Date: Sun, 8 Aug 2010 08:01:11 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Reluctant Gladiator, Part Nineteen

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

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

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

"Why?"

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

"Fuck that!  They 'skinned me!"

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

"That's not the point!"

"So what is the point, Steve?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you mean?"

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

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

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

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

"That's supposed to be good?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Because I'm not fighting, obviously."

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

"Can I have more?"

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

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

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

"So why are you here then?"

"I'd have thought that was obvious."

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

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

"What do you mean?"

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

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

"Do what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And that's what you do?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm chained up...."

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

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

He walked away again, and I stood there in the hot evening sunshine
seething inside at the assumption that I was going to be handled and mauled
for the patrons' further enjoyment.  Still, I thought, looking down into
the arena - I had a spectacularly good view from here, better than being
jammed in with all the other guys jostling for position at the arena gates.
I turned back from looking over the wall and the patrons were entering,
coming up the steps in front of me.  They were all surprised and interested
in this "novelty", and I soon found out that the best way to cope with it
was by acting as if it was all perfectly normal for me - so I stared to
answer lots of questions about the life of a gladiator, to tell them that
it was my buddies fighting this evening, but that I'd probably be
performing the next week, and so on.  And, yes, I did do a bit of posing -
well, I am proud of my body, actually.  And somehow doing that made me feel
better -
 initially I'd hated standing there almost naked in my tiny uniform seeing
all the men and women in their proper clothes (it seemed that you "dressed
up" in this expensive area, so the women were in smart dresses with lots of
jewellery, and the men were in suits, or sports coats and slacks) - but
once I got to pump up my muscles a bit and I could feel a few beads of
sweat on my chest, I began to realise that it was they who were envying me,
more than I was envying them.  They saw this magnificent young guy, in
prime condition, proud and unashamed of his body, and they were old and
flabby.

The first four bouts were pretty routine - some of the young guys wrestling
and stuff like that.  But immediately before the interval there was a
sensation - the crowd literally gave a collective gasp as the arena gates
swung open, there were a few moments of suspense, and then Darren and a
young nigga strode out totally naked!  From where I was standing I could
clearly see the tattoo on Darren's dick, and after the initial shock of
having the two gladiators nude, there was a further roar of interest and I
saw a lot of flashes of sunlight off the lenses of binoculars as they
focussed on him. The actual bout as excellent, too - Darren's really good,
as you know, but somehow the sight of his lightly tanned skin contrasted
with the deep black nigga particularly well, and when they grappled very
close at one point and their dicks were rubbing together, I'm sure I'm not
the only guy in the audience who boned up - although it was much more
embarrassing for me
 of course, as there was no way I could hide it in my uniform (but
fortunately the patrons were not now looking at me!).

In the interval some of the patrons actually offered me drinks and stuff,
but I thought I ought to refuse as if I'd needed to piss it would have been
pretty embarrassing, being chained there.  I could hear them all excitedly
talking about the sight of Darren and the nigga, and it was generally
agreed that this was "the way to go".  So after the interval it was
something of an anticlimax when the next pair were in uniform, and even
though it was a good fight, with lot of blood, it didn't receive anything
like the cheering and applause that Darren and the nigga had.  Things
calmed down a bit for the next two bouts, but then, finally, the buzz of
excitement started to build for the finale, which the loudspeakers were
saying was against "Our home Champion, Mike, and a big buck nigga who had
so far subdued every white man he had ever fought."  The announcer waited
for the cheering to subside, and then went on "And tonight, Philips'
Fighters is proud to bring
 you a new innovation once more - as you have already seen with Darren,
you'll now see our Champion Mike fully revealed to you, as you have never
seen him before.  Tonight's last pair will display themselves to you
totally naked."  He was drowned out by cheering, stomping and clapping,
which went on until the amplified trumpets announced the opening of the
arena gates.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Actually, Jason, I need to piss."

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

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

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

End Of Part Nineteen