Reluctant Gladiator

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

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

Mike was almost laughing. "I'm glad I'm a Mike and not a Steve, at least...."

"Why?"

"The tattoo - it wasn't so bad on my back, I reckon. No worse than when they use the tawse on us to make us work that bit harder. But on my dick - I really felt it. And So being Mike is better: four letters not five."

"Fuck that! They 'skinned me!"

"So? All us gladiators are like that. And if we're going to have to fight in the nude, I suppose they wanted you the same way. I mean, it's hardly attractive to have that bit of skin dangling there loose...."

"That's not the point!"

"So what is the point, Steve?"

"They shouldn't do things like that to a guy. Not without his permission. I mean, some guys might want to be 'skinned, but I liked my 'skin. I reckon jerking off isn't going to be as good..."

"Oh fuck me! Haven't you learned yet, Steve? They don't need your permission. You're a slave - we get some freedom as we're gladiators, but at the end of the day we're slaves. And our owners can do what they like with us. They don't ask - they don't need to."

"Well I'm not a slave..."

"You are at the moment. And you certainly look like one - they've cropped your hair, trimmed your pubes, toned your body to a peak of perfection.... They didn't ask you about any of that. So what's all that different about going a bit further, and trimming off your 'skin?"

"What's different? It's obvious - my hair, pubes, muscles.. All that stuff's reversible. But they've taken my 'skin, part of me, part of what makes me a man..."

I could see that Mike was not particularly sympathetic to what I was saying. He was clearly bored with the conversation, and, as he does, he shut it off. "Well if they've taken part of what makes you a man, perhaps I'll find it easier to play with the bits that are left", he told me, and threw himself down on to the mattress and lay there stroking his dick. "Come on then....", he added after a moment or two.

"I can't jerk off - look at this bandage around my dick. And my tattoo hurts.... I left you alone when you'd been tattooed..."

"Well what you is one thing. What I need is another. And my dick's ready and waiting - look at it...." He was right, of course - after he'd been playing with it, Mike's dick was now rampantly erect, standing up straight from his body and waving around a bit in the air.

"So? Jerk yourself off. Don't mind me. I've seen you do it before."

"You know, Steve, you can be a selfish bastard sometimes. Just because you can't jerk off, you want to stop everyone else from having a bit of fun. Now get down here, and get that mouth of yours around my dick...."

I could hardly believe it. But I knew I was in no state to be able to argue much with Mike - it was very soon liable to turn into a wrestling match, and my back was hurting too much even to think about starting such a thing. So I knelt beside him, and started to stroke his dick - after all, it's not as if I hadn't jerked it off lots of times before.

"Come on, Steve! I want you to suck my dick! Jerking me off's fine if I'm doing the same to you, but seeing as there's nothing I need to do for you, there's no reason for you not to suck me, is there?"

"No, no reason - except that I might not want your dick in my mouth tonight...."

"As I said, Steve, you can be a selfish bastard sometimes. Worrying about what you want, when you can see there's something I need...."

There's really no arguing with Mike sometimes - I knew that once he'd decided I was going to suck his dick we could argue for ever, and sooner or later I'd give in out of sheer exhaustion. I suppose that's one of the things that makes him such a good gladiator, the Champion - he never gives up at anything. I was too tired, and hurting too much, to carry on, and I really wanted to lie there and go to sleep. So I bent my head forward, and started to lick slowly around the head of his dick with my tongue.... And of course once you start something like that, there's no stopping it, is there? And it's not all that bad, is it? I mean, Mike and I were buddies, and it's not as if I hadn't done it before. Mike always knows exactly what he wants, though, and as soon as I had his dick in my mouth and was sucking it nicely, I felt his hands on top of my head at the same time as he started to thrust upwards with his hips.

I was not well placed, kneeling there, to stop him as my weight distribution was all wrong, and his dick hit the back of my throat and triggered my gag reflex. Mike let my head go and I pulled of, coughing and spluttering, and with a lot of thick rich mucus drooling out of my mouth. "Great, Steve!", Mike told me. "Get back down on it, now I'm nicely lubed up."

Again, that's typical of Mike. There I was, not enjoying it all that much, but he knew what he wanted. But it's not all that bad really, is it? I don't know why some guys make a lot of fuss about sucking another guy's dick. I mean, it's nice and warm and it feels very good on your lips and tongue, and in a way it's interesting to see what another guy's cum tastes of - most of us lick our own cum off our fingers after all, so it's not as if we're being asked to eat some exotic food with which we're totally unfamiliar and which we might hate. So I oughtn't to have minded quite so much that Mike made me do it that evening, but somehow I found myself being resentful as he lay there enjoying it - perhaps it was because I knew there was no way he could return the favour with my dick all bandaged up from the 'skinning, and of course it was actually hurting quite a bit - especially as doing that to Mike had made me feel kind of sexy and I was getting an

erection myself.

The next night I was expecting Mike to want me to do the same thing, but he didn't ask and as we lay there next to each other I told him I was a bit surprised. "So you're getting to be a real cock hound now, are you, Steve? You can't wait to get that tongue of yours to work on me?"

"Not at all. It's just that you're the one who's usually so eager, and when you don't act as I expect, I get curious."

Mike pointed at his dick, which was sticking straight up, and turned towards me. "I'm really eager, Steve. But I'm fighting tomorrow."

"You don't believe those old wives' tales about not having sex before a big match, as footballers and athletes used not to in the olden days, do you? I thought it was generally thought now that getting sportsmen to fuck the night before was good for them - it calmed their nerves, made them feel like men...."

"The last thing I need is my nerves calming, Steve! Fighting is a serious business, and we need all the adrenaline and everything pumping to give us that final competitive edge. And as for 'feeling like a man', well I've never had a problem with that!"

"So what's stopping you tonight, then?"

"Well it's the first time I've ever fought in the nude tomorrow - it's the big night that Straughan and that Jason of yours have been advertising and talking about. And I want to make a good showing, don't I? I mean, it's not as if I've got anything to be concerned about in the dick department, but.."

"You're not going out there with that fucking great hard on, are you? You're not going to cum in the hope you'll get an erection tomorrow...?"

"Don't be stupid, Steve! Of course not. It's bad enough having to display myself to three thousand people as it is - even though I'm pretty stunning - but the last thing I want is to bone up. I mean, that's a kind of private thing, isn't it? Even the other gladiators here don't like boning up when we're in the showers. No, it's more a question of my balls - not that they're small or anything, you know that! But I want to look as good as I can, and when you've got low-hangers like me you kind of need them to be pretty full if they're going to look their best."

I couldn't help it. Really I couldn't. I started to laugh, and once I'd started, it was hard to stop.

"Well I don't see what there is to laugh about!", Mike snapped. He doesn't mind joining in jokes, but he hates even a suggestion that someone might be laughing at him.

"Mike, listen to yourself! You're about to have to go out there and perhaps get beaten up, even seriously injured, and all you can think about is whether some of the crowd might think your balls aren't hanging as low as they could! I doubt if many of them can even see them in that much detail - it's in the big arena, isn't it, with the three thousand."

"Yes. But I bet a lot of them will bring binoculars. Especially some of the women. They'll want to get a good look at a real man...."

"...so that they can come along the next day and hire you from Straughan?"

Mike looked thoughtful. "Yes, there is that, I suppose. Some old hag might decide she wants a real man inside her one more time." Then he smiled. "But on the other hand, there might be some young rich widow who's missing the attentions of a proper stud, and when she sees me, and then after she's hired me and seen how I perform, she might buy me, and then I'd be out of here, and safe from the mines..."

I should have just nodded and let Mike run on with his fantasy as it seemed to cheer him up. And of course I knew that he was truly worried about his future. But before I could stop myself added "And there again, it might be some fat old guy, who wants to fuck a nicely muscled butt...."

I really wish I hadn't said it. Mike looked so crestfallen. "You don't think Straughan would sell us off for sex with guys, do you, Steve? I mean, they get us to practice so we can do a good job on the bitches. But Straughan can't be thinking about hiring us out to guys as we haven't had to practice that."

"What you mean is, Mike, that he hasn't had you practice on guys YET. You need to face up to it: Straughan would sell us off to anyone who's got the money to pay."

"No, he wouldn't do it. He'd have had practice with guys by now, as we had to for the bitches..."

"Because they know that guys like us just fuck bitches for our pleasure. And if we're going to be hired out they need to train us to re-focus on delivering pleasure for the bitch, rather than for us. It would be different for a guy who hired us."

"So we're not expected to give them a bit of fun?"

"Of course we will be. But with a guy, well, there's different ways..."

"What do you mean?"

"Well I reckon some of the old guys - and some of the young ones, too - might really get their fun, get really turned on, by having a big powerful guy like you or me totally under their control and helpless. Tied down, or chained up or something like that, so that they could fuck us whether we wanted to or not. And the more inexperienced we were and the more it was therefore difficult for us, the more we protested, the more we cried out.... That would be what they were paying for. So Straughan won't want us to practice taking a dick up our asses - I reckon he thinks he can charge a real premium for the first time someone rapes you."

"No, you've got that wrong! If any guy does want to hire us it will be for a bit of jerking off, or maybe even dick sucking...."

I looked at him, and wondered if I should go on. But it would probably be better for Mike if he understood a bit more, I thought. "Mike, what kind of guy do you think it will be who hires you or me from Straughan? Let me tell you - it won't be someone like us, or even some young guy with a reasonably fit body. Think about it, Mike - guys like that can easily find other guys to go with just by searching on the 'net, or going to a bar or club. And we'll be expensive, too, I would think: as there's no point in hiring us out unless it's worth while in terms of taking us to some place, having a guard there, and so on. So who's going to do it? The answer is obvious - someone who can't get a guy any other way, and someone who's rich. So you'd better be prepared for some fat guy, or old guy, or, probably, fat old guy... And he's going to be really worried about a big brute like you not allowing him to do what he wants to you, so you're going to be

restrained - like Jason had my wrists tied to that collar I told you about...."

Mike looked almost sick. I felt really sorry for him. But sometimes people need to know the truth. "Anyway, Mike, there's no point in worrying about it. 'Que sera, sera', as they say. If it's going to happen to you, it will, and as a slave there's no way you can stop it." I put my arm around his shoulders and tried to smile a bit. "Still, think about it - some rich old guy might really fancy your ass, and might buy you so he could have it all the time."

"That's supposed to be good?"

"Mike, think about it! Do you want to go down the mines? Wouldn't it be better to be some old guy's plaything?"

"Oh Steve, I don't know. The future's pretty grim either way, isn't it? It's OK being gladiator - I like it, like using my body, like the companionship... But it's going to end, going to end one day soon. You know I'm at the peak of my powers - there's all those younger guys coming up, and sooner or later...."

"Live for today, Mike. That's all any of us can ever do. Even free men can't know what's really in store for them - they might think they've got a nice house, lots of money, but then they could get in a traffic accident, or get cancer or something... That's what life is all about, Mike - not really knowing the future. So best not to worry about it."

Mike nodded, and he seemed a bit more cheerful. But I felt a bit as if I'd cheated him, somehow. I mean for Mike there was a lot less uncertainty about the future than for a free man - it's all about probabilities, isn't it? It was almost totally certain that Mike would get defeated, and then ultimately sold, and probably sold to the mines or somewhere like that because of his reputation for violence. Whereas a free man might get accidentally killed, or get some disease or other, but with a low probability, and he might reasonably expect to have a happy old age. Still, there was nothing I could do, was there? So I let it drop. But I did start to stroke Mike's dick, and when I bent over and started to kiss and nibble at his dick head, he totally relaxed and I think he forgot to worry about the future, at least temporarily.

The next morning there was the usual buzz about the place as there always was on a fight day, especially a fight day which was taking place at "home". Mike and the other guys who were to fight were given special treatment - after breakfast they went off and were allowed to spend the day by the pool and to do more or less what they wanted - a little work-out if they enjoyed it (without the threat of the tawse if they didn't perform properly), a massage, sauna.... Then at lunch time they all sat at a reserved table and had a special meal. The food was pretty good at Philips' Fighters - always a lot of it, and quite good quality. But those fighting got steak, and stuff we were not usually allowed, like ice cream. I saw that Darren was sitting next to Mike, and went over: he was trying to put brave face on it, and was telling the other guys at the table that he was actually rather looking forward to it - well, as I've said, he was really proud of his

body and was always showing it off, and now he was telling them the public didn't know what a treat they were in for as he thought that seeing a Thai match with both guys naked would really add to the spectacle, especially when one of the nude bodies would be his.

We didn't see them after lunch, as they all went off to be prepared - you had your hair cut, a really close shave, your body hair trimmed, your fingernails clipped, all that sort of grooming stuff (presumably especially important for Mike and Darren!), and then a deep massage when they massaged oil into you so that your skin glistened and shone. Then they all sat in the "ready room" near the arena entrance, until it was their turn to go in for their bout.

During the afternoon those of us who were out by the pool saw the bus arriving with the opponents - we watched them climb out to be escorted to the visitors' area, which had grooming and massaging facilities separate from ours, and I think we were all shocked to see that they were all niggas! At Philips' we were mostly white guys but there were a few niggas, but the visiting "team" seemed to have no whiteys at all, and I wondered if it was some form of discriminatory policy. My question was answered, though, when the last guy off the bus was a young, slim white guy who followed all the niggas in.

At dinner I was surprised to see this same whitey lined up at the servery to eat with us, rather than being with the rest of his buddies, and I invited him to come and sit with Jamie and me and some of the others. He sat there almost shovelling the food down, and it was only after he cleaned his plate - using a hunk of bread to mop up every trace of juice -that we could talk. "So why aren't you with the rest of your 'team' in the visitors' holding area?", I asked him.

"Because I'm not fighting, obviously."

He sounded so fucking rude I felt like hitting him. "We can all see that. There's no way you'd have gorged yourself like that if you were fighting."

"Can I have more?"

"More food? Of course - go to the servery. You can have a much as you like."

We all watched as he got up and went over to the serving hatch, and came back with a plate piled high with that night's dinner - ham steaks, and beans, and mashed potato. He sat down, and started to attack it. "Whoa!", I said after a minute or so. "There's no hurry.... Stop a moment and tell us about your school... And why you're not fighting."

His mouth was full and he sort of continued chewing, and he still sounded rude as he said "I told you. I'm not fighting as I'm not a gladiator."

"So why are you here then?"

"I'd have thought that was obvious."

I had to stop myself from slapping him. Instead I snapped "You're a guest here. But watch it. We like our guests to be polite. Now, try again - why aren't you fighting?"

He looked at me, and saw I looked pretty threatening. I mean, with Mike not there I was sort of "deputy champion", and needed to keep proper order. He almost shrank a bit, and looked down at his plate as he muttered "Sorry, sir. I forgot. Do you want to use me, too?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well I'm here for the team after the match, of course. But I guess if you want me now, that's OK."

He saw me looking puzzled, and added "So do you do it here, or is there somewhere private? It's all the same to me...."

"Do what?"

"Whatever you want! You're the gladiator, you decide... I haven't done it with another whitey, but you look the same as my niggas, well, at least as far as I can see, and your uniform isn't that big...."

It suddenly dawned on me what this kid was for - and the more I looked at him, I saw that in spite of his bravado he was really only a kid: we'd have said he was one of the young "starters", as he was sixteen or seventeen at the most. "It's OK - we don't do that sort of stuff here..."

He seemed to relax a bit, and started to eat again. Then he looked at me and asked "So how does the school keep you in shape, if you don't fuck?"

"Well we do fuck, of course. We can use our winnings to hire bitches. And in-between times, we do what guys have always done - we jerk off."

"Oh, I do that too for my niggas. Do you want me to jerk you off then?"

All of us at the table had gone silent now as we listened to the kid. "No. No, thanks! But tell us what you do - your school sounds a bit different to ours..."

"Well in our school all the gladiators are niggas. And our owner insists they keep themselves in good shape - not that he needs to 'insist' very much, as they all like white ass. So me and the other whiteys are there to service them, and that's why I'm here tonight: after their bouts, those niggas who aren't too badly beat up will be really horny, and our owner thinks it's good not to keep them waiting. I reckon I'm in for a rough time - there are ten of our guys, so at least half of them will probably want to fuck...."

"And that's what you do?"

"No, not all the time. I was bought as my owner thinks that big niggas ought to fuck whiteys, and he knows that most of them like young whiteys, too. I actually work in the showers, keeping it all clean and so on, but any of the gladiators who wants to can use me for sex - most nights I get fucked at least four or five times." He sort of shrugged and added "Some of them are quite nice, actually; but some of them are really mean, as you'd expect." He paused. "It looks nice here, though.... They give you enough to eat.... Do your niggas get fed, too?"

"We don't have a lot of niggas - the ones we have are gladiators, though, so of course they get fed."

"So your fuck boys are whiteys, like you?"

"No. We don't have fuck boys! And what's all this about getting fed?"

The kid shrugged again. "Well, our owner thinks me and the other fuck boys need to be kept really keen and eager - he wants the gladiators to enjoy it, and that means that we're supposed to really try to please them. So the simple way is not to feed us - if we want food, we have to hope that one of the gladiators will give us some: so in the evenings all of us fuck boys are trying to get the gladiators to go with us. It usually works out OK, except for the mean niggas who think it's funny to pick us, but then they don't bring us anything from the mess hall - not a bit of bread or a piece of fruit, even. One of the ones I had last night said that he'd be 'generous' with me - he meant that he'd fuck me, then instead of finishing off inside me as they like to do, just as he was about to cum he slammed his dick down my throat so I could have the benefit of all his cum - it's protein, you know."

I could hardly believe what I was hearing, but at that moment Jason came in and said that the crowds were arriving and that we should go towards the arena as "there were some changes" he was making. So we had to leave the young guy sitting there - he hunched over his food and carried on shovelling it in, we noticed.

The way the big arena is arranged is that the passageway through which the gladiators enter has a pair of big barred gates at the far end, in the arena wall. We were usually allowed to wait in this passageway, and then when the gladiators had come along from the preparation area, the gates had opened and the gladiators had entered the arena and the gates had been shut behind them, we were allowed to crowd up to the gates and stand there and watch the action. I reckon we had a better view, actually, as we were right there, at floor level, close to the gladiators, whereas even the most expensive seats would be higher up and potentially further away.

That night, though, we were led up in to the spectator seating area itself. The guards led us to the intersections of the staircases up from ground level to the seating areas, and the two corridors that ran all around the arena, one right down at the front, and the other half way up the tiers of seats. There clearly was some plan, as I was led to the top of the staircase that led up to the "premium" seats, and as I stood there wondering what was going to happen next, Jason came by with a list, checked that it was me there, and told a guard to "get on with it". The guard opened a little trap set in the arena wall, and pulled out a chain with a shackle at the end of it, and snapped it closed around my ankle!

"Another innovation, Steve", Jason told me. "You gladiators who are not fighting tonight are going to be on display to the audience so they can see what they might have next week. And being a really prime specimen, I've put you in the best position - all our patrons who have bought premium seats will come past you. So be on your best behaviour!"

"I'm chained up...."

"Oh, don't worry about that! It's not that we don't trust you, as you know that running away won't get you anywhere really. It's that we think it's more exciting for the customers - they'll see you shackled there and imagine it's because you're really dangerous! So they'll be sitting right up close to a magnificent hunk of man flesh, a potentially dangerous male - and they can see that you're truly a male, with your uniform pouch bulging like that - and it will add to the air of danger and sexuality that they've come here to experience. And the danger is not simply happening there on the floor of the arena below them, but they're right up close to it!"

Jason turned and walked away to supervise the next placement, and I stood there - well, what else could I do as the chain holding me to the arena wall was very short. So now I wasn't only a fighter, but I was some sort of "advertising tool" - my maleness was going to be cynically exploited. But then Jason came back, and looked at me. "Oh, Steve, I'm sure I don't need to say this, but I don't want to hear any complaints from our patrons! These are the most expensive seats here, and these people expect certain standards of service - especially from slaves. So if they speak to you, be properly respectful. And some of them might want to have a closer experience, of course: so no flinching if they want to touch your body, feel your muscles - indeed, be a bit co-operative: you can do a bit of flexing and posing, put on a bit of a display."

He walked away again, and I stood there in the hot evening sunshine seething inside at the assumption that I was going to be handled and mauled for the patrons' further enjoyment. Still, I thought, looking down into the arena - I had a spectacularly good view from here, better than being jammed in with all the other guys jostling for position at the arena gates. I turned back from looking over the wall and the patrons were entering, coming up the steps in front of me. They were all surprised and interested in this "novelty", and I soon found out that the best way to cope with it was by acting as if it was all perfectly normal for me - so I stared to answer lots of questions about the life of a gladiator, to tell them that it was my buddies fighting this evening, but that I'd probably be performing the next week, and so on. And, yes, I did do a bit of posing - well, I am proud of my body, actually. And somehow doing that made me feel better -

initially I'd hated standing there almost naked in my tiny uniform seeing all the men and women in their proper clothes (it seemed that you "dressed up" in this expensive area, so the women were in smart dresses with lots of jewellery, and the men were in suits, or sports coats and slacks) - but once I got to pump up my muscles a bit and I could feel a few beads of sweat on my chest, I began to realise that it was they who were envying me, more than I was envying them. They saw this magnificent young guy, in prime condition, proud and unashamed of his body, and they were old and flabby.

The first four bouts were pretty routine - some of the young guys wrestling and stuff like that. But immediately before the interval there was a sensation - the crowd literally gave a collective gasp as the arena gates swung open, there were a few moments of suspense, and then Darren and a young nigga strode out totally naked! From where I was standing I could clearly see the tattoo on Darren's dick, and after the initial shock of having the two gladiators nude, there was a further roar of interest and I saw a lot of flashes of sunlight off the lenses of binoculars as they focussed on him. The actual bout as excellent, too - Darren's really good, as you know, but somehow the sight of his lightly tanned skin contrasted with the deep black nigga particularly well, and when they grappled very close at one point and their dicks were rubbing together, I'm sure I'm not the only guy in the audience who boned up - although it was much more embarrassing for me

of course, as there was no way I could hide it in my uniform (but fortunately the patrons were not now looking at me!).

In the interval some of the patrons actually offered me drinks and stuff, but I thought I ought to refuse as if I'd needed to piss it would have been pretty embarrassing, being chained there. I could hear them all excitedly talking about the sight of Darren and the nigga, and it was generally agreed that this was "the way to go". So after the interval it was something of an anticlimax when the next pair were in uniform, and even though it was a good fight, with lot of blood, it didn't receive anything like the cheering and applause that Darren and the nigga had. Things calmed down a bit for the next two bouts, but then, finally, the buzz of excitement started to build for the finale, which the loudspeakers were saying was against "Our home Champion, Mike, and a big buck nigga who had so far subdued every white man he had ever fought." The announcer waited for the cheering to subside, and then went on "And tonight, Philips' Fighters is proud to bring

you a new innovation once more - as you have already seen with Darren, you'll now see our Champion Mike fully revealed to you, as you have never seen him before. Tonight's last pair will display themselves to you totally naked." He was drowned out by cheering, stomping and clapping, which went on until the amplified trumpets announced the opening of the arena gates.

I have to say that they both looked absolutely magnificent, and the late evening sum enhanced their bodies as it glistened off their oiled skin. Mike and the nigga were clearly proud of themselves, and it showed - they walked briskly to the centre of the arena then stood there, turning slowly to acknowledge the different parts of the crowd, and clearly unashamed of being nude in front of so many pairs of eyes. When the signal was given for the bout to begin it was utterly thrilling - they traded a few blows initially, then went in for close grappling. The way their oiled and sweaty bodies slithered and slipped over each other was sensual to watch, and again the deep black of the nigga made it even better as the contrast with Mike's paler skin meant you could much more easily see which parts of each fighter were in contact with each other. When you watch a bout normally you simply aren't aware of how many times a gladiator seems to get his hands in

the crotch or on the butt of his opponent, but it was totally apparent now.

Although the grappling was exciting, when big guys like Mike are fighting what the public really wants to see is blood, though: two hard, powerful men striking each other bare-knuckled, and with lots of punches to the head to make the nose stream with it. And they were not disappointed that evening, as Mike and the nigga were really evenly matched and neither could really get the advantage of the other, so there were lots of blows. You probably don't appreciate that slugging away at another fighter is physically even more exhausting than grappling with them, and so as both gladiators tired their blows became wilder and they had less strength to be able to defend themselves, so more blows landed and more blood flowed. I wondered how long it could go on for - the two men were lurching and staggering around after a time, then grasping at each other as if for support, before once more grappling and wrestling away.

I'm not sure that Mike was actually the better fighter that night - as something of a connoisseur and an actual practitioner, I'm in a better position than most, I think, to be able to say that the nigga actually had a better technique than Mike. But it was Mike's dogged determination not to be beaten that kept him going, and even as I could see he was getting more and more tired he somehow seemed to be able to dredge up from somewhere a will to continue. The crowd loved it, of course - they could see that both men were right on the edge of their endurance, and that the damage the were doing to each other was considerable. Finally, though, one of Mike's punches caused the nigga to stagger back as if he was almost knocked out, and Mike somehow found the energy to shoulder charge him to send him flying backwards to land on his back, so that Mike could throw himself down on to the nigga. Before the nigga could recover, Mike was sitting astride his

chest with his knees on the nigga's biceps, holding his arms down.

The crowd was roaring and cheering, which redoubled as Mike shuffled forward a little so that his dick was right over the nigga's face. Suddenly a chant broke out, and in seconds the whole crowd had taken it up "Suck! Suck! Suck!....", they went.

Mike took hold of his dick and pressed it to the nigga's lips, and the nigga turned his head to one side to avoid it. As the crowd went wild with excitement, Mike smashed his fist into the nigga's totally unprotected face as he lay pinioned there helplessly, and the next time Mike "offered" his dick, the nigga opened his mouth and feebly pressed his tongue to Mike's dick head. In spite of the crowd continuing to roar "Suck!", that was it, though. Mike climbed off the nigga ,then sportingly reached down and helped the guy to his feet. They stood there together, both covered in blood, then Mike put his arm around the nigga's shoulders and they stumbled towards the arena gates.

I could hear the patrons in the seats around me all saying it was the best thing they'd ever seen, although some of them thought that Mike should have gone on and fucked the nigga! They didn't seem to realise that in giving Mike's dick a token lick he'd acknowledged Mike's total superiority over him, and going on to fuck the nigga's throat was totally unnecessary. I felt like telling them that they'd come to see a gladiator bout, and that they'd seen one of the best fights they were ever likely to see, and that this wasn't meant to be some sort of lewd sex display. But I saw Jason approaching and decided to say nothing in case they complained to him.

He stood there listening to the patrons, though, and generally chatting, before he came over and casually reached down and felt my bulge! "So, Steve, you found that pretty exciting! You're more than a little aroused!"

"Actually, Jason, I need to piss."

Jason laughed. "I'll let you off this time, Steve, forgetting to treat me with respect. But next time, I'll order you to be caned. And I don't think that's a piss hard-on you've got: you were excited by those two naked guys fighting, weren't you? And especially the ending, when Mike could have fucked the nigga...."

"I don't get turned on by naked guys, SIR. Or by the thought of men fucking, unlike some sick wierdos, SIR", I snapped back.

Jason seemed to blaze with anger, but just then some woman came up to congratulate him, and as he stood there in a lengthy conversation one of the guards came along and undid my shackle. He was one of the guards who'd been there as long as I had, a decent sort of guy, and he said quietly "Get along to the ready room Steve - I think Mike needs your help."

End Of Part Nineteen