RELUCTANT GLADIATOR - Part Five A story by Pete Brown (petebrownuk @ yahoo.com)
Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
Inside we were in a kind of changing room area - a lot of those long wooden benches. No hooks for clothes, though - and I soon found out why, as of course all gladiators at Philips' Fighters only wore the same, standard "uniform" as Mike did and I would. And these were not special to any one guy - they came in three sizes, to correspond with the "mature" guys like Mike and me, the intermediate size "swimmer types", and the "boys". It wasn't absolute, of course, as some of the "boys" were as big as the "swimmers". And not all the mature gladiators were as big as Mike and me, and liked to squeeze themselves in to the medium sized uniforms, as it made them look stronger than they really were. But you didn't own your uniform - you stripped off the one you were wearing and tossed it into a laundry bin, then took a fresh one when you'd finished from one of the three piles lying on a shelf. I suppose it seems funny to most of you who read this, who have their own clothes. And even for me, it was a bit odd - I mean, in the marines you all wear a standard uniform, but the guys don't swap trousers and shirts and stuff with each other. And we all had our own underwear - even though we were supposed to wear the marine's standard issue, most of us bought our own, in a style we liked - I preferred light cotton briefs, as you know, whereas my best buddy Jason always wanted loose cotton boxers.
After the "undressing room" there was choice - out through a big set of glass doors there was a huge open-air pool, surrounded by high walls with what looked like anti-climb tangle wire on the top. There were a lot of guys swimming and diving, and generally lazing around on the edges - all naked! Mike saw me looking, and said "Straughan doesn't mind you using the pool as much as you like - quite a lot of the guys are keen swimmers - provided you've done all your other training first. And it's all in the nude, of course - we're only guys here, and most men prefer to swim that way as you probably know, not constrained by Speedos."
I nodded - yes, I did know. If we ever got leave in some far-flung part of the world and could find some deserted beach, most of my buddies in the marines liked to skinny dip and I really enjoyed the sensation of the water running across my dick and balls as I powered along.
"...and, of course", Mike continued, "he doesn't even mind us sunning ourselves a bit, like those guys are doing - Straughan doesn't want us to have white bands around our asses." I wondered why that should be, but Mike had said it with that air of someone who tells you things that are so obviously true that you'd be thought stupid to ask, so I didn't.
Ahead of us was a big tiled shower area - open, with lots of jest along the wall, just like in the marine barracks. I once went to some fancy sports club as the guest of some woman I'd been fucking, and when I went into the men's changing room I was amazed to see the guys all cramped up in individual tiny shower cubicles, and then hopping around trying to dry themselves in there so they could wrap a towel around them before going back to dress . I ask you - why bother to go to a sports club to get fit, if you're ashamed to show your body to the other guys? I mean, it's not as if we're not all basically the same, is it? I was telling Jason about this after my little adventure, and he laughed at me. "You're so naive, Steve! Of course you don't mind showing off your body to all those other guys - most marines don't, as we're all basically fit. But if you were all flabby, or had a really tiny dick... Well, you might think differently." I suppose he was right.
Anyway, here at Philips' Fighters there was obviously no false modesty, and I guess all the guys were fit ( and, as I was to discover, you weren't selected to be a gladiator if you weren't at least "reasonably" hung, too. Mike stripped off his gladiator uniform, tossing it into the laundry basket, "flipped" his dick to free it, and I did the same thing. We went into the showers and stood there letting the hot water cascade over us, and I was really glad to start to get clean again - I'd sweated a whole lot that day, and like most marines I really care about keeping myself clean and neat.
Suddenly, though, I felt Mike's hands on my shoulders! He was running them down my back, and across my butt. "What the fuck...?", I shouted, turning around.
Mike looked genuinely surprised. "Hey, Steve, calm it! I'm only washing your back - we all do that here - in fact, it's kind of one of the rules. Straughan thinks it helps us to bond, and that's really helpful when we're having a team match. Anyway, weren't you a marine? Surely all you guys wash each other in the showers...."
"Not in my unit we didn't. Not unless you wanted to get beaten up....."
"Well it's different here, Steve. And you'd better get used to it, as if Straughan sees you washing yourself when there are other guys in the showers, you'll be punished."
"I'll watch out for him, then. But it looks OK now, so leave me alone..."
Mike gestured up into the corner, where there was a TV camera.
"You never know when he's watching, Steve!"
"A TV camera, in the showers? Fuck me - what about the privacy laws?"
"Steve, think about it. We're all slaves. We don't have 'privacy'. Our owner has the right to look at us whenever, and wherever, he wants to. Now, if Straughan is watching - and he almost certainly is, as its your first day and he's told me to look after you, and he's looking for an excuse to punish me....."
"Why?"
"Because I'm so fucking good at fighting! Look, Steve, he can't punish me because I train hard - really hard - and I do everything right in the arena, and I'm the current champion here. So there's no excuse to punish me. But Straughan believes that slaves should always be punished occasionally, as it reminds them of their status, and stops them becoming 'uppity' as he calls it - I think he reads too many stories about life in the 1800s, when niggas were always said to be 'uppity'. So if he can say that I was not showing you the right way of behaving here, he's got a legitimate reason for punishing me....."
"If you're a slave, why does he need a 'legitimate' reason for punishing you? Why doesn't he just do it anyway?"
"Hey, Steve, I thought you were a marine, not a lawyer or a philosopher! Look, of course Straughan could punish me - he could have me dragged out of here, tied to the frame, and flogged , if he wanted to, let alone give me a caning, or a strapping. But think of the effect on all the other gladiators here - if Straughan just punishes me arbitrarily, then they'll all know that he could do the same to them, too. So there'd be less incentive for them to really train hard and work their socks off to avoid the regular 'proper' punishment. No, if he wants to thrash me, he's got to have a reason that the others will find credible - and failing to follow the 'house rules' would just be the excuse he needs. So stop being stupid - turn around, and let me wash your back and shampoo your hair, then you can do the same for me...."
Actually, when you think about it, having another guy wash and shampoo you like that is not so different from having a woman do it, and after sex I really liked to shower with a chick. So I kind of imagined it wasn't Mike's big, calloused hands, but those of a waitress I'd banged on my last leave. The only difference of course was that as he pressed loser to me so he could reach properly, his dick kept hitting my thighs and butt. And when it was my turn, I was really embarrassed when my dick, in turn kept rubbing up against Mike's body. But he didn't seem to mind, or even comment on it - I guess it was kind of normal for him. The only really tricky time was when Mike wanted to wash my dick and balls - in spite of his insistence and the way he kept telling me that Straughan might be watching, there was no way I'd let him do that - so Mike pressed close to me and turned us around so my back was to the camera, and then "pretended" to move his arms whilst I cleaned myself.
When we'd finished - they didn't seem to use towels, as Mike "planed" the water off my body with his hands, and then waited for me to do the same for him - He stood for a moment, looking all over me.
"Where's your brand, Steve?"
"I haven't got one."
"No, I mean your slave brand. All slaves are branded. You know, the official mark, like this...." He turned his body towards me, and there, at the top of his arm, by the shoulder, I saw a big red "S" pitted in his flesh. Underneath, in sharp black letters, a seven digit number was tattooed. "So where's your 'S' and your SIN?"
"Mike, I've been out of the country a lot... What's all this SIN stuff?"
"S. I. N. - Slave Identification Number.... The registration number you get when you're enslaved, to replace your Social Security ID. It's the law - all slaves must be branded, and their SINs tattooed into them. Did your owner have yours done on the butt - I don't think I saw it... Or is it concealed somewhere?"
Mike, how could something like that be concealed? A fucking big brand, and those numbers.... I've told you, I haven't got any."
"Well there's one guy here who had been banded and tattooed inside his ass crack - you had to pull his cheeks apart to see it, as he'd been used as some sort of model, and they hadn't wanted the effect spoiled, or perhaps he'd been a sex toy - I don't remember, and it doesn't really matter. The point is, he was a slave, and he'd been marked. Straughan had him re-marked, like me, on the upper arm: poor guy - it's bad enough being banded once, but to have to go through the pain of a brand inside your ass, and then to have to have it done again.... So where's yours, Steve?"
"I've told you, I haven't got one. I'm not a slave, actually, so that's why."
"If you weren't a slave, you wouldn't be here! No one in their right minds would become a gladiator if they weren't a slave and had no choice about it!
"Look, Mike, I was convicted - unfairly - of a couple of offences, and I was thrown out of the marines for it, and I couldn't pay the fines.... They were going to enslave me so I could be old to pay, but this lawyer found a way out for me: I've got a thing they call an indenture: I have to work for Philips' Fighters for four years, but at the end of that time, I'm a free man."
"If you survive, that is..."
"What do you mean 'If I survive'? Of course I'll survive - I can take whatever they dish out by way of training and punishment and stuff like that."
Mike shrugged. "It's not that - it's in the arena - our fighting's pretty brutal, you know. Even without weapons, one guy can do serious damage to another."
"Well you're doing OK, it seems. And I'm tough, you know. I've survived proper fighting - like in the marines - for one hell of a lot of years, and I've seen action in five continents...."
"Well, we'll see. Some guys just can' handle it, you know - but from what you've said, you probably won't be one of those. And you're OK with the fucking, too?"
"Of course! We're real men in the marines."
"Well we'll see about that! It's one thing to fuck when you've made all the running and have picked the bitch, quite another when you've been lined up as if you're an animal at a stud, selected by her, and have to do as she says."
"Hey, Mike, don't worry about that. I've never had any problem at all when it comes to women. And it might even be novel to get paid for it, in effect - even things up, kind of, as sometimes when we only had a 24-hour pass I've had to pay for it myself."
Mike shrugged again. "Look, Steve, I think you're taking all this a bit too lightly. I think you'll find it's a a lot tougher than you imagine. There's a lot of things that us gladiators have to do that a lot of us don't like.... And some guys just can't take it."
"Like what, for example?"
"Oh, like.... Look, Steve, there's no point in my worrying you with it. It's going to happen, whether you like it or not, and you'll find out soon enough if you can take it."
As he said this, Mike took another look at my body as we both stood there allowing the last bits of water to dry from our skins. "I suppose than as one of these 'indentureds' they let you keep your foreskin, too?"
"Hell, yes! They aren't allowed to do anything to my body...."
"...except punish it!", Mike smiled. "Still, there's one thing I envy you for - they 'skinned me when I was enslaved of course, at the same time as they branded me. And it's just not the same - I've kind of got used to jerking off without it, but after I've cum, I still really miss those last few strokes when you pull your 'skin up and over the head, catching cum as you go and using it as a final lube...."
I nodded. He was right - I really enjoy those last few strokes too, when your dick is super sensitive, and sliding your 'skin on and off it almost makes you shudder with the sensation. But I wasn't easy about talking about stuff like this. I mean, guys don't discuss jerking off, do they? At least not where I come from! Mike slapped me on the back "Well, anyway, indentured or slave or whatever, you're here, and Straughan's told me to look after you, so I guess we'd better get you trimmed - and I need a bit of a going-over too, as it's been a couple of weeks...."
He walked off, still naked, and I followed him back into the training area. He fetched a set of rechargeable hair trimmers, fiddled around with a dial on it and said "OK, Steve, sit yourself down, and put your arms above your head"
"What for?"
"You need to have all that thatch of hair in your pits trimmed down - it's too long."
"Too long for what?"
"Too long to give yourself a chance in some fights - if you're really grappling with your opponent and he grabs hold of your pit hair, you'll lose that part of the bout: believe me, having your pit hair pulled out by the roots is so painful that you lose focus on what you're doing and your opponent will win. So the easy way is to have it trimmed down to a length that you can't grab at."
"It it's all the same, Mike, I'll skip that and take my chances."
"No, Steve. All of us gladiators have our pit hair trimmed, it's Straughan's rules. Well, except for the young guys - they're completely shaved! I do feel sorry for them, having to stand there and scrape away at their pits - and everywhere else - with razors, just as if they were women. Now, just sit still, and let me do it - I've set the clippers to a 3, so it won't be too short: you'll still look like a man."
"Mike, that's the second time you've talked about the young guys - what gives?"
"Well usually gladiators are more mature - I personally think you need to be in your twenties to have enough strength to put up a really good show for the public. But there's a certain section of the public that likes to see really young guys fighting it out - so there's a special category, for sixteen to nineteen year olds. They'd do it younger than that if they could, but gladiators have to be slaves or else the lawsuits would start flying if someone's kid got seriously injured, and you can't be enslaved until you're sixteen. But to pander to the appetite for youth, the gladiators who fight in the young category are all shaved- completely shaved - arms, legs, pubes... All except a bit of hair on their heads - they're allowed to keep that. It's funny, really - you see these kids coming in here and they're mostly pretty tough - well, you wouldn't be enslaved if you hadn't been on the wrong side of the law, would you? And one minute they're standing there making out as if they're proper men, and the next they've been shaved down and look like plucked chickens: it takes years off them, and even the hardest-looking sixteen year old starts to look about twelve again when he's lost his pubes and everything."
There didn't seem to be any point in arguing about being clipped, so I sat there as the clippers buzzed away and I felt most of my pit hair fall down on to my naked thighs.
Mike then told me he reckoned my buzz cut was OK in terms of length - again, the idea was not to give your opponent anything he could grab hold of - but he spent some time fiddling around in the nape of my neck and told me that it was considered better to have a sharp line there, rather than being tapered which was the way I always had it, as "the public thinks it looks cleaner".
It was my turn then, as Mike handed the clippers to me and sat down, so I could trim his pits and head. We often did our buddies' hair in the marines as when you're out in the field there aren't any base barbers to go to, so I was used to using the clippers. But again, doing it naked, and knowing my dick and balls were swinging around right there in front of Mike was a bit strange.
"I bet you can guess what's next, can't you, Steve?" Mike asked when I'd finished.
"No. You tell me."
"Your pubes, Steve."
"Look, no-one's going to grab my pubic hair....."
"Perhaps not. But if you notice, the gladiator uniform is pretty small, and Straughan doesn't like a guy's pubes spraying out from it as he says it looks untidy. So you're going to have to have most of that thatch of yours trimmed away. And whilst we're at it, I may as well trim the stuff off your balls and so on...."
"No way!"
Mike sat down by the side of me, and gave a sigh, as if he was going to be bored as he had to teach me the obvious. "Look, Steve, do you want to fit in here, or not? When you first joined the marines, weren't there some things you did because the rest of the guys did them, even though you didn't do that yourself before? You wanted to be like them?"
I thought for a moment, about my first night in a barracks room at the induction centre, and how I'd wrapped a towel around my waist before walking to the showers - and then realised that all the other guys walked there with it slung casually over their shoulder. I wasn't used to being naked with other guys then, but I walked back from the showers with the towel over my shoulder, too. So I nodded, and said "I suppose so."
"Well then, all of us experienced gladiators trim our balls, and our cracks - think about it: most of the training involves grappling with other guys in practice fights, and you sweat a lot. It's not very nice if the sweat is all trapped so by the afternoon you're stinking more than's necessary... So we trim our pubes and so on. You don't have to, but if you want to be like the rest of us, and not stand out in the showers.... You don't want to be known as a loner, do you? It will be hard enough with you not being a slave, like the rest of us. I reckon you'd do well to think about conforming to the norm here."
"Well, I guess so...."
I had to stand up so Mike could start, and I can't say I enjoyed the experience one little bit. I was terrified that he'd somehow snick the tender flesh of my sac or my cock shaft with the clippers. And as he pulled and teased the dick and balls from side to side to get the clippers in, I kept thinking that he'd make some mistake and really hurt me - well, you know how it is: a guy is always worried about his balls, isn't he? When he said it was done, though, I turned to the take a look in the big mirror on one wall of the area, and I was surprised at how much bigger my dick looked - not that it looked small before, but it was huge now. Not only had Mike trimmed away my bush so it was only a thin strip about the width of my dick, but he'd taken the length of the reminder right down, too, and the consequence of all of this is that my tackle now seemed to be much larger.
Mike saw me looking at myself, and laughed. "OK, big boy! It's your turn now". He handed me the clippers, showed me he'd set it on a "2" setting, then stood there waiting.
"Actually, Mike, I'd rather not.... Can't you do yourself?"
"Come on, Steve! All us guys help each other out. And no, I can't do myself - I'm pretty flexible and subtle, but I'm not a contortionist." He stood there, waiting, so reluctantly I knelt down and very hesitantly began. Look, I don't think I'd ever been so close to another guy's pubes before, bending right in front of them as I had to. And I'd certainly never moved a sac and dick around with my fingers! It felt really odd at first, but Mike didn't seem to mind, and after a few seconds it became kind of "normal" - well, one guy doing things to help his buddy, just as you do when you help them do up a strap on a backpack, or something like that. Well, not quite like that, as I was now holding Mike's bare dick. But you know what I mean.
When I'd finished, Mike showed me the pile of "uniforms", and I pulled one on. And that was my first real act as a gladiator, I suppose. Mike stood next to me, and with both of us bare except for the uniform, I felt.... Well, I don't really know what I felt. I was used to being part of a group of guys, but now here I was, nearly naked... Would I adjust to being part of this new group?
Guys were starting to come into the changing room now and stripping off their sweaty uniform to go to the showers, and Mike introduced me to all of them - not that I got most of their names that first time. They seemed to be just a group of regular guys, really, although now that it had been drawn to my attention, I couldn't help noticing the guys' brands and SINs - mostly they were on the upper arm, like Mike's, but some of them had them on the thigh, at the side, and some on their butt. It seemed particularly tough for the young guys - they did look really immature in their shaved naked state, but when a group of them had gone past laughing and shouting as young guys do in the showers, I said to Mike "Are they all branded down their ass cracks, then?"
"Oh no - there's only one guy here like that. The young kids aren't branded yet. There was some fuck up in the various bits of slave legislation, so that they can be enslaved at sixteen, but they can't be branded until they're eighteen - and that's why most of them haven't been 'skinned, either. I think it was because the slavery stuff used to kick in at the same time as the age of consent, and then when they lowered that to sixteen as it was stupid stopping kids fucking until they were eighteen - it wasn't working, and it simply made the law look ridiculous - at some late stage some congressman or other proposed lowering the age of enslavement at the same time. It went through 'on the nod', but everyone forgot that the original enslavement act specified the branding and such like, and that law's still on the books in its original state."
I nodded. "Actually, in one way, it's a good thing", Mike went on.
"I should think so! Branding a guy's pretty dreadful, and marking a young guy just as if he's a piece of property..."
"Well he is a piece of property, Steve, just as I am. No, it's not that - a slave is going to get branded sooner or later, so why not get it all over with at one time? Now the young guys here spend two years as a slave and then get branded and 'skinned. What I meant to say was that it's a good thing in one way, in that it makes for a kind of 'rite of passage' - one of the young gladiators here spends two years shaved and fighting other young guys, then on his eighteenth, he's branded and 'skinned, and when he's recovered, he's a 'real' gladiator - well, one of those who can start to be considered for the next category, once he's muscled up a bit. Those 'rites of passage' are pretty important, you know."
"Yes, I do know, Mike - when you come out of boot camp in the marines, the first unit you join usually has some sort of 'ceremony' - pretty humiliating, mine was, I remember it still..."
"See! It is important. It makes you feel part of an exclusive club. Well it's the same for the young guys here. Once their brands and their dicks have healed a bit, we all get together and have an initiation for them."
"I bet it's pretty tough..."
Mike grinned. "Look, Steve, what do you expect? We're all men here, strong, tough men. And you've got to expect that an initiation ceremony is going to be a bit wild - that's what guys do, isn't it? They're pretty humiliated, mostly, but we don't hurt them. Well, not a lot."
I was going to ask him more, but the room was filling with the guys back from the showers now, then a bell rang and everyone moved towards the door. "Dinner!", Mike said. "Come on - we don't want to be late."
"...or else Straughan will order us to be punished", I added, as a joke.
"You're right, Steve. You're a fast learner, clearly."
End Of Part Five.