Master?… Was he a good a fuck Master?…"

"Don Carlos fucked him," I said laughing and raising my voice to be heard over the hubbub. "Who'll lick his hole out for me?"

"Me Sir… Please me Sir… ," they all shouted excitedly raising their right arms and waving them excitedly.

"Well then," I said with mock seriousness, "it had better be the slut with the longest tongue."

Again there was a chorus of excited shouting.

"Shut up all of you. As you can't agree whose got the longest tongue. I'll have to decide. Stick them out now as far as they can go so I can see."

Six pink tongues were thrust out at me and I inspected them with mock seriousness before making my decision.

"You have the longest by far. You can do the job." In an instant his face was buried in Xavier's bum as he lapped at the brat's hole.

I could hear the screaming long before we arrived at Hassan's workshop. Xavier baulked but I drew him firmly on. I pushed open the door. Hassan was playing with my Father's most recent gift to him a sturdy grade C white brat in his final year of service. Hassan straightened himself and came towards us carrying a pair of pliers whose jaws still gripped one of the one the brat's thumb nails.

I did my best for Xavier but when I left Hassan was reaching down the heavy cane from it's place beside the door and as I walked away across the yard I heard the crack of wood against bare flesh and the cries of a boy being chastised.

Three days later I found Xavier waiting for me outside the house. Hassan had finished with him. Every holiday from then on he acted as my personal brat. He took some handling at times and could forget his place with strangers but so far as I was concerned there was not a more faithful devoted slut than him.

Now the time of his Release had come and I owed it to him to see that he achieved this without disgrace. I just wished as I prepared to fuck him that he had all his teeth and both eyes and a whole ribcage. In fact I just wished that he could be allowed to live.

I suppose I must have fucked Xavier four times that night. Every time the brat stirred and woke me I would place my hand on his hip push him onto his face and enter him. I am not pretending it was unpleasant work. He did his best and although in the final year of service he was still satisfactorily tight about my cock and the exercise all the Hacienda brats were taught allowed him to work his bottom in such a way to compensate in part for the general lack of liveliness imposed on him by his injuries. The brat like the faithful hardworking slut he was did his best to please me and he seemed to enjoy doing so from is pants and moans of pleasure as I ploughed his bum.

We fell into a deep sleep at about one in the morning and neither of us woke until Pierre through back the shutters of the bedroom at eight the next morning.

Because of the need to keep the extent of Xavier's injuries a secret from the other contestants we were feeding him apart from the other brats. I felt I could not possibly leave him to eat alone on this day of all days so I had my breakfast sitting on a chair in my bedroom with Xavier squatting on the floor spooning warm gruel into his mouth from his bowl. The poor brat was not even able to enjoy the traditionally extra large breakfast given to contestants before a contest because of his smashed teeth.

After we had eaten Karl appeared to remove the bandages from about Xavier's chest and to disguise so far as possible the extent of his of his injuries. Brats were not allowed any clothing or protective coverings when they competed and if Xavier's opponent was aware of the damage that had been inflicted to his ribcage he would be sure to start hammering at it. It only needed one lucky blow to drive one of his broken ribs through a lung leaving the slut to drown in his own blood. It wouldn't have been the first time it had happened to a brat.

With Karl there I took the opportunity to go and speak to my Father. I had been thinking a lot during the night and I had something to ask him. I found him sitting on the terrace by himself sipping a cup of coffee and looking gloomy.

"Dad," I said, "can I speak to you for a moment?"

He said nothing but waived me to the chair beside me. The omens I thought did not look good. He had on what Maurice once described to me after I had upset him about some minor thing, trying to drive that old Land Rover of his without permission and denting a wing I think, his 'damned disinheriting look'.

"Dad," I ploughed on taking the seat, "I've been thinking. Xavier's going to be killed today we all know that. He does too. He's a penal so all the moneys coming from the TV rights and everything are split evenly between you as his Master and the state that Tributed him."

Dad said nothing but grunted his agreement.

"Well," I said plucking up courage, "he's done really well. That last fight where the black brat put his eye out just before Xavier broke his neck with his stave has been shown over and over again on the highlight programs and it's sure to be in any videos they do of the games. And I know he's caused a few problems when he's been with us, but overall he's been a good brat and quite a favourite with some of the guests."

"I was wondering Dad if you could give, sort of half your take to his family. He's got a little sister Dad, he's mentioned to me a couple of times. She was four when he was Tributed so she just coming up to seven now and it would be nice if I could tell him she'll be safe from Tributing because of what he's done. It'll give him something to fight for…"

I shut up. My father's face had gone dark with anger.

"He has something to fight for," he snapped angrily, "the honour of the Hacienda and the love he bears me and more to the point," he added calming down a bit, "… you Christopher."

"Have you said anything to the slut about this… or him to you??" He asked after a moments silence.

"No Dad." I replied shocked. Money, real money was no business of a slut. A brat might get away with begging for a couple of obols if his master was in a good mood but he was heading for a certain flogging if he ventured to even mention Euros, while a slut caught in possession of any would have a skewer through his guts.

"Good… for it's out of the question. Christopher, the great division in our world and one that has to be maintained at all costs for civilisation depends on it is that between free and servile. There is another division almost as great and quite as important to the continuation of civilisation. That is the one between free citizens who are wealthy and those that are poor. It is natural that the poor envy us and want to take our wealth away from us. Yet if they did so they would remain poor and we would become so as well for there is simply not enough of the world's goods to go round.

"You have seen the squalid slums in which the poor live. If they were successful, we would all live in such places. That would mark the end of our civilisation as surely as if we lost our hold over the Tribute population."

"To preserve our civilisation we must both keep the Tribute population down and keep the free poor in their place."

"Why was Xavier tributed do you know?"

"I think he said once subversive behaviour Dad."

"Exactly Christopher. He was tributed because he threatened in someway the stability of society. He was cheeky rude or insubordinate. He was tributed both as a punishment and a warning to others. Part of his punishment was, that his parents interest in him was forfeited to the state. That both punished Xavier for his misbehaviour and his parents for their failure to control him. To give his parents a part of my share of his earnings would undermine the effectiveness of that punishment. Would that be right Christopher?"

"Well, perhaps no, Dad but I'd like to do something to help his sister. Xavier is very fond of her."

"I understand you feeling that way, Christopher, but you are being sentimental and impracticable. There are hundreds and thousand of children each year that face tributing on their seventh birthdays. Is one little bitch to be exempt just because she is the sister of a slut of which you happen to be fond."

"No she must take her chance with the rest. If she is class A material she may well be lucky in her service and even win an extra eighteen months life if her Master does her he honour of choosing to whelp her."

"The Tribute System is a hard one, Christopher, but it is a necessary one."

He paused again looking gloomily ahead of him.

"And that bloody Ritchie… he said under his breath has made things more difficult too. I've got representatives of the population control executive breathing down my neck. I daren't step an inch out of line so I'm sorry, Christopher, the answer is no."

I said nothing but got up and left. For all Dad's lecture I thought we might have done something for Xavier. Not that he wouldn't do his best anyway. I knew he would. It just seemed so unfair.

Karl had good a job camouflaging Xavier's injury. Nothing of course could hide the empty eye socket and his opponent would be certain to try very hard to get the other one out with the point of his stave but he had painted over the bruises on his chest and spread some sort of plastic film over the two places where the ends of broken ribs had penetrated the skin.

When I returned Xavier was standing in front of Karl who was seated on a chair and working away on the brat's left hand.

I saw Xavier was grinning in a pleased shy sort of way and I caught Karl asking him as I came into the room, "and how many times did the young Master fuck you last night boy?"

"At least six, Karl," I said deliberately exaggerating the count to please Xavier, "before I lost count and very good the little whore was too."

Xavier flushed with pleasure at the praise.

"I bet he is," Karl lent forward and patted Xavier on the side of his bare thigh. "Perhaps Christopher you would let me fuck him this evening when he comes back from winning his semi-final."

It was well meant but we all three knew that Xavier would not be returning.

"I don't know, Karl," I said trying to keep the thing going, "I want the little whore too much for myself." It sounded very hollow to me.

The quarter staff contest were held in a small stadium specially constructed next to the bull ring to hold individual fights. The ring itself was only some fifteen metres square and the seats rose close around it in tightly packed tiers. When we arrived the place was packed with spectators and the noise of their shouting and laughter in the enclosed space was deafening.

The two semi-finals were planned to be fought that day and the finals on the next. Xavier's bout was the second one so I took my place on the bench at the side of the ring set aside for trainers of brats waiting to compete with Pierre and Xavier squatting on either side of my feet. I made sure that Xavier was on the side of me away from his opponent.

I was wearing my smartest clothes for the occasion including the fine boy hide waistcoat with bone toggles that my Dad had specially made for me.

The first two contestants were already standing with their trainers at the top of the steps at either end of the bar on which the fight was to take place. They were both in Tribute Stock terms sturdily built boys one a Negro, the other a blond. Their mignons squatted on the ground at the foot of each flight of steps some four metres below them. From the raked sand floor beneath the pole a series of needle sharp steel stakes jutted upwards. At the beginning of the contest they all glittered like polished silver, now many were stained and dull.

I glanced down the bench and caught the eye of the trainer, a thick set man with a broken nose. He nodded to me.

"You're sluts a penal?" He asked.

I nodded.

"Makes it difficult to motivate the brute. Not having a chance of living how ever he does?"

"My brat's as good any," I flared up.

"I fight for the love of my Master," Xavier interjected.

I cuffed him, not very hard, on the side of the head for interrupting a conversation of his betters and then ruffled his hair to show him I was not really angry.

"Oh aye," the man said looking at me closely.

"You're Don Carlos's son?"

Again I nodded.

"He has the knack of getting the best out of his brats. You seem to have inherited it."

At that point the President entered his box, there was a great roar of excitement from the crowd and we turned our attention to the ring.

The President stood and raised his hand waiting for the noise to subside.

"Ladies, Gentlemen," he shouted as soon as he could be heard over the din, the first bout today is the first semi final in the quater staff competition between Monsieur Duclos' Ubanga and Mr Bolderson's Robert. The two contestants will fight until one is dead or until I judge that one is incapable of standing on the beam. On no account is a contestant to be released until I have given my authorisation. The trainers are responsible for seeing that their brats fight with enthusiasm and commitment. The contest begins now."

Both trainers pushed their brats onto the bar and urged them forward to the attack by thrusting their electric prods against their bare bottoms. To be fair to the sluts they hardly seemed to need such encouragement. They ran at each other vigorously swinging and thrusting with their staffs. For a time neither appeared to have an advantage as they both alternately struck and parried. The audience sat in tense expectant silence and the only sound was the panting of the boys and the crack of wood striking wood. Then the white youth began to loose ground being driven back along the pole towards his trainer by the weight of the black's attack. An expectant hum rose from the began to rise from the tiered seats. Robert, the white lad, had retreated almost to the steps. I could see the sweat streaming down his body and his chest heaving as he fought for breath. His trainer lent forward and thrust the prod between the boy's legs. Galvanised by this, he howled and lunged forward with the point of his stave. The black boy swaying sideways evaded the thrust and swept a low blow across the side of Robert's leg. There was a dull thump as wood connected with flesh and bone. The crowd until then silent howled it's excitement and Robert swayed precariously on the bar . He seemed about to fall towards the ground with it's sharpened steel stakes. At the last moment he saved himself but only by going down on one knee. The black boy raised his staff over his head clearly aiming to end the fight with a single stroke. The white boy jabbed upwards with his stave into the blacks crutch. The Negro staggered backwards and Robert went after him dragging one leg.

Now the fight began in earnest as the audience screamed it's appreciation. Most of the blows now were getting through. The staves thumped and cracked against bare flesh. Teeth were shattered. Blood was streaming from the black boy's nose from where Robert had landed a heavy double handed blow across it's bridge. Robert's jaw appeared to have been knocked out of line from the rest of his face. But still the fight seemed to be evenly balanced until the black boy, switching suddenly from a swing to thrust, caught Robert under the chin with the point of his staff sending him tumbling from the bar. The audience screamed with excitement as the boy tumbled towards the pointed stakes. And the crowd then moaned it's disappointment as he fell between them except for a single steel blade that pierced his left thigh.

His mignon ran to where he lay. He tried to lift the boy's leg clear of the stake but could not manage it. Two of the masked stewards stepped forward and taking the boy by his feet and shoulders lifted him bodily off it. They tipped the lad back onto his feet and drove him back towards the steps with kicks as his mignon darted forward slapping handfuls of sand to stem the flow of blood from the open wound.

The boy was soon back on the bar blood seeping from the wound in his leg. It was clear that his strength was failing him. But still it was a further full fifteen minutes until the black boy succeeded in felling him with a blow to the side of his head. Even then the boy did not give up, he fell to his knees and then under a further rain of blows fell dropping his staff so that he was lying prone his arms wrapped tightly round the bar. The black tried to dislodge him hitting him with his stave and kicking him but with no success. The Negro stepped back. Holding his staff with both hands he lifted it above his head and drove it's point down with all his strength and weight behind it into the white's back just below the shoulders blade. I saw the point drive into the boys body blood swelled up around it. The Negro had to put his foot on Robert's back and pull upwards in order to free his staff. He kicked at the boy and he tumbled to the ground. He fell face upward. I could see blood welling from his mouth. His trainer ran to him and held the prod against his neck. The boy jerked convulsively but it was no good. He died under the gaze of the TV cameras.

The dead brats carcass was dragged away. The winning brat left the stadium to he hysterical cheers of the crowd. Then it was Xavier's turn

"The second semi-final is between Don Carlos's Xavier and Mr William Smythe's Nicholas. Same rules and conditions as the previous fight," The President announced let the contestants take their places."

I led Xavier forward. I left the prod that was given to all trainers on arrival at the stadium on the bench. I would not insult Xavier or demean my self by carrying it.

Nicholas I saw was bigger than Xavier. Many Masters regarded the quarter stave as a weapon suited for the sturdier brats. Dad's view was that spirit and agility could often defeat brute strength in this as in many other contests.

The trouble was that Xavier with his broken ribs had lost his agility and was left only with his spirit to match the other boy's strength. His spirit though kept him in the fight for a surprisingly long time.

The President gave the signal for the fight to begin. I saw the other trainer send his boy forward with jab of the probe. I slapped Xavier on the rump and tried to say something to encourage him but found somehow I couldn't speak.

The other brat went first for Xavier's obvious injury jabbing over and over again at his face to try to put out his one remaining good eye. Xavier who was quick and intelligent coped easily with this simply moving his head to evade each thrust. He even managed to get a couple of swings against the other brats chest but with his injured hand these had no force behind them although they excited the crowd. Then disaster struck. He must, in dodging a thrust from the other boy, disturbed one of his broken ribs. Blood began to dribble from his mouth. I saw the other trainer spot this and scowl in puzzlement for his brat had not landed a single blow on Xavier's body. Then his face cleared and he shouted an instruction at his boy. The slut stopped jabbing at Xavier's face and began to lash out delivering heavy two handed blows aimed at the side of his chest. Xavier wielding his stave effectively one handed did not have the strength to parry these properly and the brat beat his guard down over and over again. But still Xavier's spirit did not fail him. He was reduced now to standing with his arms pressed to his sides to protect his ribs making the occasional weak one handed thrust at his opponent.

A dent had formed in the side of Xavier's chest and a fragment of broken bone protruded through the skin. The crowd sensing the end was near was screaming it's blood lust. At last, it occurred to Nicholas, who was obviously not very bright to vary his attack. He took a swinging blow across Xavier's knees. He saw it coming and jumped backwards but not far enough to completely evade the blow . He lowered the point of his stave to try to ward it off but the other brats staff knocked his aside as if it was a piece of straw. I heard wood crack against his knee bones. Only then for all the punishment he had taken did Xavier cry out. He threw his arms wide to try I suppose to retain his balance but with at least one shattered knee cap there was little point in that. The other brat at last managed to land a full bodied blow across his injured ribcage and Xavier went down. He fell backwards to the ground and one of the steel spikes appeared sticking out of his stomach just below the ribcage.

I darted down the steps and grabbing his dagger from Pierre ran over to where Xavier lay ready to put him out of his agony as soon as the President gave his authorisation.

I could her the crowd screaming and cheering around me. I looked down into Xavier's face. Blood was gushing from his mouth now. His eyes stared up at me. I looked round desperately for the President. I could see him making his way slowly down the steps from his box to the ring. As I watched he stopped to shake hands and exchange a few words with a friend.

I dropped to my knees by Xavier and cradled his head in my arms. I could see the TV cameras focusing on us and a microphone was thrust forward so it could catch the sound of Xavier's bubbling breath and no doubt also my broken and pointless phrases of attempted comfort.

At last the President appeared. He stood looking at Xavier for a few seconds and then prodded him with his foot.

"All right," he said, "you may kill him now. He's no more good to anybody."

I heard a camera man say as I cut Xavier's throat, "great TV, great TV."

I stood up and watched as the marshalls lifted Xavier's body from the stake. They had quite a struggle and when they did eventually wrench it free it came away with a distinct sucking sound.

I turned and walked away followed by Pierre. On the way out of the stadium I bumped into the other boy's trainer.

"Your slut put up a great show, son," he said kindly. "The brat had guts."

I stared at him and wiped with my hands at my waistcoat.

"I'll never get the blood stains out of this," I said.

I could see that something very near an orgy was going on in the tiers of seats. Men and women too fondling and fucking brats in their excitement. I realised that I too was excited. I turned and grabbed hold of Pierre. I bent him over the side of the barrier and pulling down my own shorts drove hard into him. I achieved my orgasm in a few brutal thrusts.

I noticed a bloody piece of flesh on the floor at Pierre's feet.

"What's that?" I asked the boy.

He looked down.

"Oh Master Xavier's balls Master. I cut them off after they'd lifted his body off the stake. I thought I ought to Master."

"Take them to the tanners and ask them to cure the scrotum and put a draw string round it. I'll use it for a purse. It will give me something to remember him by.

Dad was somewhere about with his Land Rover but I choose to walk back to the villa by myself. When I got there I went to my room. Dad knocked on my door later on and asked if I was all right. I said I was. I couldn't admit I was crying for a dead slut could I?

Chapter 4b
The Great Knife Fight

Christopher describes

I fought to control myself. After all he was only a Tribute Brat. There were plenty more where he came from. His life had run it's short allotted course and that was the end of it. It had not been a bad life, nor a bad death either, for a slut. He had been fortunate to serve a master who had the necessary firmness and patience to convert him from an uppity little penal tyke to a properly obedient Tribute Slut. He had been fortunate, as well, to be given the opportunity to show in his death his love and gratitude to that Master who had saved him from almost certain skewering and disgrace. He had died with his betters screaming their appreciation of his performance and the Master he rightly loved cradling his head in his arms as his life blood seeped away. He had had the satisfaction of knowing that his death agonies had brought honour to the Hacienda and profit to the Master that had nurtured and trained him.

He had done well I told myself but it was time to move on.

Right away my immediate need was for a brat in whose bottom to slake my burning lust. Fortunately there was sure to be one to hand. Ever since I had exiled Mir from my bed to make way for Xavier in the run up to his performance in the quarter staff contest the little whore had been skulking about the place looking sad normally with his tiny prick erect and bouncing against the front of his stomach. At first I had felt a bit sorry for him but then his constant presence in the background his big eyes, red rimmed, filled with longing and sadness began to irritate me. I had banished him from my bedroom and had in the end thrashed him when his whimpering at the closed door became intolerable. Even so I was sure he would not be far away.

"Mir!" I shouted and at the instant the door to my room burst open and the slut was there, an excited smile splitting his face, the light glinting in his red gold hair, his slim body quivering with eagerness.

"Well come here you silly little tart," I ordered with mock roughness, "surely you know better than to keep your Master waiting."

He ran across the room and leapt onto the bed setting the bed springs creaking in his eagerness. His arms reached round my neck his face turned up to mine, his lips parted, his breath coming in short gasps. I kissed him on his open mouth and our tongues jousted with each other. I slipped a hand up the back of his thighs and squeezed his tight little boy's rump. My fingers explored his crack. I found his hole and inserted the tip of my thumb. His clamped his legs tight around me, his body jerked convulsively and I felt his warm boy's juices squirt over my tummy. I withdrew my thumb and smacked hum hard on the rump with the flat of my hand.

"Selfish whore," I said angrily, "putting your own pleasure before your Master's. Did I say you might cum?"

"Master… please… Master," the brat wailed. "I'm sorry Master… I didn't mean to Master. Please Master I didn't mean to. I want to please you Master I do…" And he began to sob wildly his mood of happiness changed in an instant to one of despair and fear.

I smacked his bottom again the sound of my hand striking taught boy's flesh wringing out like a pistol shot.

"You know what the penalty is brat." I said pushing him roughly away from me and sending him tumbling onto the floor in a sprawl of naked limbs. "Fetch me my sheath knife from the top of the chest of drawers!"

I watched as the child made his way across the room on unsteady legs. He held the knife out offering it to me with trembling hands. I took it form him and beckoned him to stand closer.

"Hands behind your back," I commanded taking his tiny balls between the finger and thumb of my left hand. He obeyed and I laid the knife blade across the root of his scrotum. He shuddered at it's touch and a flood of amber fluid jetted from his small cock over my hands and chest.

I laughed at the boy's terror and threw the knife onto the piss drenched bed.

"Fetch me the cane you stupid little bitch," I said still laughing. I had no intention of cutting him. I was going to fuck him not geld him but he had to be taught to behave himself and the terror he had just experienced combined with the pain of the thrashing he was going to receive would ensure that he did not behave again in so selfish a way.

"Master… thank you… Master," he cried in gratitude for my generosity and shot off to fetch the cane from where it hung on a hook behind the door.

"Get in position then," I commanded taking the cane from him and weighing it in my hand. A metre or so long with a sharp whippy movement it seemed admirably suited to my purpose. "Heels slightly apart and get a good grip of your ankles."

I walked around the boy and ran my hand over the curve of his upturned rump. I noticed the skin was smooth and unmarked. I realised that I had been lax in my care of the boy. He was clearly over due for a beating. Brats have short memories and they should not be left too long without feeling the touch of the rod across their tender little behinds.

I laid the cane against he curve of the boy's rump judging my distance. His bottom tensed the dimples on either side of it deepening. I raised the cane above my head and then brought it hissing down. It cracked against his bare flesh it's tip curling round his bottom and nipping at his flank. The boy jumped and caught his breath, there was an instants silence, and then a squeal of pain. A white stripe appeared across the smooth brown skin of Mir's bottom which turned angry red before deepening to a darker purple colour. At the point where the tip of the cane had curved round his rump a dark blood blister began to form. I waited until Mir was settled again and then gave him his second cut and then the third, the fourth, and the fifth. He screamed and jerked as the rod sliced down again and again across his bare rump but he managed to keep in position.

I was proud of the way the brat was behaving under correction. But there was a final test he would have to endure. I took a step back and judging my distance with care laid the cane across his left buttock so that it's tip curled into his open crack and flicked down across the lips of his anus. The boy howled but discipline held and he remained on his feet his hands holding tight to his ankles.

I let him stay there for a second or two longer not knowing whether his punishment was at an end or not and then finally told him to stand up.

He straightened and putting one hand on a thin trembling shoulder I spun him round to face me. I saw his cock was once again erect. Taking his chin between my finger and thumb I tilted his head back. I looked down into his tear stained face seeing the mucus trickling from his nostrils down his upper lip and chin. I kissed him fiercely on the lips tasting tears and snot. His arms clasped me tight around my neck.

I pushed him away and threw him face down onto the wet bed. He spread his legs and pushed his bum up opening his hole for me. I rammed my cock into him forcing my way past his sphincter in a series of heavy thrusts.

"Take your whore Master… Fuck me Master… Please fuck your whore… Please… deeper… deeper Master… Thank you Master… harder please…"

The words tumbled out of the brat in an incoherent jumble as he bucked and twisted under my thrusts on the urine soaked bed. His hot boy body closed tight about my cock seeming to draw me ever deeper into him. I came in a series of great surges deep inside him. For a moment he lay still beneath me as we both panted for breath. I did not bother to withdraw my cock from him for I knew the rest for both us would be but a short one Soon I felt him stir beneath me, he began to work the muscles of his bum against my cock. I hardened once again and soon we were both panting and moaning as we worked ourselves up to another climax.

Half an hour later I was in the shower with Mir's buried in my crutch as he sucked and licked the filth from my cock and forest. I felt relaxed and at ease. Even Mir's swiftly working tongue could not reawaken my lust for the moment. In the bedroom over the hiss of the shower I could hear a couple of brats clearing away the soiled bedclothes and washing clean the floor.

After towelling me down Mir handed me a pair of shorts. Pulling them on I made my way, followed by the slut to the garden in search of breakfast. Dropping into a chair beside my father I sent Mir to fetch me croissants and coffee.

"I gather from the noise you and that brat of yours were making that you have got over the loss of Xavier," Dad remarked drily eyeing Mir's retreating form with that indulgent half smile that a sight of a pretty well disciplined Tribute Brat often brought to his face. An expression that could quickly turn to one of cold fury if a slut stepped an inch out of line that frightened me, let alone the unfortunate little brute who had excited his anger. It seemed to me sometimes that Dad had only to look at a brat to make him pee itself which usually only increased his anger with the miserable slut. I was secretly rather pleased that I had made Mir wet himself. It was the first time I had managed that with a fifth year brat… first and second years were easy and didn't count.

"I'm sorry dad," I said, "I hope I didn't disturb you." It had not occurred to me before but we had been making rather a lot of noise.

"It doesn't matter," he replied it was morning and we should all be getting up."

"It sounded as though you were having fun, Christopher," Gwenllian said with a giggle. "Do you always get an erection when you beat a little boy?"

I flushed. The answer to this question was yes but I did not want to discuss with my cousin.

"Mir seems to like being fucked too," Dad remarked his eyes still on the slut as he returned to the table carrying my croissants and coffee. Indeed the brat's contentment was very obvious, his whole bearing betrayed a consciousness of his body and a knowledge of it's attractiveness.

"He is a really hot little bitch, Dad," I said. "Do you want to fuck him. He's really good." Mir glanced up at me from under his eye lashes and smiled happily at the compliment.

"Not at the moment thanks, Christopher. I've got to say something to the brats now," and he stood up and rapped on the table with his knife.

"Ladies, Gentlemen, whores," he said loudly once the chatter had subsided. "One more of our sluts achieved his Release yesterday. Xavier completed his service in the quarter staff contest. His Release brought honour to the Hacienda and he stands as an example to all you brats at what can be achieved by any of you. Xavier was sent to serve here as a penal and we all know that penals can be most ungrateful and ill disciplined of sluts. That miserable little brute Ritchie being a case in point. Xavier though adjusted well to his Tribute Status and made the most of the opportunities that service in the Hacienda affords a willing brat. He was a hardy little animal ready for any task but at the same time a skilled and energetic whore as my own son, among many others, will testify."

There was a burst of giggling at this from the trestle table where the brats sat and some applause. A voice shouted out, "… the young Master has got a bigger cock than that Japanese ponce." I flushed scarlet and glared at the brats trying to work out which of them was responsible for this impertinence. My father with his instinct in these matters said, "Kumu that's quite enough of that. Six strokes of the cane this evening after supper to teach you discretion."

"Sorry Master," Kumu grinned, white teeth flashing in his coal black face, apparently quite unaffected by the prospect of a thrashing. I suppose brats are beaten so often that they get used to it, although I must say they seem to feel it enough when they get it judging by the way they squeal. No doubt Kumu could tell from the way Dad spoke that he wasn't really angry though that would not affect the force he put into using the cane.

"In the end," Dad said resuming his serious voice Xavier showed his gratitude and love to me and my son Christopher especially by the way he fought and died. He did not win his contest but he achieved a Release that every one of you Tribute Boys could with advantage aim for with the crowd screaming it's excitement and his Master cradling his head as his brain oozed from his cracked skull."

"Today," he continued after a short pause, "we have two further brats competing in the games. Georgio and Ahmed who compete in the great knife fight. Georgio and Ahmed stand up."

The two brats both dark skinned and swarthy stood up grinning shyly obviously embarrassed to be the centre of so much attention from free citizens. As often happens in the circumstances the two brats became excited and their cocks hardened and jutted upwards.

I felt that if either of the boy's was not too badly sliced up in the fight I could perhaps ask Dad to have his carcass flayed. I had had to throw away my old leather jerkin as it had proved impossible to remove the stains left by Xavier's brains leaking over it. Their skins skin were just about the colour I wanted but that would have to wait for later.

I heard Gwenllian draw in her breath sharply.

"Holy shit, Christopher," she murmured, "those two look fun. Not as big as that black boy's tool but good for a ride. Any chance of getting them to myself before they fight?"

My father glared at the girl and for a moment she was silent except for muttered profanities and expressions of admiration.

"One of you boys," my father said after a weighty pause, "will certainly be dead by this evening, very probably both of you will be, but remember this is your opportunity, to show your gratitude to me who have cared for you during your years of service to ensure by your efforts the prosperity of your parents who brought you into the world and to win cheers from the crowds of free citizens who have come to see you fight, to live beyond death in the pictures that will be seen in every home in the world with a television set if you fight well and hard."

"It is not necessary to win. Xavier has shown us that, but it is better to do so. Remember therefore two things."

"The knives you fight with are short and meant not to kill, for that would shorten the contest and spoil the sport for the spectators, but to wound and maim. Strike therefore at your opponents guts, slice upwards whenever possible, ripping open heir stomach walls and leaving them with their intestines spilling from their bodies until there are no more to fight. You can slit any number of throats at your leisure afterwards if you are so minded."

"Fight as a pair. Watch each other's backs. Do not be tempted to expose your partner by an apparent opportunity for an easy victory. That victory will be your last if in gaining it you loose your partner."

"Lets make this an all Hacienda final event."

Karl, Maurice and the rest of us clapped politely while the Tribute Brats hammered on their trestle table and whooped in their enthusiasm.

"What gives with this great knife contest Christopher?" Gwenllian said to me under cover of the din.

"Oh it's very simple," I replied, "In the morning one hundred and fifty brats armed with knifes are put into the bull ring and fight it out until the death until two remain alive. After we have had lunch, once the siesta is over, the two survivors are matched against each other in the small stadium. They are allowed a wooden board strapped to their left forearms to ward off cuts so the contest doesn't end too soon. No protection is allowed in the morning. It takes quite a time to dispose of a hundred and forty eight sluts even with them all naked."

"It must be quite a sight," the girl exclaimed. "Are you going to watch it? Can I come with you? All those smooth boys' bodies being ripped open, so much young blood and suffering… I must see it."

"I'm sure Dad'll have a couple of seats to spare. I'll ask him now."

I was not too keen on having Gwenllian's company but she was my cousin and I had to be polite. Mir would have been enough company for me. I much prefer Tribute Brats to free girls. The brats you can use as you want when you want and are eager to please not sulky and demanding. No doubt some day I'd have to father a son but until then I'd enjoy the sluts on the Hacienda. Like I've heard Dad say 'boys for pleasure… girls for duty.'

Dad did have some tickets for the fight so about an hour later Gwenllian and I were settling ourselves into our seats in the owner's stand on the opposite side of the bull ring to the President's. I was wearing the traditional dress of a free youth, a fine boy hide loincloth and a white linen jerkin which emphasised the colour of my sun tanned limbs and I looked, I thought, pretty good. I was not the only person of this opinion for I heard a number of the men in the audience comment on my looks and potential as a lover.

I sat on the right hand side of Gwenllian and little Mir, keeping as far away from her as possible, settled himself on the floor on the opposite side of me resting his cheek against the side of my thigh. Gwenllian was clearly very excited. Her eyes glittered and her breath came quickly through half parted lips. She rested her hand on the inside of my thigh and squeezed. Despite myself I began to harden. She moved her hand up my leg and slipped it inside my loin cloth. Her fingers caressed my cock.

"It's not as big as that black boy's Christopher," she breathed in my ear, "but it's not bad either. Have you ever fucked a girl?"

I opened my mouth to answer but before I could speak her lips were fastened to mine and her tongue was deep inside my mouth. The blood roared in my head and I think if fate had not intervened I might well have seen little of the fight.

Fortunately however at that moment a trumpet blast rang out announcing the arrival of the President. This for the moment distracted her and pulling away from me she caught sight of the man who had just appeared on the opposite side of her to myself. He was a gigantic African, a Nigerian by his dress for he was wearing a long white robe and a fez. As soon as he was comfortably seated he spread his legs and his slut, a pretty little blond in her fifth and therefore final year of service for her sort, dropped to her knees at his feet. In an instant all that was visible of the tart was her vigorously wriggling naked rump peeping out below the hem of her Master's robe. The bulge her head made in the white material moved convulsively as she worked at his crutch.

Gwenllian forgot me on the instant. She wasted no time on preliminaries. Reaching up under her new neighbour's robe she caught hold of the slut by her collar and with a sharp jerk sent her tumbling to the floor on her bottom. She lashed out at the brat with her foot catching the little brute full in the face with the heel of her boot. Blood began to flow from the slut's nose and mouth. I wondered if the kick had broken anything. It really didn't matter if it had. At twelve years a serious injury would only bring forward the day of a girl brat's Release by a month or so at the most.

Gwenllian wasted no time on the sobbing brat. Lifting the Africans robe she bent burying her own face in his crutch. I caught a glimpse of his penis, huge, erect and demanding just before she took it into her mouth. I wondered at how she could manage it let alone the slut. The latter of course had no choice and would have been well whipped if she had failed to do what her Master required and that no doubt makes a considerable difference. As Dad says it is surprising how much a brat can achieve when appropriately encouraged.

Freed of Gwenllian's attentions I was able to look around. The stadium was packed for the great knife fight was one of the major spectacles of the games. All around me rose a hum of excited chatter as the audience waited with increasing anticipation for the beginning of the blood letting. In front of me was the ring itself bounded by a breast high circular wall. Soon one hundred and fifty naked brats would fight to the death there, the sand now clean and neatly raked, would be stained with their blood, the air loud with their screams and the howls of the watching mob. The President took his place in the centre of his stand. He bowed low to the audience amid loud applause. The marshalls began to take up position at regular intervals around the barrier surrounding the bull ring heavy whips at the ready for this was an event where a brat hard pressed and forgetful of his duty and the debt he owed his Master could be tempted to try to take refuge among the audience. I noticed, as always at such events as this, there were a number of marines lounging relaxed but ready behind the line of marshalls prepared to take care of any serious problems that might arise. After all this was a contest between armed brats and the sluts are so wild and unreliable that one has to be always prepared for the possibility that they should be so wicked as to attack their betters.

The President stood up and raised his hand. The din of the crows died away and he began to speak. He made the usual sort of speech which was punctuated, so far as I was concerned, by the occasional slurping sound from Gwenllian as she serviced her new acquaintance .

How honoured he was to be President of this one of the most prestigious and exciting of events; he thanked the owners and sponsors for providing such spirited and good looking brats; he hoped the sluts would be mindful of al they owed there Masters and their duty as tribute stock and realise how lucky they were even in their deaths to afford pleasure and entertainment to those they were born to serve. There were a hundred and fifty Masters and sponsors to name and a similar number of brats. Perhaps his audience would excuse him if he handed this task over to the clerk of the event.

After the applause had died down the clerk began to read out the list of Masters, sponsors and contestants. As each name was read out the brat was lead into the ring by his sponsor.

Clearly the organisers were taking special precautions with this event. No doubt with good reason, for a large concentration of armed Tribute Stock at the point of Release was potentially explosive even if the arms were only short stabbing knifes. No doubt any trouble would be quickly and easily crushed by the marines but shooting the sluts would spoil the sport for the audience who had paid good money for their seats

The brats at this stage were unarmed and their wrists were secured behind their backs with plastic ties. The brats were a fine and arousing sight. They were of all races and colours and their behaviour and expressions reflected a whole gamut of emotions. Some were fearful and trembling on the point of tears, others were grinning cheerfully apparently relishing the prospect of fighting and winning the crowds cheers, others were quiet seemingly resigned to their fate. They all had however three things in common. They were naked. They were class A brats beautiful and in the peak of physical condition. They all sported erections. Even at this moment of high drama when they were approaching Release from the time of service they could not hide their true nature as sluts and whores.

Slowly the ring filled with contestants and their sponsors. They stood in orderly rows. The sponsors whispering to their charges, hands kneading smooth boy's flesh that would soon be torn and bloodied.

"How long is this going to take? Gwenllian asked wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. Clearly she had finished with her new friend for the time being at least.

"Well about fifteen minutes or so," I replied.

"Jesus, fifteen minutes just reading out a list of names," exploded the black man.

"Yes, it is a bit boring, Christopher. You must admit. I can't sit here for a quarter of an hour listening to a load of names being read out."

"Think of something amusing we can do darling," Gwenllian continued addressing the black man.

"You've got to have a moment lady to recover myself. You sure give good head."

"Why thank you… What's your name?"

"Umbootu… Ma'am… Andrew Umbootu."

"Andrew?" I asked startled.

"Yes… Andrew… my Mother was Scottish," the black man said and I was suddenly aware of his great size. "Does that present a problem to you?"

"No. No. It does not," I hastily assured him and indeed it did not. For as Dad says the real divide, the divide that counts in our society today, is not between nations or races but between free and unfree. It doesn't matter if an individual is black or white or brown or yellow. If he is free, he is your equal and your interests are his interests. If he is unfree, he is nothing and has, if the free are to survive, to be crushed. I've also heard dad say in private that there is another division almost as important… that between rich and poor but as Andrew could afford a seat at he bull ring for this contest he was on the right side of that division also.

"Well that's all right then." The black man said suddenly amiable, "and I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll have that little slut of yours hump my whore. I bet he's never fucked a bitch before."

"Yes a great idea," Gwenllian exclaimed clapping her hands. "Come on. Let's set it up."

"Cunt," Andrew shouted at the girl brat who was huddled on the ground as far away from him as she could. I noticed that blood was till trickling from her nose which was sort of crushed down onto her face. "Come here and get down on your back. Come on hurry it up bitch and get your heels up to your bottom and spread your knees."

"God," he remarked to Gwenllian and me, "I really mashed the bitches nose. I'll have to put her down. I can't stand damaged goods."

"She's ready for your brat to mount," he added speaking to me.

I hesitated. I was not too happy about the way things were going. Mir was my slut and I was fond of him and wanted to keep him for myself.

"Yes come on, Christopher. Get your brat, whatever his name is, to mount her. Don't be such a spoil sport," Gwenllian said irritably.

That was enough. I wasn't going to be called a spoil sport by a girl.

"Get on with it, Mir," I snapped. "Fuck the bitch like the lady says."

Mir cast a pleading look at me. Well I wasn't going to stand any nonsense like that. Let a brat start deciding who or what he's going to fuck and there's an end to discipline and order… that's what Karl says and I'm sure he's right. I grabbed Mir by the collar and pulling him to his feet I encouraged him with a sharp slap across his bare rump with the flat of my hand.

Mir knelt between the girls legs who pushed her body up towards him. He looked both frightened but his little boy's cock was as hard as rock so I thought he wouldn't have much difficulty in obeying my order. He hesitated.

"Come on, brat," I ordered roughly don't keep us waiting.

He looked at me pleadingly.

"He doesn't know what to do," Gwenllian screeched laughing. "The little whore doesn't know how to fuck a cunt."

"Come on, child," she said dropping to her knees beside the frightened boy, "let Mummy show you."

She took the brat's small prick between her finger and thumb. A few seconds later, Mir's bare rump was pumping away enthusiastically. It was clear that his original reluctance had been forgotten and indeed I found the sight of Mir's young body hammering away at the little bitch combined with the knowledge that the whole thing was being done for our entertainment very arousing.

I was so engrossed in watching the spectacle that I did not notice Dad take the seat beside me. It was only when he spoke that I realised he was there.

"Just let the brat come once, Christopher," he said quietly," or he'll be spoilt for us later."

I realised that he intended to take up my offer of the use of Mir's body. Pleased, I did better than he asked and standing up pulled the slut off the bitch before either of them orgasmed. It was very funny watching the pair of them reacting to the sudden interruption of their fun.

"Don't you dare come, boy," I snapped at Mir. "You're here so that your betters can enjoy you not to have fun with a little Tribute cunt like that."

Mir was almost crying as he fought to control himself pressing his fingers hard into his perineum in a desperate attempt to choke off the blood supply to his quivering cock. For a moment it was touch and go but eventually he got himself under control and his prick began to shrink.

"Well done, Mir," I said, "now kneel down by me again. I'll let you know when we want you."

While I was getting Mir back under control Gwenllian was introducing Dad to her new friend. When I sat down Dad reached across me and shook Mr Umbootu's hand.

"I am delighted to have made your acquaintance," he said, "Is this your first visit to our festival?"

"Indeed it is Sir and I must say I am thoroughly enjoying it. We have our festivals of course but this in it's variety of events and the quality of the stock used is the best I have ever been privileged to attend," the black man replied with equal courtesy.

Then noticing his bitch still lying on her back on the floor her knees spread wide he lashed out with his foot catching her in her ribs.

"Get up you stupid cunt," he shouted, "useless lump of dogs shit. The fun's over now. Get on your knees bitch."

"I hardly like to make the offer Sir," he continued in his normal voice, "the state the bitch is in but if you or any of your party care to make use of the bitch please do so."

"You are very kind," my Father replied, "I, myself, prefer boys for recreational purpose and the same is true, I think, of my son and indeed the slut does not at the moment look very repossessing. It would appear that her nose has recently been broken?"

"Yes silly bitch didn't get her face out of the way of my boot when I aimed a kick at her. Spoilt her looks completely but she's twelve so she's due for Release soon anyway. I'll get rid of her this evening."

The girl who had been listening to all this began to howl loudly. Andrew clouted her on the side of the head and the wailing abated to a steady sobbing.

"And what method of Release do you use?" My Father enquired.

"Why Sir, I fuck them. They can't take my cock and I split them open and they die. Maybe one will manage to take it some time so there's a chance of survival like the law requires but none has done so yet."

"Do you think it would kill me?" Gwenllian asked with an excited shudder. "It is big… what a way to die… I almost envy the bitch."

"I wouldn't kill you," the black man assured her looking into her eyes. "I would be gentle with you my dear. I'd treat you very differently than I do dirt like this," he continued cuffing the unfortunate slut yet again.

At this moment there was a further trumpet blast signifying that the preliminaries were over and the contest was about to begin and I turned my attention back to the bull ring. The sponsors and their brats were ranged in three even ranks, big prosperous well dressed man alternating with slight naked boy.

A team of four brats under the supervision of a marshall pulled a large chest on a trolley into the ring. The marshall lifted the lid of the chest and after bowing to the President hurried out of the ring driving the brats before him with his whip. I could not see into the chest but I knew it held one hundred and fifty of the short knifes with which the contest was to be fought.

"At the next trumpet blast. Each sponsor will slip the tie about their contestants wrists and will leave the ring. You brats, in that chest are the knifes with which you are to fight. The slut who gets there first, will have the first knife and therefore an advantage."

He lifted his hand and there was a sudden and complete hush. He dropped it, the trumpet sounded and pandemonium broke loose.

The sponsors made a somewhat undignified dash for the tunnel jostling each other in their eagerness to get out of the ring. The brats, their wrists freed from their restraints, screaming in excitement, hurled themselves at the chest which was soon covered by a mass of desperately struggling boys as they fought each other to get at the knifes. Eventually indistinguishable the jumble of bare limbs and naked bodies began to dissolve into it's constituent parts.

Light glinted on steel as the first brats to win possession of a knife set to work carving up their fellows. The screams of excitement changed to howls of pain and shrill yells of triumph. A deep excited roar rose from the watching crowd.

Some sluts were wounded even before they had a chance to get a knife for themselves. Not many however, fell immediately. The short bladed knifes drew blood but did not generally immediately disable. Boys, their bodies streaked with gore, hacked and slashed at each other. One terrified brat leapt the barricade surrounding the ring only to be caught and disarmed by two marshalls who than hurled him bodily back into the struggling mass of frenzied boys. Without a knife he did not last long. Generally though the sluts seemed to have been overcome by a fighting madness that rendered them all but oblivious of their wounds and robbed them of all emotions except a wild rage that expressed itself in a desire to slice open their fellows bodies. I saw one boy, a dark lithe young animal, whose stomach had been lain open by a stroke of the knife, sink to his knees, his guts spilling from the open gash, strike out with his knife and slash another youth across the back of his thigh even as he fell. He gained nothing from hamstringing the other boy. He himself was already dead meat and by crippling his fellow he gained nothing except perhaps a companion in death. It just showed what primitive irrational creatures Tribute Brats are and how necessary and right it is that we should maintain our rule over them.

The number of brats on their feet had begun to thin out. For the first time I could distinguish our two, Georgio and Ahmed. They had taken notice of my Fathers instructions and were fighting as a team, back to back, cutting and slashing at any brat who came within their reach. Their bodies were splattered with blood but so far as I could see, apart from a gash down the side of Georgio's left thigh that he had staunched with a handful of sand, they were unwounded. The blood must have been that of their opponents rather than their own.

Everywhere now, boy's were on their knees or lying on the red stained sand, blood and tripes trickling from their wounded bodies. I could hear mingled with the excited shouting of the watching crowd the moans and screams of the wounded brats and the occasional yells of excited triumph or defiance.

I was thoroughly aroused by this cruel but exciting spectacle. Looking around I realised I was not alone in this. Everywhere it seemed Master's were using their brat's mouths or bottoms to relieve their lusts. Umbootu had pulled his robe clear of his knees and Gwenllian, her skirt hitched up around her waist, was sitting astride his lap her eyes glazed, her lips parted, as she rode his cock. It appeared that his assurance that he would not damage her despite the size of his rod had been well founded.

I pulled Mir's ear. He smiled happily up at me and quickly twisting round onto his knees buried his face in my crutch. My cock was already hard and having pushed my loin cloth to one side was standing erect and proud. I put my hand on the back of the little slut's head pushing it down so that he had to take the full length of my rod into his mouth. I could feel the sides of his throat contract around my prick as he swallowed hard in a desperate attempt to accommodate it.

"I'll take advantage of your offer now, Christopher." It was Dad. He was standing up and was unzipping his flies.

"Get your bum up in the air brat," I ordered Mir. "Be quick now don't keep my Father waiting."

Mir obediently scrambled to his feet and without removing his lips from about my cock lifted his bum up for my father.

I was a little afraid of what might happen when my father entered him. I knew from my own experience that Dad's cock was a large one and it had stretched me to take it and I was a couple of years older than Mir. It was going to hurt the brat and I hoped he would have enough self control and sense of gratitude to prevent his biting down on my own cock as the pain hit him. I need not have worried. Dad spat on the palm of his hand and after lubricating his swollen prick with saliva levelled it at the slut's hole. I tensed ready to pull away, it was unnecessary. Mir braced himself pushing his bottom back and upwards. Dad drove forward. Mir grunted and his nose was pushed flat against my belly. Otherwise the faithful little whore gave no sign of the agonies he must have been suffering as my father penetrated him. I felt a great wave of affection for the brat flood over me. Then all I was conscious of was the feel of the child's lips and tongue against my cock and the roaring of my blood in my head.

I came before my father. Once more I could hear the roar of the now blood crazed mob and the shrill screams and cries of the boys as they hacked at each others' naked bodies with their short knifes. I looked at Mir and almost laughed. His eyes stared blankly into space, snot and tears trickled down his face and mingling with the cum was dribbling out of his mouth. My Father too was oblivious to all about him. Holding the brat to him with one hand about his waist and the other clutching the boy's crutch he drove forward with such force that each thrust of his body lifted the Mir's feet clear of the floor. Even the din of the crowd could not drown the rasping breath of my Father and the painful whimperings of the boy. As I watched, the tempo and force of my Father's thrusting increased until with one final lunge he froze holding the boy with his feet scrabbling in the air. I watched Dad's heavily muscled buttocks convulse as he orgasmed.

After a moment he was still. He released his hold on the boy. Looking down at the palm of the hand with which had covered Mir's crutch he smiled and wiped it clean on the brat's shoulders. Mir twisted round and buried his face in Dad's crutch licking his filth away. I saw a smear of dark red blood forming down the inside of his thighs. I hoped Dad had not torn the brat too badly. I had spent a great deal of time and effort on breaking and training the brat. It would be hard to have to start all over again with another slut if we had to put Mir down.

I turned my attention back to the ring. The number of sluts on their feet had fallen dramatically. Georgio and Ahmed though were still there and relatively unscathed although an opponents knife had sliced across Ahmed's chest leaving a deep red gash from which blood still seeped and trickled down his flanks despite his attempt to staunch the flow with a handful of sand. Otherwise though they were doing well. Indeed it seemed the first part of the contest was all but over. Only three other brats were standing and of these two were already badly hurt.

It took only a few seconds for Georgio and Ahmed to dispose of the wounded pair and then they turned and began to converge on the only other remaining survivor of the one hundred and fifty sluts who had started the contest.

"Don't hurry it boys," I heard my father murmur as the roar of the crowd rose in anticipation of what was to come, "remember the Television Rights. Take your time now. Give the crowd more blood. That's what they want."

It almost seemed that our pair could hear what he said. They approached the boy from opposite sides. Georgio lunged forward feinting with his blade drawing the boy round to face him. Then Ahmed darted in from behind and slashed him across the back of the right thigh just above the knee. Blood coursed down the sluts leg and now partly immobilised he was at their mercy and they showed none. They circled him, taunting him, occasionally darting forward to stab always at his face. Now the end of the struggle was preordained they could afford to ignore my Father's advice to go for the stomach and could enjoy themselves. Even so the slut received three or four stab wounds to the cheek before Ahmed succeeded in doing what they had been from the beginning attempting and took out one of his eyes. The boy's piercing scream could be heard over the crowds roar of excitement.

"Go for the other eye. Get the other eye," Gwenllian screamed and the cry was taken up by the mob.

"The other eye. Get the other eye," the chant rang round the stadium as the brat stood there at bay, his left hand clasped to his bleeding eye socket, blood pouring down his face knowing that he had no chance.

A few seconds later the crowd's wish was fulfilled and the boy received a stab wound in the other eye. Still Georgio and Ahmed had not finished with him as they cut and cut again at the child's bloodied carcass.

Dad was talking urgently into his mobile.

"As soon as that brat goes down get the nets over them… Yes the nets… Don't use the darts we don't want the anaesthetic taking the edge off them for the finals… They'll calm down all right if you can keep them quiet for ten minutes or so… Now he's going down… get them now or they'll start at each other,"

Indeed as the boy's bloodied carcass fell to the floor our two brats lunged at each other. Before they could do any harm Karl and Hassan darted into the ring carrying weighted nets. In an instant these were cast over the two brats and two separate bundles of squirming furious boy dragged from the ring to the cheers of the crowd.

"Well," Dad said standing up, "a most satisfactory morning I think our pair acquitted themselves really well. I have hired one of the executive dining rooms here and I think we may as well go and eat. The excitement has certainly given me an appetite."

"You will join us too I hope?" He continued addressing Umbootu.

"I thought," Dad said as we seated ourselves, "that we should have something light for lunch. The contest this afternoon should be an interesting one and I want to be alert to enjoy it. I feel also we have probably seen enough blood already so I have ordered a simple meal of monk fish in a white cream sauce followed by one of the few puddings that the British can do well, strawberry shortcake. Perhaps Christopher you could get your slut to take the wine round it's a Muscadet for the first course and a Chablis for the second."

Mir who had quickly cleaned himself very prettily poured the wine as Tribute Brats employed by the management of the Bull Ring complex, all specially selected for their dexterity and personal beauty, served the meal.

Hardly had we begun to eat than Karl came into the room.

"Ah Karl," Dad said, "what news of our two young champions?"

"We've got them in separate cages in the basement Sir. They're neither of them too badly cut but I would like to do a bit of patching up but they're still beside themselves. There's nothing I can do with them. I don't want to hit them too hard because that might spoil their performance later but I don't know what else I can do."

"Bring them both up here Karl. I'll calm them down for you and I'm sure my guests would be interested to see them."

A moment or two later Karl returned with Hassan, the two men each keep a firm hold of a squirming blood stained brat. Georgio and Ahmed, their hands pinioned behind their backs, were clearly still in their own minds in the ring and eager to fight, their eyes rolled wildly, their lips flecked with foam and their cocks hard and erect. The two men forced them forward as we watched until they were standing beside Dad's chair. Dad looked at them for a moment and then stood up, patting his lips with his napkin.

He took Ahmed's chin between his finger and thumb lifting his head and forcing the brat to look into his eyes. There was for a moment a silent struggle between the hysteria that gripped the slut and the calm rational authority of his Master. It did not last long. You could see the fury and aggression drain from Ahmed's body. I have never seen a clearer demonstration of the power that Dad exercised over the brats' minds and bodies.

"You can untie his wrists now," he said to Karl releasing his hold of the boy's chin.

A second later Ahmed stood in front of him his head bowed humbly his hands hanging open by his flanks the very model of a properly schooled Tribute Brat.

"You did well Ahmed," Dad said quietly, "I am very pleased with you."

"Thank you Master," the boy replied blushing with pleasure at this praise.

"Now let me have a look at you."

The boy stood still as Dad ran his hands over his body assessing the damage inflicted on him during the mornings contest. Every now and again he would catch his breath as Dad's exploring fingers touched an open wound.

"Nothing too serious Karl." Dad remarked. "Nothing that a couple of stitches won't look after in the short term anyway and that's all we're interested in."

"Yes Sir. There's no point in doing anything too fancy. The pair of them will most likely be killed this afternoon. If one is spared we can get the Doctor to him then. No point in wasting time and money on them now."

"True Karl true," my Father replied and then turning to the boy who ad been standing quietly listening to this assessment of his future. "Now Ahmed, Karl's going to do some work on you and after that you'll be given something to eat. Get some rest and give as a really good show this afternoon when your brought back into the ring to fight Georgio here."

"Master," the boy said and all the love and devotion that he was capable of was packed into that single word.

Then my Father turned his attention to Georgio. After he had calmed and inspected that boy Karl stepped forward to lead the two brats from the room.

"See," Dad instructed him, "that they both get two good slabs of meat after you've stitched them up and give them both a shot out of that special mixture of mine."

"A mixture of Brandy and Viagra," he explained to the room in general as the sluts were lead away, "it'll make them fighting mad by the time they're due to appear again in the ring."

After lunch I napped in an armchair in one of the executive lounges with Mir curled up on the floor at my feet until it was time for the final knife fight. This was fought in the small ring which brought the audience much nearer to the action and gave everyone a better chance to share in the excitement of watching two handsome brats in the peak of condition fighting each other to the death.

The two sluts were lead into the ring by Karl and Hassan. It was clear that Dad's potion had had it's desired effect. The boys were visibly excited and full of aggression. They were not bound but I noticed that Hassan and Karl carried their knifes and had a firm hold on both the brats and made sure that they were kept well apart. The two boys had each had short batons strapped to their left forearms to act as rudimentary shields before entering the ring.

They were kept waiting, shifting about from foot to foot and giving occasional jerks at the restraining hands of the two men, clearly eager to get at each other and draw blood while the President made his way into his box. Arrived there he tried to make a speech. He was some sort of local politician and this was after all perhaps the most important event that he would ever have a chance to speak in so it was understandable that he should wish to extend his moment of brief glory. However the audience was impatient and he had hardly began to speak before his words were drowned by impatient shouting and the thunder of stamping feet. He glanced round helplessly, scowled fiercely and gave the signal for the fight to begin.

Hassan and Karl released their holds of the two boys and they flew at each other their knife blades flashing in the afternoon sun. The two men retired to the edge of the ring. A warden handed each of them an electric prod traditionally used to force unenthusiastic boys to move forward and fight. It was clear as Ahmed and Georgio ducked and slashed at each other that they would not be needed on this occasion.

I have not seen many knife fights. We have a few from time to time at the Hacienda to entertain our clients but as they usually end with one brat dead and another badly cut up and our sluts are of very high quality Dad will only stage them for special occasions. I have seen enough however to know that this one was of exceptional quality both as regards the skill and the ferocity of the contestants. At first indeed the boys did not manage to penetrate each others guards although they tried hard enough indulging in a contest of thrust and counter thrust carried on with an agility and speed that had the audience in a frenzy of excitement.

Georgio was the first to draw blood slipping under Ahmed's left arm and scoring an open gash down the side of his chest. This seemed to gall Ahmed so much that he forgot about skill or science. He charged the other boy driving him backwards with a flurry of blows. Georgio managed to evade most of these and to get three or four further thrusts home as he retreated but finally Ahmed managed to bear own his defence and deliver a slashing stroke across the front of his chest. There was no doubt though that Ahmed was so far having the worse of the fight and I could see that he was beginning to slow down and weaken.

It was at this moment Georgio made a mistake. He was loosing blood quite fast from the single wound in his chest. No doubt he calculated that his opponent was all but finished and he could afford to relax the pressure on him in order to take care of his wound before he began to weaken from loss of blood. He bent forward to take up a handful of sand to with which to staunch the bleeding and Ahmed seeing his opportunity lunged forward. He aimed, I think, for one of Georgio's eyes but missed the point of his knife catching the other boy on the forehead just above the left eye brow. The point of the knife striking the boy's skull slid sideways laying his brow open in one long gash from left to right. Blood gushed from the cut blinding him. Automatically he raised his left arm to brush away the blood and Ahmed his strength momentarily regained was on him stabbing furiously. Georgio retreated warding off or evading a number of the blows but Ahmed bored forward eventually trapping the other boy against the wall of the ring. Now it was real butchers work as the two boys forgetting all about defence hacked and slashed at each other's bodies while the crowd screamed it's appreciation.

This could not last for ever. I could see the frequency and force of both brats knife thrusts were slackening. It was simply a question of which one tired first. Georgio began to sag at the knees. Slowly he sank towards the floor. Ahmed grabbed hold of his hair with his left hand and pulled his head back. He drove his knife point into Georgio's throat, one of the few single killing thrusts with such a short bladed weapon. Dark red blood fountained from the boy's severed artery and he crashed to the ground. Ahmed was the winner but at that moment of his triumph we could see no pardon was possible for him for Georgio before he fell had ripped his stomach open and his intestines were hanging from the open gash. Possibly a skilled surgeon could repair this wound but the cost, for after all he was but a Tribute Brat, would be prohibitive and in any event the boy would be so horribly disfigured both by that and the other wounds he had suffered that he could have no place in the free community.

Ahmed took a pace forward, raised his hand in acknowledgement perhaps of the crowds cheers and measured his length on the blood soaked sand. His mignon darted out into the ring. He knelt beside the stricken boy holding out his knife to him. Ahmed had only one thing still to do but he did not have the strength. His hand reached for the knife but failed to reach it. Karl stepped quickly forward his hunting knife in his hand. He rolled Ahmed onto his back. His knife moved twice. With the first slash he severed the brat's balls with the second he cut his throat.

I looked down at the two small bodies lying side by side on the sand. It was pity I though that they were so badly cut about. There was no chance of getting enough boy hide off either of them for my new jerkin.