RELUCTANT GLADIATOR - Part Twenty Two A story by Pete Brown (petebrownuk @ yahoo.com)
Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
I know Mike was angry and upset abut having to fight naked, having to flush himself out in the shower (I hated that, too), and was furious about "the rules" being broken so that he and I had to fight each other. And perhaps he was also worried about the possibility of losing - we both knew that it was only a matter of time before Mike's ageing meant that he was going to lose a bout; and he could also see that I was a strong contender to be the next Champion at Philips' Fighters. It didn't help, either, that the drugs were starting to circulate in our blood - I could feel myself becoming a bit light-headed and unconcerned. But none of that's an excuse for Mike lashing out at the kid - as I've told you the kid was new, and was already really embarrassed about having to strip totally naked, and he probably thought he was trying to help by going up to Mike with the squeeze bottle of oil and squeezing some onto Mike's butt which Mike had failed to cover
himself. The next instant the kid had been thrown across the room by the sheer unexpectedness and force of Mike's backhand blow to the kid's face. He hit the wall, and subsided into a heap on the floor, then sat there rubbing his face and looking almost in disbelief at his hands as they became covered in the blood that was streaming from his nose.
"Mike!", I shouted, and went to restrain him from advancing on the kid to hit him again, and all I got for my trouble was him turning towards me with his fists raised to hit me, quickly followed by a mild tasering from the guards that forced both of us to halt in our tracks.
"Stop it!", Jason shouted. "Save your aggression for the arena, to give the customers the show they've paid for!", and Mike and I stood there glowering at each other. The kid had got over his sheer amazement at the ferocity of Mike's attack on him - I've told you that Mike had a short temper and often lashed out at other gladiators, but the sheer force of this attack was even by his standards exceptional - and was now quietly moaning and sobbing. Jason went over to him and rather roughly hauled the kid to his feet, then looked critically at him. "Fucking hell! You're a mess. Get that blood washed off you - there's no time to get a substitute, so you're going to have to perform as I've instructed you, but I don't want the customers' enjoyment spoiled by seeing you all bloody: the first blood's got to come from Steve or Mike." That was so typical of Jason - he didn't care about the kid really, only about the arrangements for the show.
I went over to the kid with a towel and started to help him wipe himself down, and he muttered angrily to me "Why did he do that, the bastard? I was only trying to help.... I wanted Mike to look really good in the arena as he's our Champion". I realised that like a lot of the young gladiators the kid probably hero-worshipped Mike, and so it was especially terrible for him not only to be bleeding and hurt, but to discover that his idol was not what he seemed.
"There's a lot of tension here....", I said quietly. "I think Mike probably reacted to your touch - reflexes, you know, that's what we get when we're trained fighters..."
"No it wasn't! I never touched him. It was only a few drops of oil falling on his butt. He hit me, Steve, hit me deliberately.... If it had been reflexes, he would have apologised. The bastard...!"
"Look, there's no time for all of that now. Let me help you get cleaned up, as Jason looks to be ready to start the bout."
"Well I hope you win, Steve. I hope you give him a beating that he'll remember, that you pound and smash him so he's broken and really hurt, that...."
I turned away, as I didn't want the kid to see that I was a as angry as he was - it's one thing for a gladiator to beat up another in a fair, evenly matched fight: that's why we're gladiators, after all. But it's not acceptable to attack a sixteen ear old like that, and I made an inner resolution to give Mike a few blows on the kid's behalf, assuming I won, of course.
Jason had one final humiliation for Mike and me. He handed us a couple of "tunics" made of fine black leather, and told us to put them on. I took the garment and began to cheer up at the thought that maybe the plans had changed and I wouldn't have to display myself nude, but soon realised that this was far from the case - the leather was wonderfully subtle and almost silky to the touch, and I pulled it over my head and let it fall down my body only to discover that it had been cut so that it emphasised our nudity, rather than concealed it. The tunic had a very wide, very low "V" neck that showed our chest hair and was so thin that our nipples were clearly outlined through it, but it was cut very short, especially at the back: I could feel the hem resting on the top of my butt, and the tip of my dick and the bottom of my balls hung just below the hem at the front. At the sides the seems were open as far as our waist, so that as we moved our naked
thighs were totally visible.
"You'll march into the arena dressed like that", Jason told us, "As that will excite the customers - they'll see those intriguing glimpses of your bodies as you move. Then when I give the signal you pull them off - one quick movement to pull it over your head, with no hesitation - to reveal all. Hand them to the kid." He stopped for a moment, looking at Mike as he tried in vain to pull the tunic down to actually cover his dick head.
Mike pulled the thing off there an then, and snarled "I'm not going out there in this, like some sex toy! I've got to fight naked, so that's how I'll start."
"Get the tunic back on. And get it on now", Jason screamed at him. "I decide what's going to happen, not some fucking slave! Now, obey, or get tasered."
Mike glared at him, and for a moment I think he was prepared to defy Jason even though he knew what that would mean - it really is terrible to have a full tasering, and once you've experienced it, you never want to go through the same thing again. He stood there, his body poised as if to fight, glaring at Jason, and Jason got his taser out and pointed the prong at the tip directly at Jason. "Come on, then", Jason almost taunted him. "Come on, Mike. Take me on, and see where it gets you. You've always been too big for your boots, always going on about being Champion, but the time has come for it to stop - you need to recognise that you're only a fucking slave, and as a slave you obey the orders of a free man. Now, obey me and save all that aggression for the arena, or suffer the consequences.... I can always get another of the gladiators in here to fight Steve."
I really thought Mike would launch himself at Jason, and how different things would have turned out if he had and I fought someone else. But Mike did back down - very uncharacteristically for him. Then he snarled "I'm the fucking Champion, don't forget that! You and me have got scores to settle, Jason, and after the match...."
"After the match you'll continue to obey, and live like all the other slaves here!", Jason shouted.
I don't know what would have happened had Straughan not come in at that moment and said "Get this thing started, Jason! The customers are getting restless." This seemed to cause Jason and Mike to back down from their confrontation, Mike pulled his tunic on and shook his dick to make it hang properly, and even though I could see he was still blazing with anger, he followed Jason's instructions to stand behind the kid and in front of me. We then walked off down the corridor in line, and I was treated to the sight of Mike's magnificent body with all his muscles rippling - it's not as if I wasn't used to this, but somehow having him half covered, half exposed, and seeing the interplay in his strong body through the leather, was especially exciting.
Jason made the kid go through the door into the arena first, holding the leather collar out in front of him. Mike and I could hear a polite ripple of applause, and then some laughter as we could hear Jason explain that although he looked younger, this was because the kid had been shaved as part of his initiation into the world of gladiators, and that he was genuinely a man, over sixteen. "We though he'd be an interesting contrast for you, ladies and gentlemen", we heard him say, "...to our two bruisers.... Mike, and Steve!".
We had to walk in then, and the leather hem of my tunic rubbing against the shaft of my dick almost made me go hard! I had to fight the sensation and desperately tried to think about something else. I looked around and saw that they had "dressed up" the smallest arena - one usually only used when they were buying a new gladiator and wanted to try him out before completing the purchase. It's not all that big as there's usually only a few spectators - Straughan and a couple of trainers, the seller and his guard, and so on - and very utilitarian: I think it was assumed that they'd all be at the low wall looking down at the prospective purchase, so there was no need for seating and such like. But for this event - and presumably at a price - chairs had been moved in and I could see about sixteen men and women, the smartly-dressed young crowd from earlier, sitting comfortably and looking down at us - well, not looking down exactly, as the floor of this
"demonstration" arena was only a couple of feet below the general floor level, and the barrier surrounding it was less than waist high: they had an excellent view of the three of us as we stood in front of them. There were a few tables dotted around, and some of the young gladiators (in the same black leather tunics as we were wearing) were being used as waiters to serve drinks: the uniform seemed to act almost as an encouragement to the men and women, as even as I looked, I saw one of the women slide her hand up one of the gladiator's thighs and gently caress his balls as he stood there trying to pour her drink!
Jason came in and looked at the audience, then gestured at Mike and me. "Let me present the Champion of Philip's Fighters, Mike...." There was a ripple of applause from the audience, "...and the challenger, Steve." Mike had punched the air as his name was announced, exposing even more of himself as his tunic rode up, but I stood there, as modestly as possible. "And now ladies and gentlemen, before your very eyes these magnificent gladiators, our best, will reveal themselves." He turned to us and gestured, and we knew what we had to do. Well, there was no point in avoiding it, no point in delaying, no point in refusing - although we were proud powerful men, we were slaves and Jason and the guards had all the power and control. I reached for the neck of my tunic and in one swift movement pulled it up over my body and off, as did Mike. We stood there naked. The kid came and took the tunics off us - his dick bobbing almost merrily as he walked - and
then we waited.
"As you can see, ladies and gentlemen", Jason began again, "The gladiators are easy to distinguish from each other". He looked at us and said quietly "Turn around", which we did. "Their names are conveniently displayed there on their backs..." He gestured at us to turn around again so we were once more facing the audience "...and on their penises, although these are, of necessity, in smaller letters, in spite of the fact that both slaves are, shall we say, very well endowed!"
There was a little ripple of laughter, especially from the women, as he said this, although some of the men looked a little uncomfortable. Perhaps they were thinking about how they'd feel to have tattooed dicks. Perhaps they were unconsciously comparing their own endowments with ours.
"Let me remind you, ladies and gentlemen", Jason continued, "That these two magnificent animals are going to fight for your pleasure and enjoyment. They are or course both gladiators here at Philips' Fighters, and as such live together and train together. So to ensure that they give you their best shots and pull no punches, today's rules require the match to go on until one of them is so overcome that he cannot prevent the other from raping him." Jason waited for a small round of excited applause to die down, and continued "This will be a particular problem for both men, as they have a liking for the ladies and do not engage with their own sex. Normally for one of them to be able to insert his member into the other, that gladiator would have to be knocked out completely - it's simply impossible for a strong man like these are to be able to perform such an act whilst the other one is in anyway moving and resisting. So the young trainee gladiator you
see in front of you has an important role to perform - he's not simply here to excite your eyes, although he does that admirably, of course...." Again Jason waited for a slight ripple of amusement and applause (mostly from the ladies!) to subside.
"Once one of the two is immobile in the grip of the other, the young gladiator will fasten the collar around his neck, so the victor can lash the failing gladiator's wrists to it. When this has been accomplished, the conclusion of our little drama can begin to play itself out as the bout moves to completion: still fully conscious, but now almost powerless to resist, the failing gladiator will become the sexual plaything of the victor - it will not necessarily be a pleasant scene, ladies and gentlemen, and I advise those amongst you who are in any way squeamish to leave now.... Well, it might be an interesting sight, of course: seeing strong men using their bodies in the sexual act is always stimulating! But we can expect the loser to scream and rage as he is violated, and the sight and sound of a grown man being utterly and totally humiliated may be unsettling to those of a delicate disposition. Remember, ladies and gentlemen, these are men who
until now have been completely heterosexual - so you should expect one of them to be enraged and violent as he is penetrated and used as a woman might be, and I am afraid that I cannot vouch for their language!"
Jason stood there smiling slightly as if proud of what he'd arranged. Then he looked at Mike and me and shouted "Right! Gladiators... Shake, then fight!"
Mike and I squared up to each other, and held our hands out. I found the look in Mike's eyes to be unfathomable - it wasn't hate, it wasn't pity, it wasn't fear, it wasn't aggression - perhaps it was one of a deep, deep sadness: sadness for what he thought he was going to have to do to me. We touched, briefly - Mike's skin was hot and dry: he wasn't sweating, and he'd managed to wipe the oil away from his palms in order to be able to grip and get an advantage when the bout started. I wondered what he was thinking - was he, like me, worried about what was going to happen? Not only worried about the possibility of being raped if he lost, but also about the consequences if he won and had to do that to his fellow gladiator? But an instant later I knew that it was only me who had these concerns - Mike's much more of a "doer" than a "thinker", and he went from that manly hand-clasping acknowledgement of our mutual involvement to a honed, keen fighter,
determined to win, and to win at all costs. He launched his body at me, his shoulder low and charging at my chest to try to knock the wind out of me when I was still not fully prepared - I managed to weave to one side, though, and as Mike's body slid past me, my own fight reflexes cut in and I chopped at his body with the hardened side of my hand.
I suppose a commentator, or one of the spectators, could give you a proper account of our battle. But after that initial move, I cannot. When you're a gladiator and properly trained to fight, it's not only your body's reflexes engaged in the action, it's your brain, too, planning, plotting, directing, seeking every tiny advantage - not wholly at the conscious level, but at all levels. You lose the ability to think about anything other than the turmoil of flailing limbs, hard bodies locked in combat with each other, and hands grappling or punching or gripping your opponent as your struggle goes on. You have no time for analysis, no time for description - everything is moving too fast physically and your brain needs its entire processing power to try to keep up and somehow ensure you do better than your opponent. You get flashes, of course - those isolated moments when it's as if someone has pressed the shutter on a camera and an image is captured:
the sweat running over both your bodies; the stream of sweat flying off you as you spin and turn; the first blood - the sight of it, and the taste, whether it's yours, or his; the pain as a fist lands on you; the joy as you strike your opponent in a particularly devastating way; the heat of your bodies as they slide over each other; the noise as you or your opponents grunts at a blow, or shouts with the exaltation of some strike; the cheering of the audience breaking through into our consciousness .... Somehow all these instants stand out above the sheer turmoil of the fight, but they in no way enable you to capture afterwards the precise sequence of what happened.
In this fight there was another complete distraction too, a distraction so consuming and so basic to the way a man thinks and operates that it threatened to overwhelm the flood of sensory information that my brain was already trying to process as we fought on: as our bodies collided and slid across each other, our dicks were pressed into each other's flesh and began to be stimulated. And as the effect of the drugs Jason had pumped into us began to take hold, I felt myself getting an erection.. At some deep, primeval level within your brain something knows that a man's dick and balls are particularly precious, and that they must be protected. You can't help it - your whole fighting stance changes, no, has to change, as no longer under your own volition your body adjusts to try to prevent your dick from being crushed or maimed, and to prevent damage to your balls at all costs. As this happens, your erection doesn't go away - no, it gets harder,
firmer, more pronounced, and above all the clamour of pain from every other part of your body as your opponent batters it, you start to feel that ache, that deep ache, as your dick strains and stretches as if desperate for fulfilment.
I really don't know how long we fought. Time dilates in a battle such as we were having, and your usual perception of the passing of time loses all meaning. I knew I was tiring, though, as I fought to hold off Mike's blows and thrust and fought myself to land blows on him or to grapple him into submission. My vision was clouded with sweat and blood, my lungs were heaving as they desperately sucked air in to burn the energy my muscles needed. Somehow I began to feel a glimmer of hope - if I was tiring, tiring desperately, then so must Mike be: we were, after all, as I've told you, pretty evenly matched. But could Mike sustain his efforts? I was younger, and sooner or later, this had to be an advantage as his older body could no longer muster the resources it needed. Did I detect some faint weakening of him as we fought? I'm not sure - but whether I did or did not, it gave me fresh hope, and with that, a small scintilla of additional effort which
had been overlooked somewhere - and then it seemed as if there was a kind of virtuous feedback loop in operation - I felt a weakening, I had fresh strength, so more weakening.... Mike made a desperate last attempt, or so it felt like, to throw himself at me and pinion me to the ground, but in his tiredness he miscalculated, just a little, a very little. But at our level of the game, that's all it needs - his naked foot scrabbled as he had misjudged his weight distribution and the floor of the arena was slippery with our sweat and blood, and as he fought to regain control, I in turn threw myself at him and my momentum was enough to totally topple him and send him flying. I can remember launching myself through the air to land on him, managing to do so in a way that knocked the air out of his lungs whilst leaving my tortured breathing still operational. And I had him!
I locked my arm around his neck, and with my other hand reached down and grabbed his balls. He might have broken free of my arm lock, but as he tried to do so I squeezed his testicles, squeezed them hard. Mike gave a great shriek of pain - or was it rage? Or both? I kept my grip on him, and every time he attempted to move, I squeezed again. That deep part of the brain that cares for your manhood evidently took over, subduing Mike's fighting core, and gradually his body stilled under mine. I cold feel my heart racing and my breath was coming in great asps and spurts as I clung to him. Finally I managed to shout "The collar!"
Mike had one last desperate attempt to break free, followed by a howl of anguish as I squeezed his balls once more, and the young gladiator raced over and fell to his knees - sliding the last couple of feet on the sweat and blood - and put the collar on Mike. I now had him, I knew - I slid my fingers between the collar and Mike's neck, giving me an excellent grip, and almost revelling in the sensation of his hot, sweating neck against my fingers. I could feel his pulse throbbing against me, and he was totally in my power: I pulled at the collar and Mike began to choke and strangle.
"Listen to me!", I snapped at him. I want one arm at a time up behind your neck. Any problems, and I choke you!"
I thought he was going to be sensible and obey. He raised one wrist, and I loosened my grip a little on him to try to fasten it to the collar - and Mike struck. His arm slashed backwards at me at the same time as his body bucked under me. But I held on to the collar, almost like a cowboy riding a steer in a rodeo, and pulled hard so that Mike's air was cut off. I was suffering some damage from his fist slamming in to me, but gradually it slowed as his body began to lose consciousness. I was terrified I might damage him permanently - crushing his windpipe totally so that he might die - but at another level I didn't care: I was in control, I had vanquished him, and now he was suffering the consequences.
When his arm at last went limp I forced it up and used the leather thong on the collar to bind it there, then ordered him to present the other arm - there was almost no resistance now, and I was easily able to bind that one against the other. I knew I really had him then, and I loosened my grip on the collar, allowing Mike to start breathing properly again. I could feel him desperately trying to suck air in, his ribs swelling and straining against my knees as I knelt there on him. "Right! Now for the climax....", I shouted at him.
I think he realised he was utterly vanquished. With his arms immobilised, there was no way he could continue to fight - of course he could try body charges and things like that, but he was certain to fail. He made no effort to resist me as I pushed my arm under him at the waist and hauled him up, at the same time as I pushed his head down. His butt was thrust into the air, and I knew what I had to do. No, that's wrong - I knew what I wanted to do. Whether it was the effect of the drugs on me, or whether it was fulfilment of my destiny as a man, a man who had utterly subjugated another, I neither knew nor cared. My dick was throbbing so painfully with its massive erection, and I moved so that once more my hand gripped his balls that were hanging there between his thighs to give me some measure of control over him.
As I pushed my dick at his asshole Mike did his best to stop me - he couldn't buck around or anything as I had him in my grip, but he clenched his hole shut. But there's no way that you can stop a hard dick with a powerful man behind it, is there? The ass muscles are only designed to stop your shit falling out, not to stop a rampant dick from entering. I had to force and thrust and slam, but my dick broke through into him and I was rewarded with the feeling of Mike's hot, wet, hard ass gripping me so fiercely that I almost shot my load instantly.
Mike gave a great scream as I entered him. Was is from the pain? Probably partially, but I think most of it was a shout of anger at being violated, and above all, one of despair - despair at knowing that he was no longer Champion, that he had been beaten and was now being totally humiliated in his defeat.
He carried on screaming and shouting as I fucked him. It was no gentle fuck, not the sort of thing that two lovers do slowly and carefully in bed: this was hard and brutal, with me almost pulling out and then slamming back in really hard, so that my swinging balls slammed into his butt. The sensations I got from my balls added to that flooding me from my dick, and I lost all control, going on and on, not caring about Mike, not even interested in what was happening to him - I was a powerful male taking what I needed from a weaker one.
It couldn't go on for ever though, and I don't think it took me very long before I knew I needed to shoot. I pulled right out of Mike, then my cum shot from my dick in a huge streak, lying along the length of his sweating back for all to see - I have a big load normally, but even by my standards there was an awful lot if it! I didn't stop, though - it was as if some deep animal instinct took over, and even as the last bits of cum were drooling out of my dick, I pushed it back inside Mike's ass, and fucked him a couple more times: I'm one of those guys whose dick is incredibly sensitive when I've shot, and now the sensations were extraordinary - I was conscious that my back had arched backwards as if to try to force my dick even deeper into Mike, my head was back, and I was shouting "Jesus, yes.... Fuck.... Fuck...."
Then it was over, of course. I knelt there for a moment, my chest heaving as I recovered, then, still buried in Mike, I pushed at him so he lay flat on the floor with me on top of him. I sank my teeth into the top of his shoulders, tasting the salt of his sweat and his blood as in some sort of primeval ceremony I "marked" him as mine. Then, gradually, as I lay there feeling him under me, I began to realise what I'd done. I had been like an animal, a real animal, with no sense of civilised behaviour. I'd fucked a man, fucked him brutally and hard, raped him, in fact. And raped him in front of an audience, for their amusement. At some level I knew I'd destroyed Mike - destroyed him as Champion, of course, but at some deeper level I'd destroyed his own image of himself as a man.
Slowly I pulled out of him and got to my feet, then stood there in front of the crowd, sweat and blood all over my body, and with my dick slimed with Mike's ass juice and my cum. They were all on their feet, cheering and clapping, but I didn't care. All I could think of was Mike, and I stooped down to help him to his feet - but he wouldn't move, and lay there, sobbing quietly.
To my amazement, the young gladiator moved towards us, then stood for a moment stroking his dick from hard to very hard. The audience and I both watched, wondering what was going to happen - he'd been so timid and quiet before, but now he seemed to be inflamed and he threw himself down on top of Mike, and began to fuck him just as I had. "Bastard! Bastard!", he was shouting.
Well I couldn't let him do that, could I? So I pulled him off, really rather hard. He stood there panting, his dick dripping cum - even in that short time he'd shot into Mike!
"Let me go!", he shouted at me. "He deserves it! He's treated us all badly, he even hit me as we came in. He deserves to be fucked...."
I slapped him. I slapped him hard - no, slap is the wrong word. My hand with all my force behind it hit the side of his head, and he was thrown off balance and fell to the floor. I stood looking down at him, and snapped "I'm Champion now, kid. And when a gladiator needs punishment, I do it. You'd better remember!"
I don't know what would have happened next if Jason had not then come in to the arena, stood there looking at the audience, and, smiling, raised his hand for quiet. "So, ladies and gentlemen, a real value for money event from Philips' Fighters - not just an epic battle between two gladiators, not just one man fucking another, but two!"
They all clapped and cheered, and Jason went on "But it's over, ladies and gentlemen. I hope we shall see you all here again soon with your families and friends, and that we can have the satisfaction of arranging a further spectacular private event like this one for you."
One of the men beckoned to Jason, and he went over. As we watched, the man spoke to him, and they gestured at me and Mike, then shook hands as if making a deal. Jason turned, and came over to me. "Right - get over there, by the edge. They want a good look at you."
My face was grim as I did as I was told - well, what was the point of not obeying? I stood there in front of them, and they all peered down at me as my sweat trickled down my body, and my dick gradually returned to normal. One of the men and one of the women were having a whispered conversation with each other, I noticed, and then the man nodded at Jason as if giving final agreement to something that had been previously discussed.
"Out, and through the showers", Jason ordered me. "And be very thorough. Very thorough. You're not finished for today, yet."
End Of Part Twenty Two