Reluctant Gladiator

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

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

I sat up front with the taxi driver, but much good did it do me - he was some sort of illegal immigrant, and hardly had any English. We drove to the outskirts of the city, and then into the parking lot of a huge structure - rather like a baseball ground - circular, with high walls and a domed roof, but not as big. Finally the guy spoke "Ah, Gladiators.... Good."

I reckoned this must be the arena as there were lots of signs saying stuff like "Block A" and "Grand Tier Entrance", but the taxi went on around to the back, where there was a whole complex of stuff joined onto the arena building. We followed the signs saying "Admin Offices", and he pulled up outside, and got out.

I went in though the doors into a quite plush reception area, and there was a good-looking receptionist behind the desk. I put on my best smile - as I was going to be working here I reckoned it was good to get off with to a good start with her, and, who knows, she might be persuaded to put out for me later. "Hi, I'm Steve Masters...." I began.

I realised I was unlikely to make much progress though, as she snapped "You're the new gladiator. They've been expecting you. Wait, and I'll tell them."

I went to sit down, but she sounder even sharper now. "Not on the furniture! That's for important guests. Gladiators stand quietly, when they've been out, against the wall. You'd better learn how to behave, as Mr Straughan is a stickler on discipline and he won't hesitate to punish you."

Well, I thought that sounded a bit odd, but what the hell - my butt was still sore, especially after the cab ride, so I went and stood there, clasping my hands kind of naturally behind my back in the "stand easy" position trained marines adopt. I had to wait quite a time until a guy who was obviously a guard came out. He chatted to the receptionist, making all the kinds of small talk I'd normally have done to a good-looker like her, totally ignoring me. Then, when they both seemed to have flirted enough, he turned and in a quite different tone barked out an order: "Follow me, boy!", and went back through the door behind reception. So I followed.

It looked pretty much like a normal office block - a wide, air-conditioned corridor with glass-walled offices opening off it containing one or two people working away at screens, or having meetings. They hardly looked at us as we strode past, and the guard ultimately stopped at one of them, and knocked at the door. I could see an older man be through the glass, behind a big desk - he was probably in his early fifties, but had a lean, muscular look to him. He gestured for us to go in, and I strode across the floor, holding out my hand and saying "Hi, I'm Steve Masters. You must be the boss, I guess, Mr Philips....."

He didn't stick his hand out, but simply gave me a cold stare. "I am not Philips - the Chief Executive does not deal with operational matters. I am Straughan, not that it maters to you as if you ever address me, you will call me 'boss', and do so respectfully. All other men and women here are 'sir' or 'ma'am'. I am the director of operations, and as a new gladiator, you're my responsibility - I arrange the training, and the fight schedules."

"Right, boss. Look, I'm really glad...."

"I do not do small talk, especially with gladiators. And whether you'll be 'glad' or not in a week or so will very much depend on how you behave. Although you're an indentured gladiator, and not a slave, your indenture gives us considerable flexibility in punishments. Remember that, and learn, and obey."

Well, that sounded a bit grim, but I'm used to having officers who sometimes are not as good as they should be at bonding with the ordinary guys, so I nodded and said, as respectfully as I could, "Sure thing, boss."

"You're a quick learner. That's good. Now, let's see what we've bought. The video sent from the lawyer wasn't really on a large enough scale. Unclothe, so I can get a proper look at you."

I looked around at the glass wall of the office feeling very exposed, but Straughan tapped his fingers impatiently on the desk, and for the second time that day I stripped down to my briefs. I stood there in front of him, and he looked at me hard. "This is the last time I will say this, Steve. When you receive an order here, you obey it. I told you to unclothe, and you are standing there in those briefs."

"But, boss, the glass... The people..."

"They are my concern. I told you to unclothe. That means, if your brain can't understand English properly, get naked. Now, lose those briefs."

I was flushing with embarrassment as I slid them down over my hips, and stood there in front of him. I was conscious that if our earlier walking along the corridor had not attracted the attention of folks in the offices, I was doing so now - those passing were staring in at me.

Straughan got up from behind the desk and began to subject me to a kinds of "hands-on" examination. Standing behind me initially, I felt his hands running across my shoulders, then they slid down my back, his fingers curling around my trunk towards the front, and his thumbs almost caressing my spine. I hated it when I felt his hands on my butt - he began to squeeze and knead my muscles there, and I couldn't help giving a low groan as he did so.

"Still suffering from that caning, are you?", he asked as if it was the most normal thing in the world for one guy to be kneading the butt of another. "I can feel all the damage lines in your muscle, but fortunately there's no permanent damage and the marks will disappear after a day or so."

He came around to the front the, and, once again, he felt my shoulders. Then told me to bend my arms and flex., so he could test my biceps. My belly was examined with the palm of his hand - it was warm to the touch as it planed over me, and he said, quietly (as if to himself as I didn't think I needed to say anything in reply) "Nice, hard, no a trace of fat. And A good 'trail' - the crowds like that. And they cut your cord well, too - big protruding belly buttons spoil the overall look of torso."

Fuck me, I thought. How can a guy actually be some sort of connoisseur of the male body? But my thoughts were broken as my reflexes cut in - Straughan had, suddenly and without warning, pulled back and smashed his balled fist, hard, into my gut! I gave a grunt of surprise and shock, and immediately went to retaliate, just stopping myself in time when I saw that Straughan was smiling.

"Good, Steve. Excellent musculature - a man needs to be able to take a good pounding if he's going to succeed as a gladiator. And I like the way your reflexes cut in there - and that you were able to override them - a gladiator needs to be in control: that's the secret of success - a hard body, properly controlled."

All I could add was "Yes, boss.". I'd clearly passed some sort of test, but on the whole I'd rather not have had the ache it had left in my belly.

Still smiling, his eyes locked into mine, Straughan reached down and gripped my dick!

"Hey..."

"Listen, Steve, you're indentured, remember? The next best thing to being a slave. And you'd better get used to members of staff here handling you - you're only a piece of flesh as far as we are concerned, you know: something to be examined, trained, used for fighting... and so on. Now, I'm going to inspect your dick, and your balls, and then your asshole. Think of me as a doctor, if it makes it easier for you."

"Please, boss, is it really necessary....?"

"That's no concern of yours. Whether it's necessary or not, I have decided to do it. And that's all that should matter to you. Now, stay quiet, and let me get on with it, or else I will get the guard here to use a slave prod on you - are you familiar with those?"

"No, boss".

"A small bolt of electricity has a quite devastating effect on your nerve endings. Most men fall to the ground, their bodies totally out of control. It hurts. Hurts like hell. But there's no permanent damage, and you recover in ten minutes or so. So it's an ideal tool for disciplining unruly or disobedient or wilful slaves. I expect you will experience it sooner or later, and, if I were you, I'd make it 'later', not now. Especially because if you lose control of your body to the extent that bladder control fails and you piss all over my carpet, you'll need to be punished further."

"Please, boss... If it's for slaves...."

"I use the word as a shorthand for 'slaves and indentureds', Steve. Your indenture contract gives us the right to use 'reasonable' punishments to ensure compliance with legitimate orders. Do you understand?"

I was beginning to! It just shows you should always read a contract properly, I suppose. "Yes, boss", I said, calmly - well, as calmly as I could, given that another guy had his hand around my dick and was skinning me back!

Straughan stopped that after a time, though, and I heard him mutter "Nice, well-pronounced rim, head appropriate to the shaft..., before his hands closed around my balls. It was if he as "weighing" them - cupping them in the palm of his hands, and jiggling them up and down. I broke out into a sweat at this point - I mean, your balls are the most sensitive part of you, aren't they? And I hated a woman to touch me there, and now it was another man doing it! But I suppose Straughan knew what he was doing, as he didn't actually hurt me.

"You're looking good down there, Steve. A good length of dick that's not too thick and not too thin. And the head's good, too - some men have dick heads that are overly large, or are too small - but yours goes well with your shaft. And properly low-hanging balls that swing fee, like yours, and excellent for a gladiator." It didn't seem the right time to ask him why it mattered how m balls were.

I was ordered to bend over Straughan's desk and "Spread 'em", then, and my sweating intensified as I knew what would be coming next. You have a yearly prostate exam in the marines, and I always hated it, even though it was always done by a doctor who maintained some sort of "professionalism" about it. But now I could hear Straughan muttering "Exceptionally strong and well-rounded butt" as he pried my ass apart. And then there was the dreadful pressure of his finger, all hot, against my asshole. He didn't push it in, though, but instead told me to stand up. I was so grateful that I almost said "thank you"!

You've got a very tight ass, Steve. Ever had a dick up there?"

"NO, boss! I'm not a queer...."

"So you fuck women? Or are you a 'top' who likes men and only fucks and doesn't get fucked? That would be reasonable, given your size and power, I suppose...."

"I'm one hundred percent straight! NO way do I mess around with other guys...."

Straughan looked thoughtful. "Well, in some ways that's good, and in others, it's not so good. Still, we'll see how things develop."

I wanted to ask him what he meant by that, but he continued "OK, you need some work on your body. You're in very good shape - no, excellent shape - for a civilian, but...."

"Hey, boss, I'm not a 'civilian' - well, I wasn't until a couple of days ago. I was a marine..."

"Interrupt me one more time, Steve, and I will order you to be punished. I think the standards in our fighting corps must be going down, if you were used to interrupting officers like that."

"Sorry, boss."

"By 'civilian', we mean anyone who is not properly trained as a fighting gladiator. No civilian has any chance in a fight against one of our gladiators, whether that civilian was a marine, or just an ordinary guy. So when I say you need work on your body, I mean we need to work you to really give you the musculature you need for hand-to-hand combat: you probably did only a bit of that in the marines, and then only in practices and not 'for real', when your survival depended on it. And once you've been toughened up, we will teach you how to really beat the shit out of someone, using only your bare fists, and your elbows, feet, and any other part of you."

"I see, boss."

"You can put your briefs on - don't bother about the rest of it. You're causing too much distraction amongst the office staff to stay naked like that. They're not used to seeing a gladiator with a foreskin, I guess." He smiled slightly - a very thin smile across his hard lips.

I looked at him, and, sensing my question, he continued "All our gladiators are routinely circumcised. Most of them are that way already, of course, as they are slaves and most owners have slaves cut: it's more hygienic. And a lot less trouble generally - none of that nasty white deposit under the foreskin, and so on. And it distinguishes a slave very readily from a free man. If a cop pulls you over he can look at your dick - there's a lot of false positives, of course, as some free men are still circumcised. But, there are almost no slaves with a foreskin - I'm surprised you didn't know that."

"How would I know, boss?"

"Well, at a bath house or massage parlour you might have noticed the staff, compared with the clients. Or read about it in the papers - there's a lot of stuff about the proper management of slaves..."

"I don't go to bath houses, boss! And if I was with a lot of other guys naked - well, like in the barracks - well, you don't look at their dicks, do you?"

"Most men do, Steve. But, never mind. It's one of the things that we can't do to you as you're only an indenture, so that foreskin of yours is safe. But if you change your mind - if you really want to bond with the other guys, just let me know: it's easy to arrange a routine circumcision here."

I nodded. What kind of crap was this, I wondered - I mean, men working and living together bond naturally, don't they? You don't feel more, or less, about your buddies because they've got or not got their foreskin. Well, at least in the marines you don't. Still I thought I'd better keep quiet.

Straughan reached over his desk, pressed a button the intercom, and snapped "Straughan here. Get Mike up to my office - and make it fast. No need for him to shower or anything...."

Straughan went and sat down and continued to look at me as I hoped form one foot to another pulling my briefs up. "You're a good looking man, Steve. You should do well as a gladiator. The public like a good-looker to support - even the best fighter can't make it to the top if he's not got the right kind of looks. And you've got that 'something'.... You used to find it easy to pick up women, I suppose? Were you married?"

I smiled "You're right, boss! Whenever I had a spot of leave it wasn't hard at all to find a way of spending it with a chick, and I've certainly had more than my share of women... But, no, I haven't married - yet.... you know, in the marines, always away, there wasn't a lot of time to pick one girl, and...."

"I hear you, Steve. And I almost believe you. But we've had a fair number of ex-marines come through here over time. I can't help thinking that a lot of you use the 'always away' excuse as a cover, as you don't really want a woman...."

"Hey, no way, not for me, boss! I always like a woman...."

"I'll believe you, Steve. Thousands wouldn't, as they say. But, until I'm proved right, I'll believe you when you say that you're a one hundred percent grade-a heterosexual."

"You bet, boss! That sounds right."

Just at that moment there was a loud, hard, kind of confident-sounding knock at the door, and Straughan gestured for whoever was outside to come in. It was a big guy - bigger than me, I thought at first. But when I looked at him more closely I saw that we were about the same height, but that the impression of size came from the fact that his pecs were even more developed than mine - well, not grossly so, like you see on some of those body-building fetishists, but clearly very hard and toned. He was covered in a sheen of sweat, all over, as if he'd been really working out hard. But the thing that then caught my eye was the size of his package! Look, don't get me wrong - I don't go around looking at guys down there. But you just couldn't help seeing it on this guy - although, as I was to learn soon enough, it was the way he was dressed that did most of this.

Mike was in standard gladiator's costume, and for those of you who may not have seen it, even incidentally as you flicked through the sports pages, I'd better describe it a bit. Think of those "tanga" style briefs some guys wear - an elastic waistband, quite thick, like on a jockstrap, with the front pouch and back attached to it but with only the waistband over the thighs. Well, it was like that, except that the front pouch was much thinner than normal - only a bit wider than his dick and balls, so his thighs were emphasised, and at the back, about the same so that his ass crack was covered but a whole lot of his butt was exposed. The fabric was like that of a thin cotton jock strap, too - not solidly woven and coloured as in most "tangas", but relatively loose and almost, but not quite, open-meshed. It was as if it was designed to emphasise the shape of the dick and balls underneath, rather that conceal them. I could, for example, easily deduce

that Mike was circumcised.

Straughan looked at me and caught me staring. "Impressive, isn't he? Mike is our champion here at Philips' Fighters.. He's got a hard, determined fighting style, and the crowds love him for his looks, too. Remember what I said?"

"Yes, boss."

He looked at Mike, who was clearly pleased by all of this, and went on: "Mike, this is Steve. Our new recruit. He's to be treated just as if he was a slave, and he'll be going through the training. I want you to look after him for the first few weeks - show him the ropes, keep him out of trouble - you know how easy it is for new guys to upset the others - even inadvertently - because they just don't understand our ways. So look after him - if I have to punish him, I'll make it a dual punishment, as you'll share the blame. Do I make myself clear?"

"Sure, boss". Mike had an easy drawl, and as he said this he turned to me, stuck out his hand, and said "So hi, Steve, welcome aboard, buddy...."

I shook his hand eagerly - the first time anyone had treated me like another man for some time. As you'd expect his grip was firm - his hand was all sweaty, thought - and as two strong men do when they first meet we went through one of those silly rituals by squeezing each others hands harder and harder, to see who was going to give way first. We both knew what was going on, of course, and after a few seconds we broke away, both grinning broadly at each other.

"Take Steve away, get him showered and clipped, kitted out in a proper uniform... Show him the layout, introduce him to the others, give him your own warped view of the operation.... And you and Steve had better bunk together for the next few weeks, too, until he's settled in."

I saw Mike's attitude change rather abruptly. "But boss... I've been spending my bonuses.. .you know I do..."

"I won't let your lust stand in the way of efficient operations, Mike! Live with it! You're both men of the world. Now, get out, both of you..."

I wondered what the hell was going on, but knew I could ask Mike so I bent to pick up my jeans and shirt ad boots.

"Leave those!", Straughan snapped. "You won't be needing them. You'll be wearing the standard gladiator uniform, like Mike's, from now on. If you do ever get to leave here we'll give you a new set - those won't fit, anyway, once we've got you properly in shape."

"But..." I was going to say that I particularly liked that shirt. It had cost me a lot of bucks, and I was hoping they could at least keep it safe for me.

"Come on, Steve!", Mike cut in. "Mr Straughan's told you what to do. Come on, buddy, before he orders you to be punished for arguing", then, almost without stopping, his tone changed, and he added "Sorry, boss. Steve doesn't understand the rules yet."

Straughan gave one of those thin-lipped little smiles in return. "Well, Mike, make sure you teach them to him soon. It's a long time since I had to redden that ass of yours, and I'd like a real excuse for a little amusement."

Mike grabbed me by the arm, and pulled me towards the door. So I followed him down the corridor, and of course I couldn't help but see how the tiny tight flap of cloth down across his ass somehow seemed to emphasise the curve and size of his butt - I don't think he was more muscular than me, but it just shows you how clothes can influence things, as I felt certain that the women in the offices we went past were thinking that Mike was much more of a stud than I was, because my briefs didn't do anything for me really. Of course I now know that it would be the guys thinking that, too. But then I was a real innocent!

We went out through the maze of corridors, and Mike told me that that was the administration building. Us gladiators were not usually allowed in there, unless there was a special reason. "Like what?", I asked.

"Well, like me being told to come and pick you up. But the last time was when the auditors were in... Some of the highest-valued gladiators had to be brought in so that they could verify that we were still alive, and they had a valuer who made sure our value in the books was reasonable."

"Value... I don't understand."

"Steve, where have you been? We're slaves, right? So Philips' Fighters buy us, so that's our value then. But then they train us, and that adds to it. And then we fight, and if we're good - like me - then our value goes up as Philips' Fighters could sell us at a profit to another school. Of course....", his expression changed... "...if we're seriously injured or incapacitated, our value plummets. But I used to be in corporate finance before I was enslaved, and I know the importance of valuing the company's assets at a fair market price. And with gladiators representing so much of the assets here, it's really important."

Somehow I couldn't get my head around the concept of a man being valued like that. But, I guess, it's different if he's a slave.

Our discussion was cut short though as we came to a heavy door, with one of the guards standing in front of it. "This marks the boundary between the offices and the school itself", Mike told me. And to the guard he added "Coming back through, please, sir. With a new gladiator, Steve. Mr Straughan told me to look after him."

The guard turned to a small screen and looked at it. "OK, Mike. And good luck for Saturday. What are your chances? I'm betting my wife's birthday money on you...."

"You know me! I always do my best. But I reckon your money is fairly safe as I'm on peak form. Let me just tell you that I've made a booking - an expensive one - to use up my bonus on Saturday night. And you guys all know me - you know how important that is to me."

The guard laughed. "Well you'll come a cropper one day, Mike. Just make sure it's not Saturday - I need to have some spare cash for my wife's birthday!", and with that opened the heavy door, and waved us through.

On the other side everything was different. My bare feet felt the concrete of the floor, rather than the carpets before. The walls were those kind of open-structure construction blocks, painted over, with no dry wall or plaster or anything. And no concealed lighting - just a row of utilitarian strip lights.

"So welcome to your new home, Steve. This is the school itself - gym, pool, special exercise rooms, the mess, the hospital, the...."

"Hospital?"

"Well, more a sort of emergency room where they patch us up if they can - there's a couple of beds in there where you stay if the injury's really bad."

It was beginning to come home to me that this gladiator stuff was serious. But Mike was going on "And then, connecting with this is the main arena - we'll look over that tomorrow. It's not huge, but Philips' Fighters sells at the top end of the market when we have home matches, and the crowd is limited to about 1500 people - he reckons he makes more money that way, from all premium seats, than some of those other schools do where they can seat five, six even ten thousand, but obviously at much lower prices - what everyone really wants is a good view as we fight: if you're right up high, way above the arena, you'd do better to stay at home and watch on TV, I reckon. But then you don't get the atmosphere, I suppose."

"So we fight here, then?"

"Well yes, some of the time. Philips' is quite good like that, as Straughan reckons that it's not a really good fight if gladiators who know each other have to fight each other - you and I might pull back from really hurting each other, if we were matched after you've been trained, for example. So normally we fight gladiators from other schools, and we're either taken to their arenas, or they come here to ours. I quite like performing in some of the bigger places, actually - the thought of all those people admiring my body.... It's a real turn-on."

"But what about all this injury stuff..."

"Don't worry about that, Steve. You'll find that after you've been trained, and you've had some minor injuries and got over the pain of them, that you stop worrying. The game's the thing, as you'll discover - the excitement, the adrenaline... Once that all kicks in, you cease to worry."

"I'm not worried by a bit of pain! I'm more concerned about survival, getting through this...."

Mike just shrugged. "You'll learn. A good gladiator - and I reckon you could be almost as good as me - gets to love the 'sport', as they call it, and fights because he wants to fight."

He pointed down a cross corridor with another heavy door at the end of it. "That leads to the private rooms...."

He was moving on, but I'm a curious kind of guy. And there was something in the way Mike had said it. "Private...?"

"Oh, you know... When someone wants a private fight. A few friends decide they'd like to have a match laid on just for them. Or some sort of corporate entertainment... It costs a packet, but that's part of the attraction, I suppose - you not only get the excitement of picking the gladiators and so on, but they're there, right in front of you, so close you can almost touch them.. And you show everyone that you've got money, real money. I don't like them much."

"Oh?"

"Well, the selection, for one thing.... Having to line up and having a lot of rich people look you over, just as if you were animals. And then these private matches are always 'in house', so you're fighting your buddies."

I nodded. "And then, well, at the end....." Mike stopped in mid sentence, and I prompted him "....yes, at the end?"

"Oh, you'll find out... Don't worry about it - que sera, sera, as they say." His mood brightened a bit as he went on "Look, the private rooms are also used for intimate entertainments, too - and they can be fun."

"Are you deliberately being obtuse? What the fuck is a 'private entertainment', if it's not a private match?"

Mike grinned. "Well, some of the rich ladies around here like he thought of a real man fucking them, rather than their husbands. So they come in and hire a couple of hours of a gladiator's time. I perform quite often - I've got a sort of regular clientele, who like the thought of fucking with the champion, especially when he's hung like me!"

He grinned that big open-mouthed grin again, as I'd seen him use several times now, and he sort of hitched his dick and balls up through the thin pouch of his costume. "It's usually really good, as I can save my bonuses if I'm giving it to one of these women. Well, mostly so - some of them are absolute bitches, of course - I expect you know how a man performs, takes charge...."

I nodded. "Well, some of the bitches want to make all the running, tell you exactly what to do, and what not to do. There's even one who has me tied up, then squats on my face - she only wants me to use my tongue! I mean, a bit of foreplay is OK, as we all know. But a man needs to use his dick, doesn't he?"

"Sure! But I don't think that affects me...."

"It will. All the gladiators are up for hire like that."

I thought about what the lawyer had said, and it suddenly struck me what the "related activities" were, when the contract was describing performing the function of a gladiator and related activities. But hey, it couldn't be that bad - Mike had said there were only one or two bitches. And I knew from my life as a marine that there were a lot of women who really enjoyed sex with a big tough guy.

But we were moving on, and Mike said "And now down here are our rooms..." He was pointing out a row of heavy doors lining a narrow corridor. "You and I are bunking together - I expect you're used to sharing, being a marine."

"Sure, no problem."

"Well it's a bit different, as you can see from those doors that we're locked in at night. So there's no slipping out - you can hold your piss, can't you?"

"What?"

"Well there's only a bucket in the corner, so after the last piss of the night, when we're locked in, that's that."

"Oh, don't worry about me...."

"I won't! It's not all that much of a problem for us young fit guys, anyway, as we won't have been drinking and our bladders aren't full of beer. Alcohol is strictly prohibited."

"Oh!"

"Yeah - it's tough. Sometimes we're at after-fight parties and stuff, and there's trays of drinks being carried around as the specially favoured patrons indulge themselves - they like to have us there after the match, as I guess the sweat, blood and pheromones excite them... But if Straughan finds out that we've tried to take even a sip, you'll be punished the following day.."

That smile crossed his face again. "That's not to say most of us don't manage it, of course.... We make the young boy gladiators, who usually act as waiters at this type of thing, keep the dregs in the glasses the rich bastards can't be bothered to finish for us."

"Don't they risk being punished?"

"Look at this way, Steve.... Straughan can only lash then or cane them. The thought of what I could do to them is usually enough to make them compliant with what I want them to do."

He smiled again, and I could see that life here with Mike to guide me might not be all that bad. Mind you, I was curious about these boy gladiators as I thought all gladiators were big, mature guys like Mike and me, but just as I started to ask, Mike threw open a big pair of double doors. "So this is the fun place, Steve", he told me.

End Of Part Four.