21st Century Gladiators Read online

  In fact, though, now that it had come to us actually being used as ponies for real, there were all sorts of other emotions now flooding through my consciousness. Al lright, so Peter and I had been kidnapped, stripped, depilated, enslaved and rigorously trained as fighters and we had then been prostituted to a man who had bought our bodies for his sexual pleasure. But I think, bad and all as all those things had been, this was so bizarre — especially the obscene way in which we were harnessed to the gigs — that I felt it was worse even than being forced to pleasure the gross and disgusting ‘Idi Amin’.

  As I ran down this path and then up that one, all I thought of was that I was now an animal, a beast of burden, as I said earlier; that the slender rod up between my thighs had two large dildos on it that had been forced into my anus and my vagina and that both were rousing my libido all the time, forcing me to concentrate on overcoming the intense pleasure of orgasm every time it arose (which was often) for my rider was very quick to sense any faltering and lashed even more viciously at my backside every time it happened.

  Of course I met other mounts as well as we ran along the various paths that were quite wide enough to take two at a time (we had really slogged in cutting these paths through the scrub) and so I could see my fellow slaves being just as viciously whipped as they struggled to keep up the pace demanded of them by our hirers.

  I even came across Peter on one occasion. He had been hired by the other of the two blacks who were guests on that first occasion. And as we passed, he actually winked at me, Peter, that is, and I was quite astonished to see his rider only casually flicking the whip across his back for every single one of the other buyers had been as vicious, or nearly so, as my Arab.

  I wondered then at the handsome man who had only narrowly missed out on buying Peter and me that first night. He was everything ‘Idi’ wasn’t: tall, handsome, athletic-looking and urbane. All right, Idi was tall but he was so grossly fat that he looked more like a giant ball of lard than a man. This other man also smiled in a way that didn’t bespeak cruelty. Who was he, I wondered incessantly.

  But I didn’t have time to wonder for too long. I had quite enough on my plate with my own rider and the near-constant aroused state of my libido to think too much of Peter’s rider. It was just about constant. The state of my libido, I mean. The dildo moved constantly against my clit but it wasn’t only that; the one at the rear entrance was also rousing it, I could feel it rubbing it from the back and of course, added to both of them, the implant was sending a constant rousing tingle to my clit as well.

  This combination was keeping me up on a near-orgasmic high all the time and so, every few minutes, I exploded into yet another of those climaxes, that, far from being pleasurable, I now dreaded for I was now rapidly losing my ability to control my motor muscles through them. You try it. Get yourself to the state of climax and then try to move around. You can’t, can you? Well imagine how we were, forced to gallop along those paths while every minute or so, another climax hit us!

  That went on all morning. We had started out at nine and were only supposed to be available until eleven when we were to return to the compound and get ready for their lunch but most of them, including my Arab, kept us out until nearly twelve. No doubt you can imagine how exhausted we were but then we had to help prepare the lunch and serve it to those bastards.

  Jake was angry that his timetable had not been adhered to but he didn’t take it out on his paying guests. We came in for more abuse as we struggled to get everything ready for a late lunch. And then, more horror, we had to serve them while they fingered our bodies just as indecently as they had at dinner last night and breakfast this morning. At least we had an hour in our cages before assembling for the afternoon bout, though, and I remarked to Peter (very, very softly) that his rider had seemed to be quite lenient.

  “He was, wasn’t he?” Peter whispered back. “I noticed how all the others were really flogging you all, but he seemed content almost to let me make my own pace.”

  “I hope he buys us tonight, Pete,” I whispered back, very careful to keep my tones so low that even Jake’s sophisticated surveillance systems wouldn’t pick up my voice. “I have a suspicion about him. I’m not going to say any more at the moment,” winking at him, at which he caught on and we just snuggled down together, careful to keep our groins far enough apart that we didn’t activate the implants, but otherwise petting each other.

  But then it was time to assemble for the third fight of the visit.

  This was going to be one of those uneven fights between a male and female wrestler, where the boy had his left thumb cuffed to the end of the hook in his backside.

  Do you remember my description of this? It was really awful for him. The boy this time was a Hungarian lad named Andrei who was as beautiful as only those Central European young men can be. He had dark wavy hair and beautiful violet-blue eyes. His skin was as smooth as cream and his muscles nigh on perfect. Smallish, but still perfect and articulated so well you could pick out each one very easily. Anyway, they brought out the hook and I stared at it in more horror as they prepared to shove it into his backside.

  Like all the dildos they used on us, this one was long and thick. They delighted in our pain and the larger the dildos used in either orifice, the more pain we had to endure, of course. I think it may well have been seven inches long and easily two inches thick. It was shaped like a banana and the rod that poked out of its bottom end was made of stainless steel and was about a quarter of an inch thick.

  This rod curved up in a tight u-bend as it exited from the bottom of the dildo, or more properly, a j-curve with the longer, outer part of the ‘j’ about four inches long, just enough to slide between the two buttocks of the wearer. At the top end, there was an eye-bolt to which the other side of the thumb-cuff could be attached.

  They made him bend over and spread his cheeks and then shoved the dildo unceremoniously into him, careless of his feelings and laughing at his scream as his anus was so rudely violated. Then, once the dildo had disappeared right into his rectum and all that now could be seen was the steel rod, they fitted it in between his two shapely butt cheeks and then brought his left hand behind his body, cuffed his thumb to one side of the pair of cuffs and slipped the other one through the eye-bolt, locking it tightly afterwards.

  The dildo could not now be seen at all as it was totally inside his rectum and the rod was well hidden under and between his curvaceous buttocks. All we could see of it was the eye-bolt at its top to which the thumb cuff was locked.

  He could not now walk upright, his left shoulder being drawn back and down towards his bottom but it showed off his fine muscles for they now struggled in their unnatural position and assumed delightful shapes.

  His opponent was one of the black girls. Kesho and her man hailed from Nigeria and she was among the best of that fine people’s best. She and her fiancé were both tall and exceptionally well built and Jumba was as handsome as she was beautiful. She towered over poor Andrei who was in normal circumstances as tall as she was but in his half bent over and backwards position, she certainly had the edge. With his left thumb locked to the rod in his rectum he had an even greater disadvantage.

  He thus had only one of his admittedly beautifully muscled arms to fight her with and I thought that even with both arms available he might have had problems with her for she was a fine wrestler, but then probably not. Males are inherently stronger than us girls and perhaps it wasn’t such an uneven fight after all.

  And so it proved. Neither of them wanted to lose, of course. We had all seen Chin and Park hanging upside down outside, as they had been since last night and we knew how awful it must be for them both, the discomfort of the position certainly, but even more, the shame of that so humiliating position! Whichever of these two lost this afternoon would replace the pair of them after both had been ritually flogged after this bout and before dinner tonight. There w
as also the incentive of a night with either Andrei’s or Kesho’s partner of course. Each of us had been housed with our partners for all the months of our captivity there and could sleep naked with him or her in close proximity — as long as our sexual organs didn’t get near each other.

  This enforced celibacy with our own mate while being forced to copulate with Jake and his guests in our mate’s presence, was as severe a trial as even the physical punishments and rigorous training we had to endure all day, every day, and the enticement of a night of real sex with them on a soft bed was one hell of an inducement to succeed. I know the sex drive in us humans is enormous and I can certify that when it came my turn to fight, I put my all into it, not caring one whit that my opponent might be facing a terrible flogging if I won.

  The pair of them faced up to each other and, standing behind the tall West African man this time, I stared in at them with a great deal of sympathy for both. None of us had any wish to be there at all, let alone to fight each other for these were no title fights or even amateur club fights. These were more in the nature of prize-fights in the Eighteenth Century and were just as bloody, intentionally.

  Andrei tried valiantly to counter Kesho’s incredible moves against him but from the very beginning he never had a chance. As I suggested earlier, I even wondered that if his left hand had been free and he didn’t have that horrible dildo up his backside, she might have won even then for she was lightning fast and her lithe and so naked body was all over him. Who knows?

  One second she had leapt at him with both feet slamming into his smooth chest and had him on the floor; the next she was astride his neck with it held between her powerful thighs, squeezing him horribly and the next after that, after he had somehow extricated himself from that near impossible hold, she had him in an arm-lock, pulling his body backwards in a near back-breaking position that looked very painful.

  Andrei got in some holds on her body and even managed a flying leap to her breasts that knocked her backwards for a second or two but as always she recovered quickly and the outcome was a surety almost from the first few seconds of the match.

  Of course there was the compulsory blood on both their bodies, Kesho cutting Andrei’s cheek and he opening a long wound on her left thigh but, as usual, they were only superficial and were soon attended to by Dr Sing after the fight.

  For all my horror at what we were forced to do there, I had to admit it was still an incredible spectacle, the two of their so naked bodies writhing together like snakes, the sweat on both of them commingling and giving them a wonderful gloss under the powerful lights bearing down on them. Their skill was also a wonder. Of course no amateur, or even professional fighter was trained as we were or had the incentives we did to win.

  Added to the gory exhibition of course, was the sexiness of it all. The fact that we were naked — stark naked, with every last hair on our bodies removed, permanently, to show off our genitals so totally and our muscles that much better; and then there were the implants. They were activated on both protagonists during each fight so that the males were each erect with their cocks quivering in the extraordinary power of that erection while we girls’ vaginas were inflamed and our clits just as erect. It was all intended as a spectacle and a half to the men who were paying a small fortune for the privilege of witnessing it.

  Jake declared Kesho the winner and then there was an hour to freshen up (we slaves were returned to our cages). After that, we were all to witness the punishments.

  It was really horrible. We all had to witness it, all of us slaves as well as Jake, his men and his guests. We slaves would have given a lot not to have been forced to watch but our horror as the lash curled around Chin’s and Park’s bodies was all part of the salacious and sadistic pleasure his guests got out of the event.

  We were lined up on one side of the gallows and had to assume his favourite position for us: feet spread wide to expose our genitals properly, hands clasped up behind our heads, and our muscles in full tension — actually we were required to keep them flexing all the time so as to show them off to best advantage. In this way, the guests, who could move anywhere during the punishment, could look at us if the sight of the lash falling on the inverted bodies of the two slaves hanging by their heels began to pall.

  The guards stood behind us, not that it was necessary for not a one of us was going to move, not with the threat of a punishment jolt from the implants hanging over us all the time.

  Obb was the whipmaster and for the occasion, had stripped right down to a spiked leather codpiece that must have clipped on to his enormous genitals for there were no straps on it — not around his hips or between his legs so that the rest of his really magnificent body was on full display to all. His buttocks particularly, really sent a thrill through me, even though I hated this man almost as much as I did Jake, for they were a pair of sharply rounded but narrow pieces of beautifully defined muscle and with his so fine, velvet-smooth skin, had me almost panting in lust for them.

  But the rest of his body, in that so near-naked state was just as exciting: the play of the great muscles in his thighs every time he moved—the way they corded this second and then rippled the next made me want to reach out and stroke them with one hand while the other played with the soft curves of his buttocks; or the washboard-like effect of his array of belly muscles also made me long to stroke them, too; or the smooth curves of his shoulders and the long biceps muscles in his arms. I know it sounds weird that I could hate and fear him so much and yet still yearn to touch and feel his body, but it really was so splendid — and this while at the same loving Peter without even a skerrick of diminution of that love. Yes it is weird, but I am reporting it as faithfully as I can.

  The spikes on his codpiece were really dreadful-looking things, made of slender stainless steel, sharpened to a pin-point and poking out a good inch from the leather. The thing set off his really splendid body to a tee.

  So did the long whip he held in his right hand, coiled up like a snake. Not that we were impressed, either with his body or his whip (apart from my weird lust for his body, that is). We feared this man only marginally less than Jake for he was even more sadistic than his boss and left alone would have had all of us tortured for his pleasure every day, I know. But I could see that Jake’s guests were apparently very much enamoured by his appearance.

  I glanced at Peter’s rider of this morning and was pleased to see his face was almost serious as he watched Obb stride to the front of the gallows. Yes, I was sure this man might be our salvation. He was just too much out of sync with the rest of the guests here. I looked across at Jake and was concerned to see him too looking at the man, his eyes narrowed a trifle. Was he suspicious, too? It seemed so. Oh God, I thought, please don’t let him be discovered — if in fact he was there to save us.

  Obb now made a show of his skill with the whip. It was one of those long tapering items commonly called a bullwhip, or sometimes, ‘old snake’. Have you ever been to a whip cracking show? They can be quite terrifying, especially if you think of yourself as being on the receiving end as the tail of the whip cracks with a loud report, like a gun going off.

  That is what Obb now demonstrated — and very skilfully. He even set up an archery target with a ring on it. In the centre of the ring he placed a flower — and then proceeded to snap the flower right off the target, showing that he could place it anywhere he liked.

  All this time, Chin and Park had been hanging there, upside down, as stark naked as were we all and watching, even more horrified than we were of course at the whipping demonstration.

  By now they must have been in severe straits. They had been hanging there, upside down for nearly twenty-four hours without food (although they had been watered). Their legs were pulled wide open and their hip joints and groins must have been in near agony. And yet they still faced twenty strokes from that dreadful whip!

  Obb now moved up to the
m, his so handsome face (that hid such a vicious sadistic streak) now grinning horribly as he thought ahead to the pleasures ahead. There was dead silence around the compound now. The proverbial pin would have thundered had it been dropped as we all waited with bated breath for the first stroke.

  Obb laid the whip out before him on the grass, then, almost in slow motion, drew it back towards him, his beautiful biceps muscle now curling up into the hard ball that girls so admire on a man — and then he lashed it forward, cracking it back at the last minute. As I say, it was almost in slow motion, the view of his body’s muscles spectacular; the path of the tip of the whip terrifying, and then the final crack thunderous as it caught the nipple on Chin’s left breast.

  The whip fell away and still there was dead silence — for a second or two — and then it came, a horrible gurgling, wailing scream of pure anguish.

  “Aaagheeeaaaghooowwwghaaagh!” it went, except that it kept on, and on, and on. Her hands flew up to grasp the now bleeding nipple, trying to assuage the terrible hurt Obb had created there while her body now squirmed and contorted as she attempted to come to grips with the pain.

  Obb stood there, his grin wider still now, as was Jake’s, the guards’ and those on the guests’ faces. We slaves stood there horror-struck, that this one stroke had caused her so much suffering. Obb had stood behind her and the whip’s tail had snaked forward, laying on to the side of her torso, then curled around it, the tip finally landing right on target before dropping away to land on the grass.

  Obb jerked it back towards him after a minute or so and now it was Park’s turn. Once again there was this slow-motion sequence, the loud report of the tail cracking and then Park, the so handsome Korean boy, doubled up as Chin had, the fine muscles of his body rippling wonderfully as he tried to cope with the attack of the whip to his right testicle. The fact that the scrotum had not been ripped open and the delicate organ therein torn out testified to Obb’s skill for he later demonstrated that he could quite easily have castrated the boy with a single stroke if he had so wished. As it was however, the pain of that stroke was excruciating and even the usual oriental inscrutability could not save the boy from a scream even more strident than Chin’s had been.