Reluctant Gladiator

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

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

When we got back to our room I began to pull the mattresses apart, back against the walls as they had been before Jamie arrived. I was still pretty pissed off with Mike, so I did it in silence.

"Whoa, there, Steve!"

"What do you mean?" I was quite irritable, and snapped back at Mike.

"No need to move the mattresses around - we can spoon together now that Jamie's gone...."

"Fuck you, Mike! No way! I'm not some sort of queer, you know, even though all you gladiators might be."

Mike stared at me. "I thought you were supposed to be a gladiator, too, Steve. But I can see through you now - you know you'll be out of here one day, so you can be fucking superior to the rest of us who have no choice."

"It's not like that! Not at all. I have to fight like the rest of you, you know that. But there's no way I'm going to indulge in your sex games...."

Mike glared at me. "Listen, Steve, I've had enough! All that stuff in the mess hall, and now when I tell you to leave the mattresses alone, you start to argue. Let's understand something, shall we? I'm the Champion, and the other gladiators here do as I say. I'm the leader of the pack. And if you don't fall into line there'll be a whole lot more trouble. And if I want a bit of sport, a nice friendly jerking off between buddies, then we will - it's not as if we've got anything to be modest about - we've seen each other fucking, and fucking the same bitch, too."

I was getting angry now. "Listen, Mike, and listen well. I don't like having to fuck a bitch in public, and take your sloppy seconds. But at least it's proper sex. All that other stuff - well, it's not right - I'm not a queer!"

Mike tensed up and almost unconsciously his body started to assume a "fight" post. "So you think I'm a queer, do you? Well fuck you, Steve, it just shows how little you know about it. Of course I'd rather fuck bitches, but they cost in here, as you know. And there's not always enough credits. But a man needs relief, doesn't he? Well, at least a proper man, a real fighter like me, does. So what am I going to do? Jerk myself off all the tine?? That's no way for a real man to behave. A real man needs sex, needs another body to play with - and there's a long tradition of men in my position, like in the army, or in prison, having a bit of mutual fun. There's no harm in it, it's good for both guys, and no way does it mean I'm a queer! And I don't like you calling me one, either."

"It is fucking queer, if you ask me. I don't care what guys in prison do - they probably know no better. But I'm not going to behave like an animal."

"You'll do what I say!"

"I told you, Mike, I don't do queer stuff....!"

The next moment I was down. Mike has such lightning reactions that there's no way that a relative novice like me has any chance of stopping him. He had his arms and legs wrapped around me, effectively immobilising me, and his hot sweaty body was forcing me down onto the mattresses. I felt him tugging at my uniform, and my dick betrayed me - as soon as it was fee, it bounced erect, as I guess it was really still on the edge from the incident in the mess hall. Mike's big hand went around it, and the next moment I was gasping as he very roughly began to jerk me off - and the moment my mouth was open, Mike's tongue was in it!

I couldn't help it. Somehow having Mike's body so totally in control of mine, his tongue fucking my throat, and his hand stroking my dick was all so sensual. I stopped struggling, and my body relaxed and as it did so Mike obviously sensed this as his body sort of engulfed mine even more. We were both gasping for breath, writhing around in some sort of near ecstasy, and as Mike pushed his own uniform down his dick stuck between us, hot and solid. I found myself reaching out and beginning to stroke it, just as Mike was stroking mine.

We must have been going for ten or fifteen minutes before we shot our loads - almost simultaneously, over each other. Then we lay there on our backs, our hands idly playing with our dicks, and sort of half laughing.

"See? How can that be 'queer'? ", Mike asked, turning his face towards me and quite unexpectedly kissing me again. "Don't tell me that something that two guys can do together like that, which gives them so much fun, can possibly be anything but normal."

I went to rely, but Mike grabbed me, rolled me half over so we were facing each other, and began to stroke my back as he toyed with my tits and stroked my dick and balls. I was wincing and squirming each time Mike touched my tits as I'm very sensitive after cumming, and this only made Mike laugh and try even harder to try to tweak them as I tried to stop him. We were both laughing and I decided that a bit of the same treatment wouldn't come amiss, so I went for his tits, too - and, surprise, surprise, he too was incredibly sensitive. We were soon thrashing around, playing - yes, that's what it was, we were playing, like overgrown kids! Not just trying to get at each other's tits, but biting each other gently on the shoulders and in the hollows of our necks, passionately kissing from time to time, and thrashing and rolling about as our hands scrabbled to stroke and feel each other.

Finally, we both stopped - I suppose we ere exhausted. Mike rolled over on to his belly, and cradled his head in his arms. "Lie on me, Steve. I need to feel a bit of human warmth", he said, very slowly and quietly.

I moved my body next to his, threw one leg over him, feeling the hairs on it slide over the sweat on his bare butt, and put one arm around his shoulders. My head was right next to his, and I whispered "Is this OK, then?"

"Thanks, buddy."

"Mike, are you OK, I mean....."

His voice was strangely strangled, as if he was trying to hold something back, as he whispered back "Sure, Steve. It's just..." He stopped.

"...come on, Mike. Just what? You can tell me. We're buddies."

"No, Steve. I can't."

I stroked his shoulders a bit and nibbled at his ear. "Yes you can, Mike... Come on, tell me...."

"It's just... Well... I realised a minute ago that it's a long time since I laughed. It's a long time since I really had fun...."

"Come on, Mike - you have fun all the time... I've seen you fucking those bitches. That's fun, isn't it?"

"Yes. But not like when we were horsing around a few minutes ago. I never relax when I'm with a bitch - I mean, suppose I was to fail? The news would be around this place like lightning, and then where would I be? All those guys saying that the Champion can't hack it.... You don't seem to realise what a responsibility it is - everyone trying to take me down all the time, to knock me off the top perch... I have to be constantly on my guard, have to stamp on anyone who tries to challenge me.... It's tough at the top, you know."

"You don't have to do all that! You're a slave, and it should be Straughan who makes the running..."

"He does. In all the things that affect the running of the place. But I end up being responsible for discipline - keeping the young guys like Jamie and Darren in line, breaking in the new guys like you so you don't cause trouble.... And all the time there's the worry of what's going to happen to me next... I mean, as I said, sooner or later I reckon I'll be down the mines. But what about the time in-between, when I'll be a nothing, no longer the Champion...."

"It means a lot to you, doesn't it, being Champion?"

"Of course!" Mike shifted his body to get more comfortable, moved his head so he was facing me, and went on "This is wrong, Steve..."

"I thought you said it wasn't! I thought you said that a couple of buddies jerking off wasn't queer, wasn't wrong..."

Mike sighed. "Of course it isn't wrong! No, what I meant was me and you, talking like this, it's kind of wrong. Guys don't talk like this...."

"Why not?"

"Look, for one thing, you might tell the others about what I was saying, about my cares and troubles. And for another, as I said, we're guys - guys don't talk about their worries."

I slapped his butt and he gave a startled yelp, but he obviously knew it wasn't serious as he settled down again, appearing to be supremely comfortable. "You are an idiot, Mike! Of course I wouldn't tell anyone else. I'm your buddy, as you said, and buddies don't tell. And for another, it's not weak to talk to someone else about your concerns - it shows you're strong, strong and confidant that you know what you're doing."

"You may be right, Steve. But there's one thing different here - we're gladiators. And I don't really want to be the best buddy of another gladiator, because one day I might have to take you down, take you down hard, injure you."

"I thought we didn't fight each other here in the school."

"We don't normally. It's obviously not good for morale. But sometimes we have to - if there's a crowd in the arena and one of the opponents gets injured and doesn't turn up, or something like that."

I nodded, and pressed my head against his, drawing in the delicious scent of his maleness and feeling his sweat mixing with mine all along our bodies. I'd never been so close to another guy before, not even my old marine buddy Jason - we'd talked a bit, I guess, but we'd never been naked together like this and somehow I now felt closer to Mike than I ever had to Jason.

"I won't let you down, Mike. I won't tell tales to the other guys. Everyone needs someone he can talk to, you can always talk to me...."

I don't know whether it was real or faked, but a low snore escaped form Mike, and as I looked at his face I saw his eyes were closed and he looked as if he'd fallen asleep! Was he doing it deliberately - faking it to avoid talking any more? Or was he, like me, almost exhausted after a full day of training and a whole lot of sex, and it was natural? Short of shaking him, I knew I was never going to find out so I lay there and felt my own eyes closing.

I woke up the next morning with Mike "spooned" in behind me. I could feel his hard dick in the crack of my butt, and his arm was draped over me with the flat of his hand resting on my belly. I heard the guards beginning to unlock the rooms, and turned over and roughly shook him awake. As I've told you, he's not really a "morning person", and it took him a long time to get going. In spite of my pulling at him and even slapping his butt a couple of times he only really moved when I said "Do you want the guards to see us together like this?"

He stood there then rubbing his eyes and scratching at his balls, and we went out to exercise and shower. Some of the guys started to point and laugh when they saw the dried cum on us, and the marks on our bodies where we'd scratched and bruised each other a bit. And young Darren, really risking, it, came up to me, held my chin in his hand and pushed up, and to the laughter of the other gladiators near said "Hey, Steve, what's this? A hickey? Who were you rooming with last night?" He soon shut up though when he saw the stern look on Mike's face, and Mike's hand raised, ready to discipline him!

After our early workout and breakfast, one of the guards came and rounded up me, Jamie, and a couple of the "boxing" guys and led us to Straughan's office. The four of us stood there, and Straughan told us that we were all going off to fight that night. "It's a bit of a special event - for 'novices' - and all you qualify. So you can rest up this morning and gather your strength. The bus to take you to the other school and their arena and it leaves at two. You won't have time to get back here tonight, but you'll be accommodated there. Any questions?"

We all looked at each other, and one of the boxers went to say something, but Straughan snapped "That was by way of being a rhetorical question Gladiators don't have questions - they obey, and fight. That's all you do."

It was quite exciting, actually, to have nothing to do. The normal routine at Philips' Fighters meant that we were always busy, always working hard, as you know, so this was pretty exceptional. I mooched around, looking in to some of the exercise rooms, and enjoyed some of the guys grappling around in training bouts. And I spent some time topping up my tan by the pool (and swimming a few gentle laps, and floating on my back enjoying the water). Then, after lunch - yes, we were given a proper meal, the four of us, as we were told that we wouldn't be fed before our fight that evening and we needed to build up our strength, we had to go to the showers and clean up, and then our hair was cut, our nails trimmed, and all that sort of stuff as Straughan said that he wanted us to make a good impression and "uphold the reputation of Philips' Fighters." I felt like some prize animal being prepared for show at a County Fair or something like that, and, I

suppose, that's what I was.

They shackled us once we were sitting in the back of the transport van - yes, it was a van, and not a bus, pretty sparse, with benches along each side at the back and a heavy grille separating us from the driver. It was a bit of a shock as I'd never actually had my freedom to move about so constrained in regular life - it's one thing to be locked into your room at the school at night, but quite another to sit there watching the scenery flash past but with heavy cuffs on short chains preventing you from moving even a little way. I was sitting next to one of the wrestlers on one side, and Jamie next to the other opposite us, and we didn't even have the choice of moving to choose who we could sit by. It seemed odd to watch all the other folk outside going about there normal business, whereas us four were held there, almost naked, being taken to some place we didn't even know so we could beat the shit out of other guys for the amusement of the crowd.

The school when we arrived was not all that different from Philips'. Guards stood around whilst our shackles were undone, then we were led off to a "holding area" outside the arena, and all four of us sat around again. At some point a guard came in with new uniforms exactly like our regular ones, but in bright yellow. He watched as we stood there and stripped and pulled them on, and I realised I wasn't even feeling vaguely embarrassed by being looked at like that. "You'll get your uniforms back before you go home. Our home guys are in blue, so it makes it easy for any of the stupid idiots in the crowd to see what's going on in the match", h told us.

We sat around then, and finally the door opened, a guard came in, looked at Jamie, and snapped "OK, kid. Come with me."

In the movies when you see those old films with a boxer waiting when the previous bout is going on they always let you hear the crowd noise, and the boxers sit there and make comments about what must be happening. But it was totally silent there - me and the two other guys simply sat and waited, until the guard came in and took one of them away. We looked at each other, and he shrugged. "So it's me next, and then you, for the finale."

"How do you know?"

"Think about it, Steve: There'll be two kids wrestling first, as a sort of a warm-up. Then us two do some boxing and kick boxing: all skill and athleticism. Then when the crowd's really turned on and roaring for blood, it's you: two big guys slugging it out, lots of grunting, lots of gore, lots of blood...."

"Hell, no! It's just as skilful..."

"Just joking! Of course it is. But you've got to agree, when you big guys get going there can be the red stuff spraying around."

I nodded, and I suppose it made me think about what I'd come to: here I was, waiting to beat the shit out of another guy I'd never met and had no quarrel with, just to please the paying public. I thought about refusing, of going into the arena and not doing anything - I'd simply stand there and let the other guy do to me whatever he wanted. But then everyone would think I was a coward, whereas if you really think about it it's actually a lot more courageous to stand there and take it.

It was my turn soon enough, and I realised why we hadn't heard a lot of cheering or anything - we weren't fighting in the big outdoor arena, but in a relatively small space with a couple of hundred men sitting on tiered seats around four sides of something that could really be a boxing ring. The guard said "They're a good crowd. Real connoisseurs. By special invitation, this evening - you have to be regular to get asked to one of these shows where the new fighters are first being exposed. Still, it's all good public relations - these folk all spend a lot with us for their season tickets, and giving them first sight of a gladiator helps them advanced knowledge for betting when the real fights start."

"I hadn't realised there was betting on gladiator matches...."

"Where have you been, boy? Why do you think people pay money to come and watch all this? It's not just for the sight of nearly-naked men fighting seriously - it's all about the real excitement of staking money on the outcome." I hadn't thought about that, but I suppose it's pretty obvious when you think about it. But I didn't have much time to think, as a door opened, and the guard pushed me out for my fight.

I suppose you always remember the first time. I certainly do, anyway. The confused impressions of the watching men, waving and shouting. The glare of the bright lights down on to the canvas of the ring, canvas with some ominous stains on it which presumably were blood from previous bouts. The smell of sweat, and of that male "something" - was it only from the watchers, or was it a hangover from Jamie and my two fellow Philips' Fighters? The feel of the cement floor of the arena under my bare feet, then the cold of the steel of the ladder as I climbed to the ring, and the softness of the canvas as I entered it. And then the sight of my opponent - a guy not unlike me, about the same age and size, I reckon, the bright blue of his uniform making a stark contrast with the tan of his skin.

There was a referee - a guy in a guard's uniform - standing there in the middle of the ring. He showed us both his slave prod, and simply said "No eye gouging. No deliberate breaking of limbs. But otherwise, anything goes. And I won't hesitate to use this if I even think you're thinking of breaking those rules. You fight until one of you is incapable. Now.... Go!"

It was painful. For him more than me, I reckon as I won. But I was really aching when I clambered down out of the ring, and was led by the guard (prod still in hand) down a couple of passages. He opened a door, and pushed me in.

There were Jamie and the other two guys, sitting on the floor with their backs against the walls. Jamie was curled up, his head between his knees. And the two boxers had their arms around each other. One of them looked at me and said "You look like shit, Steve."

"You should see the other guy!", I managed to say. "At least I won."

We hadn't been allowed to shower or anything, and we all sat there then, kind of silent, wrapped up in out own thoughts. The door unlocked and opened, and the guard pushed a bitch in! "A little present for you guys, courtesy of the promoter", the told us. "And take your time, boys - you've got her for the rest of the night."

The last thing I wanted to do was fuck! I was almost totally exhausted, and I really wanted to lie down and go to sleep. And I ached, ached all over, and didn't want to make a lot of moves. We all sat there for a few moments, then Jamie got to his feet and the little bastard was almost laughing. "I'll go first, then, and show you how it's done", he told the rest of us, and took a step towards the bitch who was standing there with her hand on her hips, looking really provocative.

I knew what I had to do though, even though I wasn't looking forward to it. I'd seen Mike do it often enough. "Fuck off, Jamie!", I growled. "Real men go first, you know that." I looked at the two boxers and went on "You two don't disagree, do you?" I knew I had to show them I was the leader of our small pack.

They shook their heads, and I advanced on the bitch. "No!", she told me. "I'd rather have the kid first. He looks kind of cute...."

I scowled at her. "You don't get to choose. Now, on your knees...."

She still stood there, hand on hip, provocatively defiant. I saw the three guys looking at me, and instinctively I knew what I had to do - I needed to demonstrate that I was in charge, I was their pack leader. So I slapped her - a good backhand, not enough to break her nose or anything like that, but enough to hurt. "On your knees, bitch", I repeated. And snivelling and half crying and rubbing the mark on her face, she obeyed.

Given my tiredness and everything it was a bit of an epic fuck, even if I say so myself. I managed to totally forget that I had an audience of three, and really went at it. I surprised even myself, I think, as once I'd got stuck in the pains in my body melted away and sheer animal lust took over - I guess I'd been pretty tense about fighting, and now it was over the tension was being released. Or was it that men have been bred over thousands of generations to expect to be rewarded by their wives and concubines when they've fought and won a battle? Whatever it was I fucked and fucked until I pumped a huge load of cum in her. I lay on top of her, really enjoying the feel of her soft breasts pushed against my muscled torso, and I was even about to kiss her, but thought better of it - was there just a trace of the thought that her softness wouldn't be as good as the hard thrust of Mike's tongue against mine? Or was it something else? After all, she

was only a whore, probably a slave, doing it for a living or because she was commanded to. Then the thought came to me: what was I, really? Wasn't I much the same? Even as I thought it, my dick that had remained quite stiff lodged in her warm moistness totally shrivelled. In some confusion I pulled out and got to my feet, standing there with one hand a bit ineffectually in front of my genitals as if I was now embarrassed to be seen now.

I pointed at one of the boxers. "Your turn next."

"Steve, what about me?", Jamie called out.

"You'll take your turn. And do so when I tell you. These guys are older."

Actually it was good to see the two boxers fuck. As soon as his buddy had started, the second one kind of asked my permission if he could join in, and I nodded - he'd had the sense to ask me, not simply get up and do it and I kind of liked that. I reckon they'd shared a bitch before, as they were really inventive - one down her throat with one up her slit, then one taking her up the ass as the other one took her slit - she didn't like this much as she squealed and screamed as he entered her and tried to fight both of them off, but the were of course too strong. Then, finally, both of them up her slit simultaneously! One of the boxers lay on the floor and made her straddle him and take his dick into her, then the other squatted down facing her, and pushed his way in too - I couldn't help wondering what it felt like, to have your buddy's dick pressed so close you yours as you slid in and out of that warm moistness, and I knew it was something Mike and

I should try next time we had a bitch.

They didn't do this for long, though, as they pulled out, stood there for a moment looking at their erect dicks, then pushed the bitch back down onto the floor and one knelt and entered her slit, whilst the other started to fuck her throat again - it was pretty ordinary, I suppose, until the two guys bent towards each other, put their arms around each others shoulders as they fucked away at the bitch underneath, and began deep kissing each other! The more I watched the more I became convinced that they were more interested in each other than they were in the bitch.

Jamie seemed a bit taken aback by the whole thing and came and sat next to me. I put my arm around his shoulder as I thought he looked as if he needed some comfort after his fight. "Fuck me, Steve", he started, "I thought they were proper gladiators, and it looks as if we've got ourselves a pair of fags".

I thought about what Mike and me had been doing, and said, as casually as I could "Oh no, it's just a release of tension, I should think. I mean, the bitch isn't that attractive, and anyway they probably don't want to kiss her when their dicks have been in her mouth."

He didn't seem all that convinced, although we did agree that two dicks in the same hole was probably pretty exciting. But he dug his elbow into my ribs and went on "But don't think you can do that when I get my turn, Steve! There's no way I want that dick of our anywhere near mine when I'm fucking."

We laughed, and the two boxers seemed to have finished, and pulled out. The bitch sat up and Jamie got to his feet. "I don't screw with kids", she told us. Then, looking at me, added "But the big guy is welcome again... He's a proper man."

I didn't know if by that she meant I was mature compared to Jamie, or that the two boxers were not "proper men". But I couldn't let it go, either way - I mean, it's insulting to gladiators, isn't it? So I looked at Jamie and winked. "So, 'kid', do you think you could manage it? Or do you need a 'proper man' to come and help you?"

Jamie took a couple of strides towards the bitch, grabbed her hair, and slapped her face a few times - not to damage her, more to demonstrate his control. He shouted at her to get on her knees as a bitch like her only deserved to be fucked doggy fashion, slapped her a couple more times when she hesitated, and then proceeded to give her an epic fucking. I couldn't help notice that as he did so the two boxers sat with their arms around each others shoulders, and seemed very intent on looking at Jamie's ass as it pounded away.

The following day seemed an anticlimax, really - the four of us sat manacled in the back of the van again, watching the world go by, and it seemed even less real than it had the day before - could any of the people on the sidewalks or in the other cars really imagine what it's like to have to fight, and then to fuck in front of other guys? How different my life now was from the boring, routine everyday world. Still, at least they'd let us clean up that morning - the two boxers were really good at soaping and washing me - and we'd had a fantastic breakfast sitting by ourselves in a corner of the school's mess hall, watching all the other gladiators. I'd wanted to go and sit with some of them, but one of the boxers very politely suggested that this wasn't a good idea "...unless you really want to, Steve. Don't think I'm criticising or anything, but Mike never does, as he says that next week you might have to fight them and beat the shit out of a guy

you were talking to." The boxer seemed to be very careful about what he said, and I wondered if he saw me as a kind of Mike, in charge, and a bit intolerant.

There was excitement when we got back to Philips' Fighters, though - instead of the quick lunch break, everyone was assembled in the mess hall and we were just in time to join our fellow gladiators. There was a buzz of expectation in the air, and I was going to ask what was happening when Straughan strode in and the guards shouted "Silence!". And waved their prods around to emphasise the point. Straughan stood there, calm and self assured, and looked around at all of us clustered in front of him. "Today is an important day for Darren", he told us. "It's his eighteenth." A lot of the gladiators broke out into cheering as he said this, and the guards shouted for silence again.

"Men used to become men at the age of twenty one, and some unenlightened places still cling to this outmoded concept. In most of the civilised world, though, a boy becomes a man at sixteen, and we all know that the young gladiators we have here demonstrate almost daily that they are indeed real men." There was more cheering as he said this, mostly from the young guys of course. "However the state has not seen fit to be consistent in its thinking - a man can be a gladiator at sixteen, can fuck at sixteen, can be enslaved at sixteen, but may not carry the badge of slavedom until he's eighteen." He paused for dramatic effect, motioned at one of the guards, who pushed Darren forward to stand beside him. Darren didn't look his usual cocksure cheerful self, I thought.

"Darren here has been a slave, a gladiator here at Philips' Fighters, for just about two years. Today is his eighteenth birthday, and now we're all here to witness the next important step in his life: his marking as a slave." He turned to Darren, and said simply "Unclothe!"

Darren looked really uncomfortable now, then, seeing Straughan begin to look angry, he pushed down his uniform and stood naked in front of all of us. Some of the men whistled and catcalled, which wasn't very nice I thought. Straughan took his slave prod - not switched on - and used the tip of it to raise Darren's dick away from his balls. I could only imagine the humiliation he must be feeling to be displayed like that for all of us to see. "As you know, here at Philips' fighters we follow the long tradition of having slaves 'skinned. It's one of the defining things about a slave, we think, that if they are exercising with free men and share a shower, it is at once apparent that they are slaves because of the lack of a 'skin. Unfortunately Darren has already lost that small piece of himself to which some men attach such importance, so that part of today's ceremony will not be able to take place."

As he said this, I felt that sort of sick sensation in my dick whenever there's a TV program about circumcision, or men with giant rings through their piss slits, or anything like that - I reckon it's a sort of warning signal from the dick to the brain to say "Leave me alone!". As you know, I really like not being circumcised, and felt really sorry for Mike and the other gladiators who simply couldn't be getting the same pleasure from jerking off that I did.

Straughan had paused as if for dramatic effect, then went on "However that other symbol of enslavement, the brand, can now be burned into his flesh. But before we continue, I need to make the formal announcement that law requires: I hereby declare that the slave known as Darren is available for manumission - are there any offers?" He paused, and went on as he clearly expected there wouldn't be any reply "In the absence of an offer from a free man, I hereby declare that Darren is therefore a slave for the rest of his natural life, and order that he be branded with an ownership mark on his left upper arm."

Darren was standing there, and he'd gone white as a sheet - well, you know what I mean: he was deeply tanned as he really enjoyed sunning himself by the pool, but you could see that he wasn't his normal self. Straughan turned and issued some orders, and whilst these were being carried out and some of the furniture was being rearranged, I managed to move around close to Mike. "What's manumission?"

"Hey... Steve... Well done - we all heard you won last night. And you don't look in bad shape... This manu thing - well, kids like Darren and Jamie get enslaved at sixteen. It sort of needs 'confirming' at eighteen - anyone can pay the 'slave price' and they go free. Well, not free, exactly, technically they're then 'indentured servants', but most people still call them slaves. It's just that you can't do some things to an indentured servant that you can do to a slave."

"Like what?"

"Oh, certain types of punishment, mostly. You can't order their crucifixion without going to court. And you can't have them radically surgically altered..."

"Uh?"

"....like for example down the mines...", Mike gave an involuntary shiver. "... The slaves used as ponies pulling the containers of minerals along the underground railways are crawling along on their bellies most of the time as there's no point in making the passages too high. So they cut off their dicks as it makes the slaves work easier because their dicks are not scraping along the ground. You aren't allowed to do that to an indentured servant, but it's OK for a slave."

"This slave price, Mike... Why don't the families pay it?"

"Enslavement wouldn't be much of a punishment if rich families could buy out their sons and daughters, would it? So there's very strict laws about relatives buying family members - with penalties that really hurt: enslavement for the prospective purchaser and confiscation of all their assets. And, in any case, when a guy is enslaved his destination and buyer are kept secret - I reckon Jamie's family has no idea that he's a gladiator, here at Philips' Fighters."

"...and there are laws, with penalties, for trying to find out?"

"You've got it, Steve. You're a fast learner."

At that moment two guards came in carrying something that looked like a portable barbecue - we could smell the charcoal smoke. Darren watched it, trying to look brave, but failing. Straughan went over to the barbecue and fiddled with a metal rod that was in it, then ordered one of the guards to fan the charcoal so that it glowed a very bright red, almost white. I noticed that all the gladiators had gone silent.

"On the table!", Straughan ordered, and Darren went and lay on his back on one of the mess tables that had been rearranged to be at the front so we could all see. Straughan turned to Mike and ordered "Hold him down."

I watched as Mike knelt astride Darren's naked body, then lowered himself down onto his belly so his torso was mostly immobile. He shuffled forward to pin Darren's shoulders down with his knees, pushing Darren's hands above his head and then holding them there on the table top. Straughan went and took the rod out of the barbecue - and now I saw that it wasn't a rod, but a branding iron, with the symbols at the end glowing cherry red. Straughan spat at it and there was a hiss of steam, and he seemed satisfied. He moved to where Steve was pinning Darren down, and casually, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, pressed the brand down into Darren's upper arm.

Darren screamed. A dreadful, shrill, loud scream like that of a fatally wounded animal. Then he carried on crying, even though he desperately tried not to, his cries turning into what became big long sobs. I heard a splashing sound, and saw that he had lost control of his bladder, and his dick was hosing piss onto the table top, from which it fell to the floor in an untidy trickle. I was near enough so that the sharp smell of piss overlaid that of charring, searing flesh.

Straughan casually tossed the iron back into the barbecue, looked at all of us standing there, and said "He's now marked as a slave, like the rest of you. And from now on he can grow his pubes again to make him look like a man. Now, all of you, back to training...."

He turned and went to walk out, and Mike slowly climbed off Darren, then helped him off the table. He wrapped his arm around Darren as if to comfort him, and ordered one of the other gladiators to bring Darren's uniform over, and then to help Darren by holding it so Darren could step into it, and pull it up. Darren was still sobbing, but was mostly managing to stifle it now, and I could see Mike trying to be comforting and supportive.

"To my office, Steve", Straughan called as he got to the door.

I wanted to go over to Darren and Mike, and to Jamie who I could see standing there looking absolutely appalled - perhaps the reality of being a gladiator, and what would happen to him in turn, was striking home. But I'd heard Straughan's order so followed him along the corridor.

Straughan settled himself behind his desk, looked at me, and said "You're developing well. It's a pity I don't have you for life. Just as you get to be a real champion - I think you cold beat Mike one day - you'll be free again. So I'm going to have to make you work especially hard before then to maximise my investment."

I hated being thought of as an "investment". I'm a man, for fuck's sake. But Straughan was still speaking. "Very favourable reports about your fight last night - they had to take your opponent off to the veterinarian. Did you know that?"

"No, sir. Was he badly injured?" I began to feel terrible about the fight. I mean a bit of a punch-up in the barracks room is OK, but hitting a guy so he needs a doctor, that's another thing. And I didn't like the fact that I'd injured the guy being considered "favourable".

"I expect he'll live. Men of your age are quite tough. But it's a good sign - you were ruthless enough to inflict real damage, even in a 'friendly' exhibition match. I like a gladiator with a hard, ruthless streak."

"I'm not like that, sir!"

"Oh, I think you are, Steve. You don't admit it to yourself, that's all. I think you're a fighter, and a winner, and you always have been, and always will be. But that's beside the point - you did well, and I'm awarding you points - enough to buy you a couple of hours with a bitch. I expect you'll need the extra time, as Mike will demand to use her first."

"If I have a bitch, I'll go first!"

Straughan smiled. "I think you'll find that you won't. Mike likes first crack at a bitch, and he's the Champion..."

"Fuck that! What's in a name?"

Straughan sighed, and smiled. "There you are, you see. Always challenging. But let me give you fair warning - if either of you is injured when you fight over this bitch, I'll have you both flogged."

"There won't be any fighting. We'll work it out, man to man...."

"Two strong, virile men, both ready for sex.... One experienced and protective of his position, one young and challenging.... You'll fight, believe me. But remember my warning."

Straughan waved to dismiss me, but I stood there and waited for him to give me permission to speak. "Sir, I don't want a bitch tonight, thank you."

"You're not queer, are you?"

"No, sir!"

"Ah, you don't want to fight Mike - yet - for first fuck. Perhaps you're sly, as well as challenging... Something else that will help you win in the arena..."

"Sir, I want to save the points, if that's allowed."

"Saving up for a whole night of fun, or getting two or three bitches in together?"

"No, sir. I want to save up and buy Jamie's manumission."

Straughan looked genuinely shocked. "Preposterous! A slave, buying a slave? Never."

"Sir, as you said, I'll be out of here, a free man. If you 'buy out' Jamie on his eighteenth, you can sell him on to me when I'm free again."

"Ridiculous!"

"Sir, think of it this way... The points are meant to be motivational, aren't they? Well, what do you think would make me more motivated - a few hours with a bitch after a fight, or the knowledge that I have to keep winning if I want to save Jamie..."

"You can't save him, you know. Even indentured servants need to carry an indenture mark branded into their skin."

"But they don't have to be 'skinned!"

Straughan actually laughed. "Are you that fond of that 'skin of yours that you're prepared to go without sex so you can keep Jamie's?"

Put like that, it did seem ridiculous. But I remembered Jamie's act of kindness to a stranger, a potentially violent stranger when we'd been caned, and I thought about what a basically nice, decent young guy he was as I'd found out since being at Philips' Fighters, and I was determined to do something for him. I tried to look humble, as I muttered "Whatever you say, sir."

"Oh very well. There's nothing to be lost - and I suppose it will motivate you. But I don't envy you tonight when you have to explain to Mike why there's no bitch in your cell - once the news came of your win he's been telling all the other gladiators how he's looking forward to you beginning to pay back for the bitches of his you've shared...."

"Thank you, sir."

"....but remember, Steve: no damage to either of you when you 'argue' tonight! Or it's a flogging."

End Of Part Twelve