Date: Tue, 21 Dec 2004 00:48:30 -0500 (EST)
From: ok_uwater@merlads.net
Subject: Boy Daredevils in Speedos 9

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Boy Daredevils in Speedos 9

Copyright by Speedyboy and UndrCGuy, Mar 2004.  This story is submitted
to Nifty under their submission guidelines.   No part of this story can
be submitted or archived by anyone else without my express permission.
If you are too young or don't like stories about rough play with erotic
overtones press the back button NOW!

This story is fantasy.  The author does not endorse, encourage, or
consent to any attempt to make any of the below described scenes real.

Please send feedback to ok_uwater at merlads dot net.

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Rob awoke early the next day and gathered his thoughts about the
gladiatorial contest that Wolf had promised him. As the ten year old boy
lay spreadeagled on his back in a relaxed manner on his rudimentary bed,
his small hand wandered slowly down his hairless body, across his smooth
silky skin, past his tiny nipples, and down towards the gorgeous,
illicit texture of his purple speedos as he thought about every
description and image he has ever seen about the harsh contests of Roman
times. He'd read that boys always trained naked, and were whipped
savagely for any sign of weakness or disobedience. His interest in all
things Roman had led the diligent young student onto books in his local
public library about other ancient cultures. He'd been particularly
intrigued to find that, in ancient Greece, it was considered perfectly
normal for a man train a young boy in all aspects of physical pleasure.
But as soon as he started to manipulate himself to heighten the rush of
pleasure which the thought had caused, he snatched his hand from his
silky trunks, reminding himself that he would need every ounce of
strength for the ordeals of the day ahead. He was a very determined boy,
and Wolf had already started to train him in every aspect of bodily
discipline. The ever-watchful aristocrat didn't allow any of his young
charges to pleasure themselves in the morning, when a punishing mixture
of swim training and ordeals lay ahead of them.

An hour later, freshly showered and fed, and each wearing a new pair of
purple speedos cut more scantily than any of their previous garments,
the three young boys were led to an antechamber. Here Lord Wolf briefed
them at great length on the onerous tasks they would face if they were
to qualify for the Daredevil Boys Aquatic Club. It was rare for the boys
to be in such close proximity to him, and they could see that he was
eyeing each of them carefully to determine their state of mind. The
charismatic man also carried out a very full physical examination of
each boy, which caused them to become pointedly aroused, as he ran his
experienced hands over every part of their milky-white flesh. He
pronounced them fit for action, and told them they had half an hour to
discuss tactics, before leaving abruptly. The boys were silent at first.
All three were aware that they were more nervous than they had ever
been, and none of them was willing to admit it.

"I've always wanted to do this" said Rob, trying to sound encouraging,
as though the terrors they were about to face were the most enjoyable
prospect any cub scout could imagine.

"Well, if I'm the leader, we'll get through OK", Peter shot back. It
only took that one comment to ignite the spark of aggression that hung
over the tense antechamber. Both boys saw blood. It was the only way to
forget what was coming. Rob raised his eyes to meet the gaze of the
eleven year old.

He was slightly bigger and stronger than Rob - a year makes a real
difference at that age - but Rob was feeling very stressed about the
prospect of the day ahead, and replied slowly: "No, I'm going to be the
leader...you're stronger than me, but I'm cleverer than you".

"Why do we have to have a leader?" piped Paul, looking concerned as his
older brother and Rob rose to their feet facing each other.

But his words fell on deaf ears, as suddenly and inevitably, the two
frightened, tense boys sprang at each other. They fought with an
indescribable savagery, biting, tearing, gouging and ripping with a
ferocity neither boy knew he possessed. Paul tried to separate them, but
was rewarded for his efforts with a swift gutpunch from his older
brother, which sent him to the flagstones writhing like an eel. The two
older boys were pounding each others balls as though they wanted to pulp
each other to oblivion, and began squeezing each others cocklets as if
they wanted to stop blood circulating through them permanently. Their
slightly muscular bodies were bathed in sweat as if they'd been fighting
in a steam room, and the noise they made sounded like jackals competing
for a mate. Finally, Peter had Rob's arm twisted behind his back, so
that the ten year old couldn't move a muscle without experiencing a
severe pain shooting through his shoulder, paralyzing the rest of his
body. Peter had him, but the boy's primeval bloodlust meant that he was
losing his reason. He kept on twisting, making his captive's arm look
suddenly unnatural, as it was at the wrong angle to his body. But the
panting eleven year old carried on wrecking the younger boy's arm,  and
Rob started using his safe word "Bagheera! Bagheera!" before his cries
simply became the screams of an animal in the most severe stages of
agony. Eventually, desperately, Paul slapped his brother hard in the
face, shrieking at his to let Rob go. The slaps seemed to have some
effect, as they awoke Peter from his sadism, and he realized in horror
that he was destroying all their chances of winning on their crucial
day. He let Rob go, and retreated moodily to a far corner of the room.

Paul whispered words of encouragement to Rob, but the boy was sobbing on
the stone floor, in a mixture of pain, rage and humiliation. By the time
their half hour was up, they hadn't discussed a word about tactics. They
were disunited, physically damaged, and unable to look each other in the
eye.

As the tormentors led the boys towards the gladiatorial arena, if became
clear to the trio that there was something seriously wrong with Rob's
right arm. It hung uselessly at his side, and he winced every time it
moved. When the tormentors happened to push him by the injured limb, he
let out a yell or even a sob. Peter was beside him all the time, frantic
with guilt, telling Rob to do the same back to him, and saying that he
wished it was his arm that was wrecked. Rob's tears came half from the
pain, and half from the snatched brotherly reconciliation that they
managed to achieve.

"We were both uptight", muttered Rob, "because of what's
next...something had to give."

"I'll fight for you" whispered Peter fiercely.

"Just get my arm into a sling or something...I'll be alright..I won't
feel a thing once the action starts". The pain shooting out from his arm
and his shoulder continued undiminished as he spoke.

"You really want to give it a go, Rob?" asked Paul anxiously, bobbing
around him. Rob looked into the nine-year-old boy's blue eyes, sparkling
hopefully beneath his gorgeous blond hair. He could not let him down.
Lord Wolf had surprised them all by ruling earlier that day that they
would pass or fail as a team - all three would succeed, or all three
would fail. If one boy dropped out, the other two boys were
automatically disqualified. Rob kept telling himself

"It's only pain...it's only pain...you have begun to master pain..this
is more important than how you feel", and suddenly a door was flung open
and the boys were pushed through into a large, circular underground
arena.

It was the largest chamber they had seen in or beneath the castle. At
least two hundred feet in diameter, and fifty feet high. The gallery
around the edge was filled with aristocratic-looking men, some of who
had brought their sons, or boys that appeared to be in their charge in
some other capacity.  The youngest spectator must have been about seven,
and the oldest about seventy-five. They all wore small white silk togas,
which looked particularly attractive on the younger boys. There was a
lower gallery, nearer the ring, seething with tormentors. Above it all,
on a high stone balcony, Lord Wolf sat alone, in full emperor regalia,
looking truly impassive. Stretcher-bearers were positioned strategically
around the ring, ready to spirit away any boy who should become injured,
or, as often happened, if any young candidate should faint before the
ordeal began. In the arena itself, a wooden door sprang open suddenly on
the opposite side of the ring to the boys, and three tormentors bounded
out, carrying vicious-looking tridents and sinuous black nets, in which
they would trap their prey before spearing it. Their uniform was more
terrifying than anything the boys had seen before - the tormentors were
dressed  from head to toe in supple, skin-tight black leather,
punctuated all over with sharp silver spikes protruding from every part
of their attire. The only parts of their bodies that were actually
visible were their savage eyes and their ravenous teeth, clamped over
their twitching tongues, which hungered for boy meat. They must have
been no more than twelve or thirteen years old, but they had all the
muscular advantages that puberty brings. They stood poised on the
halfway line in a brutally efficient symmetry. The three pre-teen boys
were each given a small wooden shield and a tiny sword. Before the
signal came from Wolf for the fight to commence, an idea suddenly
flashed into Peter's head. He grabbed Paul round the waist and sliced
carefully through his brother's speedos, and then swiftly cut his own
garment off too. The crowd murmured appreciatively, and applauded the
nakedness of the smooth, slightly muscular eleven-year old, and his
pretty nine year old brother. Lord Wolf gave the boys a disapproving
look, but did not offer them any fresh thongs. Peter tied the ripped
garments together into a very rough sling, as any cub scout is trained
to do. Then he tied Rob's arm up as best he could, telling him to hold
his shield as firmly as he could over the wounded area, and to use the
sword in his left hand. Rob nodded fiercely back...already the level of
adrenaline pumping through his damaged body was masking some of the
pain. Then the signal came. Lord Wolf dropped a white cloth into the
arena, and as it hit the ground, the tormentors ran forward yelling at
the younger boys. It was Peter who rose to the occasion. He had to,
because Paul was too small and Rob was too incapacitated.

"Get behind me!" he yelled to the two of them.

They stood close together, back to back in a triangular formation so
that they couldn't be attacked from behind. The tormentors closed in
upon them, taunting them by gently puncturing the boys' unprotected
bodies here and there with their tridents, to show how easily they could
draw blood. Luckily for Rob, the tormentors seemed obsessed with the
nakedness of his two partners, and tried desperately to stab at their
unveiled balls. Then Peter chose his moment to lunge. He grabbed one of
the tridents as it pricked his nipple, and hung on grimly, as the other
two tormentors tried to stab him away. As soon as the tormentors were
all focused on Peter, Paul lept onto one of their backs with a joyous
shriek, and held his sword to the older boy's throat with an unabashed
confidence, as if he was playing Cowboys and Indians with his older
brother.

"I gotcha!" he yelled. "Gimme the trident".

But the tormentor refused to play fair, and flung the nine-year old to
the ground, winding him. Then he simply jumped onto the boy, piercing
his flesh instantly in dozens of places with the spikes protruding from
his outlandish outfit. But already the crowd was booing - the
tormentor's cheating had not found favor with the audience, and all six
boys looked up at Lord Wolf. The aristocrat pointed to the cheat, and
then to the wooden door through which he'd entered. The tormentor
skulked off. Paul jumped up, as mass of small cuts and bruises, but
nothing too deep, and grabbed his rightful prize - the trident and the
net. He looked slightly shell shocked still, and his blond hair had a
wild air about it as it stuck up in places, caked in blood. He didn't
look pretty any more - he looked like a young warrior. Wolf signaled a
restart, and both remaining tormentors went for Rob like wildcats.
They'd obviously noticed his weakness, because their target again and
again was his shield-bearing arm. Despite Peter and Paul's best efforts
in the furious whirling of arms, tridents, nets, swords, shields,
spikes, speedos and black leather, the tormentors managed to knock Rob
to the floor. Then with practiced grace, they threw a net across him and
somehow managed to bag him up, like spiders securing their prey in a
web. Rob realized too late that the nets were sticky, and he writhed
around desperately to avoid the brutal stabs of the tormentor's
remaining trident. His arm and shoulder felt as though they were on
fire, and then as through they were freezing. He couldn't avoid rolling
around, and every movement made him yelp and cry like a young dog. Peter
managed to whack one of the tormentors away with the trident that he'd
wrestled away from is opponent, so that the leather-clad boy was sent
sprawling onto the sand. Paul was upon the prone tormentor instantly,
holding his sword to the boy's tightly-encased balls.

"Are you gonna follow your buddy back home now, or am I gonna have to
cut a piece of you off first?" snarled the nine-year old in his best
Hollywood villain voice.

The tormentor got a swift thumbs down from Wolf, so he had to leave the
ring, spitting his anger as he went. But the emperor also signaled that
Rob should be removed, as he seemed to be going into strange spasms
within the net that had imprisoned him so effectively. He was dragged
out roughly by the stretcher bearers, who seemed to have been chosen
specifically for their inability to provide any tenderness towards their
patients. The final, furious tormentor decided that he would have Paul.
He grabbed the naked nine-year-old around the waist and began to smash
his balls with his spiked, gloved fist. The sight of his younger brother
being so badly abused sent Peter into paroxysms of rage, and he barely
remembered that he was not allowed to kill his opponent under any
circumstances.  His hands closed around the tormentor's throat, and he
squeezed until his brother was dropped roughly onto the sand, nursing
his bleeding boy organs. Then Peter let the tormentor go for a second
before shoving him to the ground and placing the trident on his neck.

"Now get outta here, before I act like a vampire" the eleven-year-old
shouted, and the final tormentor left the ring.

Peter ignored the cheers that rang out around the arena, and inspected
his younger brother's genitals carefully. It looked at lot worse than in
actually was...a fair amount of superficial puncturing and bruising, but
no life-threatening wounds.

"You'll live, bro" he whispered, putting a gentle arm around his
blood-splattered back, "You did great!"

The younger boy looked up from under his blond, blood-clotted fringe,
and gave a wan smile "Yeah, but I want out!"

"We're nearly there...look!" Peter pointed to the high balcony. Lord
Wolf stood up, and his booming voice filled the hushed arena.

"To the tormentors, who overcame one boy, one point. To the boys, who
overcame three tormentors, three points!"

The cheering revived Paul, and made Peter's chest swell with pride, as
he stood there in the vast arena, the only boy of the six left on his
feet.

"The chariot racing will commence in one  hour" boomed the emperor
figure. "There are couches for your greater comfort and relaxation
should you need them for any purpose you may desire".

Aleardy, several of the younger boy spectators were being led away by
their masters, all fired up by the spectacle of the fighting. The togas
did nothing to conceal the excitement in their bodies, old and young
alike.But everyone knew that they'd be back in time for the chariot
racing. There was nothing to beat  the sight of battle-weary boys being
driven to the very limit in the cruelest of all sports, which was next
on the program of entertainment.