21st Century Gladiators Read online

  Jake didn’t try to turn us into muscle freaks but he scientifically honed our bodies to suit our bone framework and I think this he achieved in very short order.

  All of this took about two months during which our fighting skills were improved out of sight. I suspect if we had been entered in the appropriate Olympic events, we might have cleaned up the medal racks — and then some. No Olympic athlete was worked as hard as we were or trained so hard or so well. Jake had somehow hired the best to train up and to develop our bodies to their very best capacity and when at last he decided we were ready to perform, he could sit back and reflect that we were indeed the best in the world.

  During our training, his workmen had been constructing the stadium in which we would compete. I should say here that he kept the island in as innocuous-looking a state as he could. Even the cage could not be recognised as such from the air and satellite cameras would not pick up anything untoward for while we were stark naked at all times, all they would see was our heads.

  Buildings were another thing however and even if tiny islands in the South China Sea were of little interest to the world powers who maintained the spy satellites, still he was careful. And so the stadium had to be disguised. Not that it was that big. It really comprised a ring whose corner posts and ropes were removable and a single row of very comfortable seats around it. The ring was big. Much bigger than a normal boxing ring for some of the shows staged on it required more space but it too was a technological marvel and could be expanded or contracted with the end result being quite seamless.

  The seats for the patrons were like first-class airline seats and each had a small table on the side. They could move like airline seats and even rise up in the air a few feet to look down on the ring and were each electrically operated. The single row comprised twenty such seats, five on each side and thus each patron had a perfect view of the action.

  As he wished to have us used sexually as well as fighting slaves — gladiators — he had to build accommodation for up to twenty guests. This was not luxurious but provided sufficient comfort for an overnight or a little longer stay. As he was at pains to tell his customers, “you are here not to have the benefit of five star accommodations, but to enjoy the bodies and skills of my gladiators!”

  I heard him say this to one of his first guests as they stood outside our cage, staring in at Peter and me and this was the first time I had heard him use the term ‘gladiator’ with respect to us but it was then that I realised he might indeed actually have us fight to the death and that he would be able to enforce his orders by using the implant on us.

  He had made a study of pain as a useful tool in training human beings and he knew exactly how much was needed to force us to follow his orders. If you know anything about torture (which I didn’t, but quickly learned), you will know that pain can be applied hard and short or more gently but for longer periods and the skilful use of these variables, coupled with bursts of intense pleasure have the effect of unnerving the subject.

  With Peter and me it took only a day or so for us to realise that he held the whip hand, literally, in his treatment of us and that dreadful pain in one mode or another could turn us into screaming wrecks either in an instant; or over a longer period. I don’t know which was worse, actually. Both are dreadful and when combined, so terrible as to be feared as nothing ever made me afraid before or after.

  Whenever a guard or trainer appeared before us, I would begin to tremble and to work that much harder at my lessons, exercises or physical training; and it was the same with all of us. I don’t think there was coward amongst us. Sportsmen and women cannot be cowards; not and suffer the pain our training demands of us, but what Jake Tompkins did to us by way of those implants was so bad it had all of us shivering in our proverbial boots whenever he or one of his men appeared.

  Anyway, the tiny stadium was built as we trained and its roof was thatch, covered by a camouflage net. He thought of everything. Even his own quarters were thatched rather than covered with iron or plastic which might have attracted attention. So was the accommodation for his guests which took the form of little bures dotted amongst the trees in the bush surrounding the small compound. The bures comprised a bedroom complete with double bed and a small bathroom. As I said, they were not luxurious but were certainly comfortable.

  I think I should now turn to some of the more bizarre of our training exercises.

  As I said, while Peter and I were aficionados of the sport of kick-boxing, that wasn’t the only form of fighting in which we might have to compete. We were therefore trained in wrestling, western style boxing as well as other forms of martial arts. But there were twists to this. While we certainly had to learn each of the orthodox methods in each of the disciplines used there, we also had to learn to use them in more adverse conditions.

  For example, to offer western-style boxing was good and well but it would quickly bore the kind of patron Jake cultivated. These were men who were jaded by the best of everything and by the most exotic of entertainments. They were rich beyond most men’s understanding of wealth and could command the very best of everything.

  And so, for one variation, Jake had his men build a wooden triangle. It was really just two sheets of nine-ply wood mitred together and joined at the top and secured by a frame at the base and at the ends. It was three feet long, four feet high and its base was two feet wide, thus the angle at the top was pretty sharp.

  We had to perch on the apex facing our protagonist with our legs down either side of the triangle and then box him or her while our anus, perineum and sexual organs moved constantly on the ridge of the triangle. It wasn’t honed to razor sharpness but it was quite sharp enough to feel like a knife edge and of course as we boxed on top of it, our torsos moved, making it all much worse.

  And then there was the wrestling.

  I should say here that all fights and all practices were conducted with all of us at high sexual tension. By this I mean that the implants were used in the sex mode to inflame us. With the boys, it was patently obvious for each of them had that enormous and so powerful erection that had their cocks straining at the seams, so to speak, quivering in apparent lust and leaking copiously at their tips.

  We girls were just as aroused however. Our vulvas were as red and inflamed as the boys’ members, as were our breasts and especially the nipples. Our clits were fully erect and even a touch made us gasp in sexual excitement. Our organs leaked even more abundantly than the boys’. It was wonderful — and it was terrible. The boys rarely climaxed as the excitement of their weapons by contact was not sufficient to bring them to that point but we girls did — often.

  And as we wrestled, either with another girl or against one of the boys (who had one of his hands secured behind his back), as his body rubbed against our mounds, the friction often brought us to a massive climax, no doubt aided by the electrical stimulation of the implants.

  I said the boys had one hand secured behind their backs. This was to another of Jake’s diabolical gadgets. Remember, his patrons had seen it all. They wanted the really bizarre in the entertainments they paid so much to see — and Jake gave it to them.

  The boys selected to wrestle us girls had this truly horrible thing inserted in their bottoms. It was a hook-shaped gadget and the business end was comprised of a long fat dildo, modelled on a real cock — all mis-shaped and gristly - looking—which ended in a large ball. It really was big. Not as big as a tennis ball but big enough to keep it inside their bodies, no matter what. On the outer side of the ball there was a steel rod which curved upwards and ended at the top end of their buttocks crack in an eyelet into which was then locked to the other side of the thumb-cuff secured to one of their thumbs.

  They then had the joint disability of the painful and so stretching dildo up their rectums as well as the position of their left or right arms secured behind their bottoms, leaving them only one arm to fight us.<
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  I have to say here that when I was selected to wrestle against Peter or even one of the other boys in this manner, I felt a distinct sexual thrill from the encounter. Their hard cocks — and I mean hard — as hard as nails, really, rubbing against my body as I wrestled them; the delight of beating the more muscular and definitely stronger male in the fight — for we usually did beat them. Their handicaps were just too much to allow them to beat us… But it really was wonderful to feel their muscles as well, rubbing against my own sweat-slicked flesh; my legs entwining their powerful bodies; their hard chest muscles against my breasts… Oh yes, it was a thrill and a half.

  They hated it. Peter told me how much shame they felt at the dildos thrust in their shapely bottoms and how foolish they felt trying to fight us with their thumbs hooked to the eyelet on the end of the dildo.

  And of course since the eyelet was on the top end of the J-curve of the rod attached to the dildo, they couldn’t even try to expel it. Any pressure on it merely pushed the dildo further into their rectums.

  There were other even more bizarre methods of fighting but I think I will leave a description of them until I come to the days when we actually had to fight in front of an audience for I now want to tell of another use Jake put us to.

  No doubt many readers will have heard of human pony-carting where human beings are harnessed to little gigs and whipped to carrying their passengers around a track or whatever? Well as an adjunct to the fights we were to stage for the pleasure of his patrons, and to our use as whores, yes, the boys as well as us girls, we were told; he had decided to offer us as ponies as well.

  The gigs duly arrived together with the harness by which we would be secured to them; or rather the bridles that would make us look even more animal-like. There were still only a dozen or so of us at this time and we were assembled on the grass in the middle of the compound while Jake had one of his men bring out a pair of the gigs.

  Peter and I were chosen to demonstrate them. What I am about to relate is just about unbelievable and if you find this part of my tale of woe too incredible to accept I will not be surprised but it is as true as the fact that I am here to write it.

  The incredible part is not the gigs or the fact that human being were to be harnessed to them; it is the way we were harnessed that is so outrageous. The gigs were wheeled out by the men and they then dropped the single shaft to the ground, leaving us to stare at what was on the end of them in disbelief, horror, outrage and utter, utter shame. Can you guess? No of course you can’t, it’s just too bizarre!

  They were dildos. Yes, true! On the female version, mine this time, there were two of them while on Peter’s gig there was a single dildo with a metal cuff in front of it.

  Jake had me harnessed first. I was brought out, shaking with fear and I have to say with outrage too, to stand over the end of the pole, staring down at the two large black dildos poking up between my legs. I watched as one of the men greased both items, thank heavens for small mercies, and then he lifted the pole while another guard pushed me to a bent-over position so that the first man could shove the rear dildo unceremoniously into my backside. Now I felt the same pain that the boys had when their thumbs were cuffed to those other horrible dildos.

  The pain as that monster pushed against my anus was really awful and I couldn’t help but scream as the sphincter was stretched wide open. I struggled but the second guard held me down by the neck and slapped my bottom hard, ordering me to stand still as his colleague kept pushing the thing up into my body.

  When he had it about half way in, the other guard relaxed his hold on my neck and bade me stand up. I now stared down at the frontal dildo which, unlike the rear once which was fixed immovably to the pole, I now saw was attached to it by means of a collar which could slide back and forth along it. There was a butterfly screw underneath this collar which, when tightened, locked the collar in place and this he now loosened and, while dropping the pole a little, slid the front dildo back along the pole so it approached my vagina.

  As it entered, he raised the pole while still sliding the collar backwards until it met the rear dildo. He now tightened the butterfly screw and then let the pole go.

  I stood there in pain and in awe that I was now harnessed to this gig by means of two dildos shoved into my two nether orifices — and nothing else!

  The other slaves, as well as Jake and his men stood around me, the former in horror; the latter in glee at my predicament. I moved a step forward and back, experimenting with the weight of the gig behind my back — and was at least pleased to find it was as light as the proverbial feather and that the pain in my bottom had now receded to mere agony, while that at the front was negligible. But this was standing still, or almost still. As I moved a step this way or that, I felt the rear dildo moved against the two sphincters guarding my rectum and send shards of pain to my brain. The one at front hurt, but not nearly as much and indeed, as I moved, even slightly, it had the effect of rousing my clit and I suddenly realised I was going to orgasm constantly as I walked this thing behind me.

  But then I thought again. They wouldn’t be content with mere walking. I would have to run with the horrible thing attached to my body.

  I didn’t have much time to dwell on this thought however. One of the guards now picked up one of the small piles of leather that lay nearby. I had seen it of course but I hadn’t recognised it for what it was. Now I did.

  It was a bridle! It was modelled on the same thing used on real equine ponies but adapted to suit a human head. It still had the single strap that went over the crown of our heads and the others that held it all together. This strap divided in two at the bridge of our noses and was connected to a steel ring over our cheeks. The steel bit that went into our mouths was attached to these two rings and a further strap went down from them and was buckled under our chins. More straps went from the rings behind our necks to be pulled tight and the strap over our heads was then buckled to this neck strap. Once all the straps were secured, the bits were pulled right to the backs of our mouths, forcing them open.

  The final indignity were the reins that were then clipped to each ring.

  I now stood there naked but for the dildos in my two bodily orifices and the bridle on my head while they now turned their attention to Peter. His harnessing was identical to mine except that instead of the vaginal dildo, his had the steel cuff that was closed and tightened around his genital package.

  I could now see his gig very well and I marvelled at its simplicity. It really was no more than two narrow, very high wheels — bicycle wheels, I suspected, a steel shaft between them and a lightweight seat, complete with footrests, bolted to the shaft. The pole, appropriately braced, was attached to the centre of this shaft — and that was it. The whole thing weight but a few pounds and pulling it would not be difficult — at least not empty.

  But that was not the plan. Jake got into my gig and Obb into Peter’s, each taking up the reins as they did so. The guards handed them a whip each and then they were ready to try us out.

  I felt the reins shake against my shoulders and at the same time heard — and felt — the crack of his whip against my back and I naturally took off. I heard Obb’s whip crack shortly after that and then Peter was beside me, walking around the perimeter of the compound.

  I hasten to say I was appalled at what was now being demanded of us. I couldn’t imagine anything more shameful or humiliating than being forced to perform as a human pony. Being stripped, denuded of my natural hair, exercised and trained as a fighter was bad. Then being forced to fight naked in front of a couple of dozen jaded plutocrats was worse and having my body offered to them as a whore was worse still. But this! This was tantamount to treating us as actual animals. It made forcing us to feed from a trough look like a banquet.

  And then, as Jake whipped me again and clicked the reins harder against my shoulders to make me speed up into a trot,
it got worse. At a walk, the movement of the dildos in my anus and vagina was merely uncomfortable — uncomfortable and mildly exciting to my clit. But at the faster pace, they really began to move around and I felt the pain in my backside increase exponentially. At the same time the tickling of my clit by the front dildo excited it to the stage I couldn’t control my libido and I felt myself rapidly rising to the first of a number of orgasms that took hold of me — and I mean took hold of me — literally.

  We all know that in the moment of orgasm, we humans are powerless to do anything but lie there and experience the enormous thrill of the climax. This is particularly so with us girls as our orgasms can go on much longer, usually anyway, than with the males of the species. But Jake was well aware of what was happening to my body and he lashed me continuously during the moment of climax and beyond, forcing me to keep my leg muscles working through it all. This in turn kept up the pressure on my clit and thus the orgasm went on and on—and on.

  It wasn’t easy. Any of it. My natural instinct was to stop and try and cope with the orgasm in the very unnatural position of standing erect (with the two dildos poking out of my anus and vagina) but he wasn’t having any of that and the pain of that whip curling around my torso to lick at my breasts — and even catch my nipples at times, applied continuously and viciously, made me try to keep trotting or at least walking.

  I know I must have looked comical for I was half bent over, my hands, which up to then had been pumping in time with my legs, were now down around my frontal dildo, trying quite unsuccessfully of course to yank it out while my legs were half responding to the whip.