Date: Wed, 30 Jun 2010 14:51:41 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Part 7 of Reluctant Gladiator

RELUCTANT GLADIATOR - Part Seven
A story by Pete Brown (petebrownuk @ yahoo.com)

Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories

The training rooms - I was to discover that there were several of them,
depending on what activity was scheduled for me that day - were the kind of
places you'd find in a city gym, I suppose: certainly some of them were not
unlike those I was used to from the marines.  Some of them just had
exercise machines in them - all the usual stuff for focussing on particular
muscle groups - and some were almost bare, with just a foam "mat" covering
the floor, where we practised falling and wrestling.  And, of course, they
all stank - stank of that smell of sweat and maleness that you only get
when men exercise hard together and there are no women with deodorants and
perfume and stuff.  I breathed in the scent, and felt my pulse begin to
quicken as my body prepared itself for hard work.

That first day of training was like so many I was to experience, except
that first of all some of the guards - who it turned out were actually
trainers, too - came and inspected me to decide on my training regime.  I
had to stand here as four of them prodded and poked at me, feeling my
muscles and telling me to flex and so on, so they could decide what I
needed.  I felt myself getting angry at the way these guys were handling my
body just as if it was a piece of meat, but they did sound as if they knew
what they were talking about.  It was decided that a lot of work was needed
on my belly - well, I've got a pretty reasonable six pack, I think, but for
the past few weeks I had been "at home" and not away on an operation, and
then I do tend to eat a bit more as there's fast food outlets just outside
the base, and perhaps I was getting just a little bit "loose".  One of the
trainers had taken a pinch of my flesh between his thumb and forefinger, to
test
 my belly - I really didn't like being handled like that - and he looked at
me and commented that I'd soon lose that, but then he went on "But don't
expect it to be easy.  I can tell you've usually looked after yourself and
you've got good hard muscles there - I expect you used to feel proud when
you took your shirt off and strutted around at a pool or the beach showing
off, but it's different if you're a gladiator: your opponent will attack
your gut, punching away at it, and if there's any weakness at all, they'll
find it out. So all of the new boys like you need to put in a lot of work
to really toughen up".

"Yes", another one added.  "And the converse of that is the need to have
good, hard hands.  Did you ever do any boxing, and train for that with a
punch bag?"

"Yes, it's part of the standard marines combat training."

"Well you'll find it's different here - your hands need to be really hard.
So you'll spend hours with a punch bag - but without gloves or any other
protection."

I nodded, and the first guy looked at me "I don't think you understand just
how tough it's going to be.  We get soldiers here all the time who think
they're really hard men - they soon learn that the levels of fitness, and
the ways you need to use your body, are quite different for a gladiator."

That morning, then, I had a long session on a weights machine - one that
was set above my comfort level so I really had to work at pulling the bar
down.  And then a one-on-one session with an instructor who beat out a
rhythm to which I had to do trunk curls - and proper trunk curls, too, with
my legs absolutely flat and my heels not allowed to leave the ground at
all.  And I soon found another difference between training there at
Philips' Fighters and back in the marines: there you only had the drill
sergeant screaming at you if you failed to work as hard as expected.  But
here they all had a leather strap which they used quite often, and I soon
found out that it is actually more effective than all the shouting in the
world - a few stinging slaps of it on my bare shoulders, or even across my
thighs, and I had a powerful incentive to work.

Lunchtime found me absolutely exhausted.  We didn't have a proper break as
such, and there was no going back to the mess hall.  Instead you stayed in
the exercise rooms and most of us sat against the walls, and they came
around with a box of sandwiches - we were each allowed one, and a big
bottle of water.  I don't think it's enough, after a morning of really hard
work, but Mike told me that at Philips' Fighters it was believed that a
proper lunch tended to make you perform less well in the afternoon.  Our
break lasted at most half an hour, and then it was back to work - I was
scheduled in to a room with a lot of punch bags hanging from the ceiling
and some of those floor-mounted balls on springs, and me and the other guys
in there had to spend our time punching away.  It began to really hurt me,
as my knuckles were simply not used to it, but there was no letup - those
ever-present straps kept me at it.

We all finished the day with another long run around the main arena, and I
was glad to see that I was not the only one who looked as if they were
suffering as we raced around and around.  It was a real relief when finally
a halt was called, an we all went off to the showers.  As we stood under
the welcoming water there wasn't a whole lot of chatter and talk as there
had been in the morning - everyone was so weary, deep down weary, from
their exertions.  Even Mike looked exhausted, and I winced several times as
he ran his soapy hands over me, although he didn't show any signs of hurt
as I did the same to him.  He said simply "You know what they say, Steve,
'no pain, no gain'.  That ought to be the motto here at Philips'."

The dinner was excellent again, though - or did it only seem very special
as I was so ravenously hungry?  It was grilled chicken and salad, and we
had a bird each (well, us big guys did - I think they only gave the young
slim guys half): it must have been an odd sight to see us all nearly naked
sitting there tearing away at the flesh with our hands, as it was the
quickest and easiest way of gorging ourselves on the succulent meat.  I
couldn't help wondering whether not using knives and forks was all part of
turning me from a civilised man into some sort of fighting machine.

Back in our room, I was ready to sleep as I was absolutely whacked out, and
I just lay there on my back.  "Mike, please tell me you haven't got another
woman laid on tonight...", I said, half seriously - I mean, had there been
a bitch to fuck, I suppose I could have done it.

"Steve, I'm a good fighter, and the champion.  But I'm not that good!  I
can't afford one every night, you know.  If we carry on rooming together
I'll be glad for you to start winning an d paying your share....!"

He turned on to his side and we said goodnight, and almost immediately Mike
began to jerk himself off.  I thought that was a bit much - I mean, all
guys do it, don't they?  And if you're rooming with other guys you all know
you're going to do it.  But there's usually some sort of convention that
says you wait until the other guys are asleep - or are pretending to be
asleep - before you start to beat your meat.

The next day followed the same pattern - a run, then a good breakfast,
light lunch and a big dinner, with a whole lot of gruelling exercises
in-between.  And so it was to be for many more days, as the simple rule at
Philips' Fighters was that if you weren't taking part in a match that
night, you trained. You all trained - whether you were a novice, like me,
or the champion,, like Mike.  A couple of days in to this regime as we lay
in our room and we'd both jerked off and were lying there ready to sleep, I
asked "Mike, doesn't this stuff get boring?"

"You mean jerking off?  Sure, I'd rather have a bitch... But, as I said, I
can't afford it every night."

"No, I mean the training - all these endless exercises and stuff...."

Mike turned on his side so he could look at me.  "Steve, you've got to
practice.  You've got to really work your body, hone it to make it a hard
fighting machine, or else you won't win matches."

"So what?  I think I'd rather take it easy on the training....."

"Well the trainers soon spot that, you know.  And if you think a 'gentle'
strapping as you go along is bad, they sometimes take a real 'slacker' and
cane him, or even whip him, as an object lesson to the rest of us - and you
don't want to go there."

I thought about the judicial caning I'd had, and agreed.  But Mike went on
"But think about the fights, Steve - if you're not really fit, the other
guy can seriously hurt you.  OF course he might seriously hurt you anyway,
but there's much more of a risk if you're not putting up a good fight.  And
then.... Well, if you don't win, you don't get points, and without points
you can't have a bitch!"

"Yes, but it's meaningless in the end, Mike.  I mean, even though you're
champion, what next?  Sooner or later you'll start losing...."

Mike shuffled uneasily in his bed.  He'd obviously thought about this.
"It's inevitable, I know.  The only way is down, for me now.  But with any
luck I'll catch the eye of one of the patrons, and they'll buy me from
Philips'.  Otherwise I might get lucky, and get taken on to the training
staff...."

"I thought they were all free men, they're guards...."

"Most of them are.  But for the young kids, a lot of training is done by
ex-gladiators as it's thought they need a sort of 'father figure' beating
them up.  And a lot of the wrestling training, in particular, is kind of
'hands on'."  He paused.  "And there again someone might buy me as a stud!"

"A stud?"

"Oh come on, Steve - Stud: a slave who's used to breed other slaves.  Or a
slave used for the sexual pleasure of his owner."

"You mean you'd spend your time fucking?"

"Yes.  If I'm lucky.  Or, of course, spend it getting fucked, if I was
bought by an owner who was that way inclined!  Still, none of that might
happen, and ultimately they'd sell me off as a common field slave, or
factory worker, or miner....  So you see life here as a gladiator has a lot
going for it, really - we get well fed, well looked after.... You meet a
lot of nice guys....  You get to buy a bitch to fuck....  I doubt that
field hands or factory workers are as lucky."

Well, that seemed to be that, so at least I knew a bit more now about what
made Mike tick. But how much of this applied to me?  Sure, I didn't want to
get caned or whipped for being a "slacker".  But I didn't have to worry
about my future, as in four years I'd be a free man again - what I needed
to focus on was surviving, surviving without serious injury, and without
damage to my body, especially my face, so I could resume normal life.

About five days into my new life there was a variation, though.  After we'd
finished showering we were ordered to put on fresh, clean uniforms and
follow one of the guards to Straughan's office.  We stood outside until
ordered to enter, and Straughan was behind his desk as usual, but also in
the room was a bitch - one of those overblown going-to-seed too-fat women
in their forties, in some ridiculously inappropriate "designer" clothes for
someone of her age and body shape: it would have looked stunning on a young
slim model, but on her it was a classic case of mutton trying to appear as
lamb.

The guard gestured to us to stand side by side, and as Mike then clasped
his hands neatly behind his back, I did the same.  I felt very exposed,
somehow, as my uniform was of such thin cotton.  It was ridiculous, really,
as I wore tiny Speedos when I went swimming and my uniform was at least as
big - but I think it was being so nearly naked in a normal office, when the
others were dressed.  "You're familiar with Mike, our champion", Straughan
said to the woman. "I know you follow him in the arena, and we've been here
before.  But I thought you might like a little variation, and Steve here is
new to all of this: he's not yet fought in the arena, or been here.  If you
wanted, you could be 'one up' on your friends, with interesting
pre-knowledge...."

"Oh, Mr Straughan, you're so kind.  You think of everything", the woman
simpered.  "And they are very alike, aren't they?  You do know the type I
like!"

"There's something a little different about the new boy - Steve - though",
Straughan added.  "But it's not immediately apparent.  So do you want to
take a closer look?"

The woman leaned forward in her seat, and her tongue was playing over her
lips in excitement.  "Oh yes, Mr Straughan!"

Straughan looked at both of us.  "OK, boys, strip off."

Mike went to push down his tiny uniform, but I was so astonished that I
said "What?"

"You heard me, Steve.  Unclothe.  Get naked."

I was going to protest - I've got nothing to be ashamed of in my body, and
most of it was exposed anyway in the tiny gladiator "uniform" - and even
the bits it concealed were "suggested" through the thin white cotton
material.  Bt it didn't seem right, somehow, being made to strip in front
of some fat old hag.  But then I saw one of the guards fingering his prod
and Straughan making small gestures at him to indicate he could use it.
And at the same time Mike pushed his uniform down, let it slide down his
legs, stepped out of the folds of cloth on the floor, and stopped to pick
it up.  He looked at me as if to warn me, and I suppose I thought I had no
choice - so, not hesitatingly as I wanted to show them I was proud of my
body, I did the same thing, quickly.

"See", Straughan said.  "Steve's secret!  Look at his cock... Still
intact!"

The woman peered at me.  "My, yes.  But surely, all slaves.... Well, all
gladiators, at least...."

"That's the interest, if you take Steve.  He's not really a slave - I only
have him for four years, and then he's a free man again."

"I'm not sure about a free man.... Will he be...."

Straughan cut her short.  "Of course!  He may be free again one day, but
whilst he's here he's a slave, and he'll act like a slave, or else he knows
that dire punishments will be meted out."

"Order them to 'show', please, Mr Straughan.  I'm curious to see how the
one you call Steve looks...."

I hated the way she ignored Mike and me, asking Straughan for whatever
"show" was.

Straughan snapped "Right, boys.  Erect, please."

I though I'd misheard, until I saw Mike starting to stroke his dick!  I
stood there almost paralysed - I mean, I might very occasionally have
sprung a boner when I was naked with other guys around, and of course I
jerked off in my bunk, knowing other guys around me were doing he same
thing.  But that's not like stroking yourself to erection blatantly, is it?
And I suppose I might have done so in front of Mike or one of my marine
buddies when we were drunk, but here?  With Straughan, a guard, and the fat
hag all looking?

Mike seemed all right with it, though - his dick was sticking out ramrod
straight and he'd even thrust his hips forward a bit, as if unconsciously
trying to show his erection even better.  "Get to it, Steve", he whispered
to me, "You're going to have to, you know.  So show them you're prod of
what you've got...."

I suppose I did understand that I had no choice, that I would have to do it
sooner or later.  So, very reluctantly, I reached down and felt the silky
warmth of my dick.  I began to slide my cupped hand up and down it, and I
wasn't sure what I wanted - did I want it to lie there, constantly flaccid,
so I didn't have to humiliate myself?  Or was it more humiliating if I
couldn't get an erection - I mean, I was a young, very fit guy, and I ought
to be able to do it, oughtn't I?

I was saved from making a decision by my body's natural reaction - as I
stroked my dick, I felt it stiffen and rise.  Soon I was standing there,
like Mike, with my dick erect jutting out proudly in front of me.  I felt a
flush of embarrassment over my face and neck, and even stretching down to
my shoulders.

"Can I compare them, Mr Straughan?  Have them back to back, so I can see
the difference n their heights, and their 'derrieres'?"

"Back to back!", Straughan snapped at us.  "And at right angles to us."

Mike turned, and I realised he must have done this before.  I followed his
movement.

"Back up!", Straughan intoned, and Mike took a step back so that our butts
were touching!  He shuffled a bit, scraping his body against mine, and our
naked, sweaty skin rubbed together.

"See", Straughan said/ "The new boy, Steve, is a few years younger than
Mike.  So you'll observe that although their penises are much the same
length and thickness, Steve's angle is a lot steeper - I would think that
when he was in his late teens it probably was almost parallel to his
belly....  But, even now, it's well above the horizontal."

I felt myself flushing even more with embarrassment, and the sweat was
pouring off me.  It was bad enough having Mike's butt rubbing against mine,
and to be erect in front of other people - but to have my erection
discussed like this... It was too much.

"I'm not sure I agree with you, Mr Straughan", the fat cow said.  "When you
say their penises are much the same size, I'm not sure.  I think the young
one's might be high like that as it's lighter, perhaps shorter?"

"There's an easy way of deciding", Straughan told her, a smile playing over
his face.  Then his tone changed and in an almost military way he rapped
"About face!  Turn towards each other, boys!"

Mike and I turned, and I saw the splendour of Mike's body and dick
immediately in front of me.  "Right - move forward", Straughan added.  I
felt rooted to the spot, but Mike shuffled forward, getting closer and
closed to me so I could feel the heat radiating from his body.  Our dicks
were parallel.  Mike stopped.

"Forward!  Until you touch!", Straughan commanded.

Mike moved slowly, ever so slowly, towards me.  I felt as if I'd had an
electric shock, so amazing was the sensation as the tip of my dick brushed
against Mike's pubic hair - I suppose I was aware that my erection was so
hard that I'd 'skinned back, and as I glanced down I saw my dick head was
as usual moist and slimy from my sweat and from pre-cum which would have
been leaking and trapped.

Mike moved again, and the moist tip of my dick touched his hot flesh.  Mike
stopped.  Our dicks were brushing against each other.  I stared at Mike,
our eyes were so close together. And he was staring back at me.  It was as
if we were locked together, motionless.

"Ah, now you see", I heard Straughan say, "Steve's just got the edge in
terms of length on Mike.  So it is his youth that's enabling him to keep it
up so high....  Do you need any further tests?"

The woman laughed.  "No!  Very impressive, both of them."

"So have you made your selection?"

"I'm very tempted to take both of them, Mr Straughan!  But Mike has always
been more than enough.... And appealing though the new boy is, is he
properly experienced?"

"He was enslaved for molesting women...."

"No I wasn't......".  I almost shouted.

"Silence!", Straughan roared.  "A slave stays silent, unless he's spoken
to."

"Oh Mr Straughan, I think the young one's a bit too wild for me.... It
might be fun to play with his foreskin. But I'll wait until you've trained
him a bit more!  So it will be Mike, as usual."

Straughan looked at me.  "Get dressed, and get out."

I was going to ask what the fuck was going on, but the guard looked really
impatient and had his prod in his hand.  I bent down to put my "uniform"
back on, and felt a new wave of embarrassment as I had to struggle and
almost fight to stuff my erect dick into the flimsy white pouch, and I knew
that the outline of it was clearly visible as my dick pressed against my
skin.  And that the cotton would probably show damp patches from my
pre-cum.

The guard opened the door and let me out, and I left Mike standing there,
still erect.  I was led off to dinner, and afterwards went back to be
locked into our room, alone.

Mike came back a couple of hours later, and didn't say anything to me.  He
stripped off his uniform, with his back to me, and went to get on to his
mattress.  I gasped though as I saw his back - there were big scratches
from his shoulder blades right down, and onto his butt!

"Mike, what the fuck...?"

"Think, Steve!  You saw that fat hag.  Didn't you see those long, red
fingernails?  What the fuck do you think she does when she gets a guy in
bed?"

"You've had sex with her?  With that slag?"

"Of course I have.  Grow up, Steve...."

"What do you mean?"

"Steve, when we fight, what do you think most of the women in the audience
are doing - and some of the men, too, I should think?  Well, their wetting
their underwear thinking about what it would be like to have men with
bodies like ours fucking them, rather than fighting each other.  And some
rich ones - very rich ones - can afford to buy time with us."

"You mean like you buy those bitches to come in here?"

"I guess so.  Although I suppose Straughan charges a lot more for me than I
pay for a bitch.  I reckon that cow has to pay as if I was fighting a
private bout..."

"But you can't, Mike - a big guy like you, and a fat old woman like
that.... You don't have to have sex with her - you could beat her up...."

"Steve, get real!  What do you think would happen to me if I hurt a free
woman?  Castration?  Crucifixion?  Probably castration and then
crucifixion!  We're slaves, Steve.  And if Straughan chooses to whore us
out, that's all there is to it."

"You could pretend you couldn't get it up.  Or fuck her so hard that it
hurt, so she wouldn't want you again...."

"You are so fucking naive!  Don't you think they've thought this whole
operation through?  Look, as soon as you'd left, they took me off to
'prepare' me - a big injection of Viagra or something, so it's almost
impossible to get my dick down.  Then they fit the obedience collar...."

He saw me looking puzzled, and added ".... Like a dog collar, of tough
leather, around my neck, locked on so I can't remove it.  And it's got the
same sort of circuitry as the slave prod - but not as strong, of course.
It's keyed to a ring that she wears when we're in bed, and if she presses
it I get a shock - and it really hurts.  So she lies there and tells me
what to do to pleasure her, and I do it.  OK?"

He sounded angry, and upset.  And didn't think it was sensible to ask him
anything else.  He lay down, and turned his back to me.  I heard the
unmistakable sounds of Mike beginning to jerk off.... With every now and
then a sharp intake of breath, rather as you do when something hurts you
for a moment.

"Mike, for fuck's sake!  You've been screwing all night, and you still need
to jerk off?"

"I was nailed, Steve!  Nailed!  My balls are blue.... I need to jerk off,
Steve.... But that fucking nail...."

"Look, Mike, I really don't know any of this.... What's 'nailed'?"

"You like it raw, don't you, Steve?  You don't wear condoms when you fuck
the bitches, right?  They come in here carrying them, you know - but I
never put them on as I like my dick to feel it properly...."

"...of course"!  Every guy does.  But I'd have thought that a rich hag like
that would be worried about disease.... Or of getting pregnant: she was
old, but not that old...."

"No problem with the disease thing...  We're all tested when we arrive, and
regularly afterwards.  With a lot of guys all here fucking, it's in
Straughan's interests to keep us all clean..  And as for the pregnancy -
well, you'd think she'd be on the pill or something.  Maybe she is, maybe
she isn't.  But rich women like that want to feel a guy's dick, but not
have all the 'mess'', as she calls it, of having my cum inside her, or
sprayed over her, if she's ordered me to pull out before I cum.  So that's
where the nail comes in."

"Uh?"

"Think of a roofing nail - quite a broad head, and a shaft abut two inches
long - but all made in stainless steel.  You have to stand there, erect -
the shot they gave me helps there of course - then the shaft of the nail is
pushed down my dick, through the piss slit.  It hurts like hell - have you
ever even had a swab or anything done?  The inside of your dick's really
sensitive."

I felt myself wincing as Steve said this, as I had once had a catheter
inserted after a minor operation.  And even the bit where they very gently
pushed some anaesthetic down my piss slit had hurt and made me squirm, and
I'd raised my butt off the bed with the sensation... until the anaesthetic
cut in.  Then they did the catheter, but I couldn't imagine what it would
be like to have something slid in a long way, as Mike was describing.  I
couldn't help clutching my dick, as if to protect it!

"The worse thing, though, comes next: when the thing is almost all in and
the nail head is getting close to your dick head, they squib a drop of
superglue under the nail head, then push it home... So the head is glued to
your dick head.  And then you're 'nailed', as they say.  You're erect, with
a cute little silver circle at the tip of your dick, and you can fuck, and
fuck, and fuck.... Nothing comes out, as the nail and nail head stop it.
And whatever head of steam builds up behind the nail, it can't escape
because the head is glued to you.  So it's fuck, fuck, fuck...... I have to
keep on, as she orders me to.  And if you try to cum, it's forced back into
your bladder or something, I suppose.  Anyway, my balls ache..... And I
need to jerk off."

"But you were sounding as if it was hurting...."

"It fucking does, Steve!  Look, the inside of my dick is sore, from the
nail shaft.  So if I piss, or cum, for the next couple of days, it hurts.
But when it comes to jerking off, the real problem's my dick head - the
only way of getting the nail out is to take a very fine scalpel and push it
between the nail head and my dick head, and cut.... There's no other way of
getting superglue off.  Look....."

Mike rolled over to face me, and held his rock-hard dick so I could see the
end.  The tanned brown of his skin was much pinker all around the tip of
his dick, and the area was kind of weeping.

"See?  Raw, and sore.  And you can't help touching your dick head as you
jerk off, can you?"

"Mike, I'm truly sorry.  They shouldn't be allowed to treat a guy like
that."

"A guy, Steve?  Are we really guys, or are we slaves, something different,
something less than real guys?"

"Well at least I'll be a man again.... So I guess that I won't be taking
part in these disgusting humiliations.... I'm here to fight."

"I don't want to worry you, Steve. But there was a guy like you here once
before.  And he was 'nailed' and made to fuck.... He complained to
Straughan, and Straughan had him caned for 'impudence'.  Straughan said
something about his contract talking about being a gladiator and
'associated activities'.  And although they weren't allowed to physically
damage him, he could be caned as his butt would recover - as, I guess,
would the tip of his dick, as mine will.  So no permanent harm....  So I
reckon that sooner or later some rich cow will pay Straughan for a couple
of hours of your time...."

As he said this, Mike rolled over and began jerking off again.  And, with
an almost sickening realisation came over me that Mike was probably
right.... I would be whored out, sooner or later.

End Of Part Seven