Date: Fri, 25 Jun 2010 22:04:59 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Reluctant Gladiator, Part Six

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

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


I was to eat many, many meals in the mess hall, but I still remember the
feeling of excitement that built in me as we got closer to the swinging
doors that led into it, and I could hear the buzz - no, the roar - of
conversation and the clatter of cutlery.  I was used to eating with all the
other guys on base in my former life.  But this wasn't like anything else I
had experienced before - for one thing, all the guys in there were
bare-chested, as I was, wearing only the standard gladiator uniforms (well,
except for a few guards and such like, who were in their proper uniforms -
but that only made it a bit more bizarre).  And for another, it was all
guys - most mess halls I'd been into for years and years were mixed sex
(even though there weren't a whole lot of ladies, just a few seems to
moderate the noise and the language!).  Mind you, a lot was the same - long
tables with benches on either side, and a serving hatch on one wall from
where the food was
 ditched out.

Mike led me over to that hatch and we took a tray.  I then found out
another difference from my former life- there was no choice: a plate was
slapped down onto my tray, and a big helping of a meat stew poured in,
followed by a great dollop of green beans.  "I don' want beans", I said, "I
hate 'em.  Just give me some more bread...."

"Shut the fuck up!", the server snapped back - he must have been "staff",
as he was wearing normal "whites".  "You men are always trying it on, and
you know the rules: you eat what you're given." As he said this he gestured
for me to move on, an Mike pushed at me so he could get served. "Come on,
Steve!...."

"But...."

"Steve, there's a lot of things different about being a gladiator.  And
food's one of them.  It's all selected to be nourishing and good for you -
and I reckon we're lucky that it's fresh and hot: when I was working in the
quarries before I was spotted as gladiator material and brought here, all
we got was slave chow - they just scooped it out of a giant sack, and you
had to crunch your way through it.  The same every fucking meal.  So stop
complaining."

"But I hate beans..."

"Tough.  You're going to have to eat them, though.....  And anyway, once
you've been here a week or so you'll be glad to eat everything they put in
front of you, as they work us so hard you'll always be famished."

Another server plonked two big apples down on my tray, then Mike and I went
to a water fountain where the only choice was water.  Mike saw me
looking. That's right, Steve - water, good old-fashioned water.  No beer,
no sodas, just water."

The noise had dropped a bit as we were being served, and I could see that
most of the men sitting at the tables were now looking at me.  Mike led me
past some of them, saying "Hi...", and I was impressed that he seemed to
know all the names - from time to time he'd say "And this is Steve", and
I'd nod.

We sat at the end of a table that was full of big guys like us, and Mike
reeled off their names for me - everyone smiled and said hi, except for
three big niggas who sat at the end.  They'd hardly even looked at Mike or
me, and sat there hunched over their food, spooning it down almost as if
they were animals.  "Don't mind the niggas", Mike said quietly to me.  "The
very big one, in the middle, is Shaikal.  He used to be the champion before
I came along, and he's not got over it.  He's a mean son of a bitch - most
of us here kind of look out for each other as much as we can, but he goes
out of his way to be unpleasant.  It's particularly hard for the young
guys, as they're not used to it...."

I looked at the Shaikal guy, and he really was a big, mean-looking guy.
And unlike the other niggas, he was really black, jet black.  Mike saw me
observing him, and lowering his voice so only I could hear told me "Look
out for him, if you're up against him in training.  The fucker'll try to
really hurt you, or break your arm, or something.  He's really got an
attitude problem. Or perhaps he just isn't used to being civilised. - he's
straight from the jungle, as you can see!"

"What do you mean?"

"Well our niggas, the ones you get here in this country, aren't really
blacks, in spite of what they'd like us to call them.  They're mostly
shades of brown, if you think about it - their ancestors might have been
black, but the eighteenth and nineteenth century slave owners did a lot of
fucking of their stock, and the piccaninnies were lighter... And so it's
gone on.  But him - well, I reckon he's pure African, tried to get over
here with the drugs traffic or something, and got caught - it's kind of
poetic justice, really: these illegal immigrants want to come here, then
find they're here permanently as they're enslaved."

He was going to say more, but bent over his plate and started shovelling
the food in.  I ate more slowly, but after a few days there I knew I'd
probably be doing the same, as I know the effect that hard exercise can
have on you.  Then there must have been a signal of some kind as, almost as
a single man, all the guys stood up and we took our trays, deposited them
at another hatch in the wall, and filed out of the hall.

Immediately after dinner it was bed time - there was no recreation or TV or
anything like that, except on special occasions I was to learn, and we all
filed through the latrines and then off down the corridor I'd seen with the
doors opening off it.  Mike stood respectfully by the side of one of the
doors, and gestured for me to stand alongside him, and we waited for a pair
of guards to work their way along the corridor unlocking the doors,
allowing the men to enter, then locking them afterwards.  When our turn
came I followed Mike in and saw that it was really basic - absolutely bare
except for a couple of thin mattresses, with the same concrete floors and
painted construction block walls as in the rest of the complex.  Light came
from a slit window high up (too high to see out of), and from a reinforced
light fitting in the ceiling.

As the guard was turning to go, Mike whispered "Sir, please.... I was
supposed to be using some of my credits tonight, and now Steve is bunking
with me, I'd like to cancel....."

"I never put you don as a faggot!", the guard laughed.  "Going to have your
boyfriend instead, are you?"

"No, sir.  You know I'm not like that!  But with Steve here....."

"We can't change arrangements just for your convenience", the guard
replied.  "You made the booking, your account's been updated... So live
with it."

He went out and I heard the lock activating and the jangle of keys.  I hate
that - I don't like being locked up, and in the marines I'd always rather
have been punished with extra duties or more forced marching or stuff like
that rather than even a day in the brig.  Mike saw me begin to pace around
the tiny space, and got up to join me.  He put his arm around my shoulders,
and almost whispered "Bad is it?  Some of the guys don't like it as first,
but there's nothing you can do.  All the gladiators are locked up at
night."

"Oh, I'll survive."

"Well there's not much room, and it's going to get worse....."

"How so?"

"You heard me asking the guard to cancel, and he wouldn't.... So any minute
now they'll be bringing along the bitch I paid for....."

"What?"

"Look, Steve, the way it works is that Straughan motivates us by giving us
points when we win matches.  Well, that's the best way of getting them, as
winning an important match gives you a whole stash of points.  You get a
few each week anyway, provided you train hard and keep up the standards and
such like, but winning is what you want to do.  And of course you can lose
them if you break the rules - something that doesn't merit the strap or the
cane can cause you to lose a lot of your points.  It's a pretty good
system, really.  And I've not got the title 'champion' for nothing, you
know - I win a lot of matches, so I've got a whole stash of points."

"Yes...."

"Well, you can spend the points - not on alcohol or tobacco, obviously, as
we're supposed to be in peak physical shape. And our diet's controlled, so
no chocolates or candies either. "

"So why haven't you bought a TV with them....?"

"Because it's not allowed.  Gladiators are slaves - well, most of us are -
and no owner wants a slave to know what's going on.  So unless we get in a
newly-enslaved guy, like you, we're out of touch with the world.  It makes
sense, I suppose - if you don't know how the war's going, for example, none
of the enslaved soldiers is even likely to think about trying to escape ."

"So what can you spend them on?"

"Basically, women.  Or, I suppose, guys, if you're that way inclined.  But
none of are like that here - or, at least, we don't show it.  It would be
pretty tough on a guy who liked other guys and anyone fond out, I reckon -
I mean, the rest of us wouldn't want to share the showers with him, would
we?"

I nodded, and Mike went on "So you can spend your points on a woman, and
Straughan likes that as it helps to keep us fighting fit.  I mean, jerking
off is OK and it keeps your balls working, but your muscles, your heart,
your lungs, all that kind of stuff only gets really exercised when you have
a good hard fuck.  Anyway, I have a bitch booked for tonight, and, as you
heard, they won't cancel.  So there'll be three of us...."

He saw me looking, and that big smile broke out again.  "I tell you what,
though, Steve - once I've give her a good hard one, I'll let you have a
turn.  That way I can really get my money's worth, as I can watch you
whilst I'm recovering, and it will really get me in the mood for a second
bout....  We've got her for an hour, so I reckon we've got time...."

He saw me looking doubtful, and his mood seemed to change.  "Steve, you're
not some sort of queer, are you?  Not one of those guys who won't fuck a
bitch?"

"No, of course not!  My best buddy Jason and me once shared a room when we
had a 48-our pass and we each fucked a couple of whores we paid...."

"Well then, there You are!  And you don't even have to pay this time - you
can return the favour when You win your first match."

"No, Mike... I Don't think so...."

"...so you are fag, but you don't like to admit it."

I was so pent up with the claustrophobic feeling that being called that
made me lose it.  I went to punch Mike out, but didn't realise at that time
just how good a trained gladiator's reflexes and fighting techniques were.
The next moment I was on my belly on the floor, with Mike on top of me.  He
had my arm painfully twisted up my back, and I couldn't move as I knew he
had me totally under his control and he could easily break my arm, or cause
me incredible pain.  He was hardly even breathing hard as his body pressed
against mine.

"Don't ever try that again, Steve, or I might have to kill you, or at the
least, seriously maim you.  And don't tell any of the other guys, or else
they'll think I'm a wimp for not at least beating the shit out of you - we
don't attack each other, is that clear?"

"Yes", I grunted, as Mike's weight on me was making it quite hard to
breathe.

He loosened his grip - slightly - and hissed "So what the fuck were you
trying to do?"

"No one calls me a fag and gets away with it...."

"So if you don't want to be called a fag, why do you act like one?  I offer
you a bitch - and, believe me, these bitches really know what they're doing
as they get so much practice with us real men - and you say 'no'.  So it's
hard to believe that you're not a fag...."

"Mike, I like fucking bitches as much as any man does.  But I don't take
'sloppy seconds'...."

Mike let me go, and we moved so that we were sitting next to each other on
one of the mattresses.  "So you don't like your women pre-lubed by another
guy's cum, then?"

He slapped me on the back, laughing "Well, when you can pay, you can go
first.  But I like them fresh.  So tonight you've got no option - and, who
knows, you might actually like the feeling of my cum all over your dick..."

"If it's all the same to you, Mike, no.  I'll just jerk off...."

"Steve, no way!  Look, all the guys are always keen to know what a new guy
is like.  If I tell them that you turned down a hot bitch in favour of
jerking off, they'll believe you're a fag, even if you say you're not."

"You don't have to tell them...."

"Get real, Steve!  All the cells are the same size.  They'll know I had a
bitch ordered for tonight, and they know I'm a pretty generous kind of guy
so I'll have offered to share her.  So of course they'll ask me - and you -
how it went."

"So don't say anything....."

"Steve, with no outside news, no TV, nothing, what the fuck do you think us
guys talk about most of the time?  Well, I'll tell you - we talk about the
last few matches, about anything special that happened in training today,
and sex - and not necessarily in that order!  So there's no way I can't
talk about it - they know I do all the time."  He lowered his voice a bit,
as if he was slightly embarrassed.  "Look, Steve, I have a lot of bitches
as I've won a lot of points.  And, well, you know.... Well, it's not
bragging, but I like to give the guys who can't afford it a bit of fun, so
I am known as being someone who does talk about the experience...."

I was gong to carry on arguing with him, but we heard the jangle of keys in
the lock and a moment or so later the door opened and one of the most
stunning women I've ever seen came in - she was probably about twenty-two,
tall and slender but with wonderful breasts - jutting out, not sagging,
with pert nipples.  They were totally exposed as she only had a scrap of
white cloth draped seductively round her waist.  She had the slightly
mounded belly I find so erotic in a woman, and she had her lips pursed
slightly open so I could see the tip of her tongue moving seductively.
Without hesitating, as she was clearly as eager as he was, she went over to
Mike, threw her arms around his neck and pulled herself close to him so
that her breasts were squashed in to his bare chest, and kissed him
seductively, and then, as I watched, she raised one foot off the ground so
she could rub her thighs against his crotch.  Mike didn't hesitate, even
for a moment - he
 pulled away the scrap of cloth from around her and I was rewarded with a
sight of her gorgeous her hard, smooth buttocks, and then scrabbled around
with one hand to push down his gladiator uniform.

He was on top of her on one of the mattresses almost before the door was
closed and locked behind her, and wasted no time in sliding his cock in -
in the tiny space there was no way that I could avoid hearing him and
watching as he began to thrust into her, his big strong butt and thighs
really pounding away.

It was all over remarkably quickly.  Mike obviously didn't care at all
about the bitch's pleasure, as all he needed to do was reach his climax in
a way that he enjoyed.  He pulled out and rolled off her , onto his back,
his cock still rigid and now slimed with her juices and his cum.  He looked
over at me, and smiled.  "Wow, Steve.  That's just what I needed.  Now it's
your turn - I'll just watch and then I can take her again, taking my time
over it - I'm hopeless, shooting so quickly, but I just get so
excited....."

In spite of all my earlier protests, I now wanted to fuck, really badly.
So I pulled off my uniform, and felt that special thrill as I was so hard
that my dick bounded upwards and slapped into my belly.  I'm not shy as I
was used to living in the barracks, but as I've told you, there it wasn't
usual for you to be erect where your buddies could see it, so I felt a bit
strange as I saw Mike looking at my dick.  But once I'd got started, I was
lost in that world of delight that you get when you fuck for the first time
in a couple of weeks, and, frankly, after a slight initial revuslsion as my
cock slid into her and I knew that some of the sensation was probably
coming from Mike's cum, I didn't care.  And I didn't notice, either, that
Mike must have been watching me just a much as I had been watching him a
couple of minutes earlier.

Afterwards, as I lay there, my skin shining with sweat, my heart racing and
my breathing coming in gasps as my body recovered, Mike took her again -
and this time he really went at it - not just in the missionary position ,
but doggy fashion, with a lot of crying out, slapping of her buttocks, and
so on.  I heard the door being unlocked as he was still going at it, and
the guard came in and stood watching, too - he let Mike carry on for a
couple of minutes until Mike climaxed, and this was clearly something that
happened a lot as he congratulated Mike on an epic fuck as he took the
bitch away and locked the door behind him.

Mike lay on his back then, a big broad smile on his face.  I was on my
mattress, too, in much the same state.  "You were OK, Steve", he told me.
"No possibility that you're a queer!"

"You're not so bad yourself", I replied, almost laughing.  "I worried a bit
that first time, as I thought you were just using her as a substitute for
jerking off and were trying to do the deed as quickly as you could as you
didn't want to be in the bitch.  But the second time - hey, man, a lot of
technique there...."

"Oh, you know, Steve, it just comes with practice", he laughed. "But next
time I must book a longer session - it costs more, but if I'm going to
watch you...."

"Next time?"

"I reckon Straughan will keep us bunked together for a couple of weeks,
until you've really learned the ropes.  And there's no way I'm going
without sex for all that time.  And when you've won your first match, you
can return the favour - even if we're not bunking together you can always
invite me around one night - the guards don't mind."

"Hell, though, Mike - that guard, watching you.... You didn't seem to
care..."

"Steve, don't worry about it. There's nothing to be ashamed of in fucking,
especially if you do it well.... Like me...." - he had that big grin again
- "And.... Well, you'll see.... You know we are gladiators, and expected to
perform in front of an audience...."

I nodded, not really understanding what he was about to tell me, but I was
so exhausted and in that state of happy relaxation you get after really
great sex that I drifted into sleep - and, as you do after a really good
fuck, it was a deep, dreamless sleep.

Mike woke me up by slapping my bare ass as I lay sprawled there on my face.
"Come on, Steve, we've been unlocked, and the guards don't like to have to
come in....

I went to get to my feet, and was embarrassed to find I was as you'd expect
erect with my morning piss hard.  That happened in the barracks, of course,
but you normally don't have to expose yourself to your buddies as you have
some time to make your way to the showers.  Here, though, we all had to
line up in the corridor, and most of the guys were in the same state as me.
Mike was carrying his uniform from the previous day, and he handed mine to
me, having scooped it up as we left our room.  I went to put it on, but saw
all the other guys were standing there holding theirs, so I stopped.

A guard came down the line of us counting us, then they shouted at us to
get through the urinals, and out to the field.  We had to line up behind
one of the young guys as he stood there pissing before I could get to the
trough (no separate urinals with those silly "modesty" panels between them
here!), and then, to my surprise, I was pushed to one side gently as one of
the big niggas made space for himself next to me - I mean, it's a bit odd
all pissing into a trough, but even stranger when you can feel the naked
bodies of the other guys on each side of you!  After that we all trooped
along another corridor and then out into the open air - we'd come through
some sort of passage connecting the "school" to the arena that I'd seen
when I arrived, and now we were in the middle of the mass of empty seats
rising in their tiers.

A guard shouted an order, and we all stood there putting on our uniforms,
and the exercises began.

There was a little platform at one end which we all had to face, and on it
was a bit TV screen which had sort of "stick" figures in a cartoon running
on it.  As the figures bent and waved their arms and so on, we all had to
follow - it was fucking hard, and as we worked away, Mike whispered to me
"They used to have an instructor, but he never could do it hard enough -
these fucking exercise videos are specially made so that they can vary the
speed...."  Even as he spoke, I was aware that I was supposed to be running
on the spot faster and faster, and doing more and more star jumps and so
on.  The guards prowled around making sure we didn't shirk any of it by not
properly touching our toes or whatever else it was that was the exercise at
that moment - they had light leather tawses, and would flick them at our
naked backs to "encourage" us.  It didn't hurt- - much - but it was enough
to let you know that you were supposed to work hard, and I guess the
 other advantage was that there was no permanent damage to our skin.

The whole thing ended with us all having to run - not jog, run - around and
around the perimeter of the arena for about twenty minutes, and I reckon
the session took about an hour and a half in total.  Even though I'm fit,
it was tough, and different parts of it affected different guys in
different ways, as you'd expect - a lot of the running was easy,
relatively, for the thin, light guys. But they in turn found it harder to
do a whole lot of repetitions of push-ups as their arms were not as muscled
as those of guys like Mike and me.  All in all, though, I reckon it was a
fantastic workout for all of us, given that there were so many different
types of guy there, and said this to Mike as we were allowed to leave the
arena and head towards the showers.

"Well, Steve, think about it - this is big business!  There's fifty of us
gladiators here, so a lot of money tied up in their assets.  Obviously
they're going to look after us well by making sure we're properly trained,
and they've spent the money getting these videos made as it makes sense in
terms of their investment.  That's why the food's good, too.  And as you'll
find out if - when - you're injured, that they have great medical
facilities.

We dropped our yesterday's uniforms, which were not totally sweat-soaked,
into a big laundry basked as we went into the showers, then all of us stood
there washing each other - Mike was obviously very popular and a lot of
guys wanted to talk to him, and the best way to do this was to stop for a
moment and start to soap him: I wasn't used to having so much contact with
other men in the showers, but as someone new, I was also something of a
curiosity and so for the same reasons I found myself running my hands over
a whole lot of bodies.  It wasn't so bad, I suppose, with mature guys; but
I did find it very odd to be running my hands down over the hairless belly
of a sixteen year old who was, as I've told you was normal for the place,
totally shaved, as he stood there with my dick in his hands washing it.  He
started to slide my 'skin back, and I grabbed his wrist to stop him.

"Please... You're hurting....", he managed to say so that I could hear but
the others couldn't above the noise of the water and the other men.

"Leave my dick alone!  What the fuck do you think you're doing...."

"Please, Steve... I was only trying to remember what it felt like!  Your
'skin, I mean.  They took mine a month ago, and I wanted to remember what
it was like to slide it over a dick head...."

After we'd planed each others bodies dry, we dressed in fresh uniforms, and
made our way to the mess hall where we formed a big chattering line waiting
to be served.  There was no choice again, but I had a big plate of porridge
with real honey dribbled over it, three slices of brown toast (no butter or
anything, but smeared liberally with jelly), and a bowl of cut-up mixed
fresh fruit.  I really missed coffee, but apparently neither it nor any
other "stimulating" drink was ever served to us gladiators, but I was given
a whole pint of milk.  Now normally I don't drink milk - I don't like the
taste - but there was nothing else, and when I asked Mike he just shrugged.
"Deal with it, Steve.  We always have milk for breakfast.  That's all there
is, and you're not allowed to leave it."

At dinner the previous night we'd sat at tables that were kind of
segregated by "type" - all the young kids sat together, us older mature
guys (including the three niggas I've told you about) at another, even
though the niggas didn't really fit in), and the other guys - the sort of
intermediates, were mostly together too.  But at breakfast different rules
seem to apply as you sat down to fill up a table, and I found myself
in-between the young guy who'd tried to 'skin me back in the showers, and
Mike.

"So why did they 'skin you?", I asked the kid.  "I was told that didn't
happen until you were eighteen."  I pulled his arm around, and went on
"You're not branded...."

He nodded.  "A lot of the other guys in my group laugh at my dick now.  But
I wasn't done here - when my dad heard I was going to be enslaved because
the lawyer told him there was no way he could get me off, he took me down
to the local hospital and paid for me to be done.  They didn't want to do
it, but he said we were members of some strange religious sect and if they
wouldn't, he'd report them for religious harassment.  Ha fucking ha!"

"But why...?"

"Dad said I was too old for him to spank.  What he meant was he was scared
that if he tried anything like that I'd beat him up instead.  But he wanted
to punish me in some way himself, before the fucking law did it by making
me a slave."

"Jesus Christ!  A dad doing that to his son...."

The kid just shrugged.  "He used to beat me up when I was little, so I
reckon this was just in line with that.  He's a control freak...."

"You poor kid...."

"Hey!  Watch yourself...."  I felt him bristle with anger.  "Don't call me
a kid!  Not unless you want to feel my knuckles in your mouth..."

I went to laugh, as I was so much bigger and stronger than him, and was
trained as a marine.  He saw me doing this, and pushed back, beginning to
stand up, his anger blazing now.

"Sit down!", Mike snapped, his voice ringing out and causing conversation
around us to stop.  He lowered his voice, and went on "Fucking control that
temper of yours, if you don't want all of us around here to get punished!"
The kid reluctantly sat down next to me again, and Mike continued "Look,
kid, you need to control that temper of yours.  Aggression is all right in
the arena - it's good, in fact, as it gives you an advantage.  But
uncontrolled aggression is bad, very bad - you'll get yourself injured, as
fighting is all about being in control of your body...."

"Don't call me a kid....."

Mike gave him a long, hard stare.  "I'll call you what I like.  And you're
a kid, as far as I'm concerned, until you've learned enough to act like a
man.  Or until you beat me in a fight, but that seems unlikely. Now, shut
the fuck up, and finish your breakfast."

I was impressed that Mike had this kind of control over things, rather as
if he has that stuff that good sergeants have - a kind of "natural
authority" that doesn't need a fancy officer's training to make it happen.
I was going to say something, but just then the guards shouted that
breakfast was over, and we were to go to the training rooms.

End Of Part Six