21st Century Gladiators Read online

  It was better than anything we had done before and as I clung to his body in the throes of yet another stupendous climax, I screamed out in my lust for him — and my love for him as well, of course.

  Even being returned to our normal duties didn’t faze me and the sheer wonder of that night lasted for days thereafter, even if we once more had to be very careful to keep our loins the few inches apart that would prevent our being shocked by the implants.

  It wasn’t enough that I didn’t return to thinking about Ukanda, the West African policeman, though. We had thought that there would have been something happening within days of his leaving the island but then, when nothing happened, we wondered, or I did, for I didn’t dare discuss with Peter, even in muted tones, if it had all been a hoax. I didn’t think so for he had seemed so genuine but you never know with people and perhaps he was just getting his kicks by pretending to be a policeman and enjoying the hope in our eyes, knowing that when nothing happened, we would again be reduced to despair.

  Well, if that was the case, he had certainly achieved his aim for as the days passed after our night of loving and no army appeared, I sank lower and lower. Not too low of course for Jake and his men, and particularly the so hated Obb, were ever vigilant and if we didn’t train up to scratch and then put on a performance for the guests that was first class, we might be summarily punished — and not just with a shock to the implant, either.

  If the offence occurred during training, the punishment was usually carried out summarily or at least as soon as Jake had been informed and had decided on the penalty. If however it was during one of the guest visits, then it was done with more ceremony and announced at dinner that night that it would take place the following morning. On these occasions the pony rides were usually abandoned by the guests as a ritual punishment was even more salacious for them that lashing our naked backs into faster and faster gallops along the bridle paths.

  Jake was nothing if he wasn’t ingenious in designing way-out punishments for us, especially when they were in front of his paying guests. He always had Obb flog the losers of the fights. That became a ritual that the guests seemed to enjoy very much but the other punishments were another thing again.

  One such punishment he called the ‘Danse Macabre’. It wasn’t really a dance of death but it was certainly horrible. I know for he scheduled me for it one time. Not because I had done anything wrong (at least in my opinion) but because one of our ‘clients’ told him I had been less than enthusiastic in copulating with his fat body.

  He created it lovingly — the apparatus, I mean. It comprised a six foot diameter circular cage with a steel floor. This floor became the negative electrode while the positive side of the circuit came from an electrode on the end of long wands held by the guests who stood around the outside of the cage and thrust them in at me. These wands were plugged into a series of outlets around the base of the outside of the cage and there were enough for a dozen of them at one time.

  During this ‘punishment’ my implant was turned off completely so the punishment would not interfere with its circuitry but that was small consolation as the leering faces on the guests’ faces told how much they were enjoying torturing me in this way.

  The current was set at a voltage that would hurt me considerably without actually killing me and I can testify to this. As one of the prongs touched, say my belly, I felt the surge of current between it and the soles of my feet. I tried jumping off the floor but they just laughed at my antics and timed their thrusts to match my contacts with the floor but of course my jumping around showed off my body even better than if I just reacted to the horrible shocks. And this jumping around was the reason for the name Jake had given the torture: the danse macabre.

  Jake gave each group fifteen minutes and then they could come back for more after the next group if they wished. They did. They kept coming back until after two hours of agony for me, and delight for them, he finally called a halt and I was permitted to go back to my cage, the implant being turned on again to guide me back there.

  I don’t know if you can imagine how bad such a torture is? If you have ever received a mains voltage electric shock, you may have some idea how horrible it was. You will know from such a shock that it grabs you as if you are held in the tightest metal vice. It burns your skin at the point of contact. It makes your muscles constrict far harder than you are able by dint of your own will and quickly exhausts you as well as making those muscles ache horribly. It makes you shake uncontrollably, your face in a grimace or perhaps a stricture of agony… And all of these things happen at the same time.

  You are speechless. You cannot scream. You just stand there and shake while your eyes feel as if they are about to pop out, your tongue protrudes from your mouth and sweat forms all over your body.

  Jake built some safeguards into the wands, though. Each electrode on the end of them was also a timer switch that was activated by the touch to my flesh. Once started it could only go on for three seconds but that was quite enough to hurt and after that particular wand switched off, I still had to face the other eleven. There was also a delay of three minutes after the three second attack before a wand would reactivate and so it became a game of memory for me.

  Who had recently electrocuted me? I tried to keep it all in my mind so I could get near him, knowing his wand was dead for the next three minutes. As a result though, I danced around the small cage, wary of each wand as it reached out to me and tried to remember if its owner had recently burned me with it.

  I suppose it was indeed a danse macabre in the sense that I was playing with fire in the form of an electric current. I don’t know how high the voltage was. It felt like mains power but was probably less but nevertheless I thought it could kill if I got enough of it so in that sense, perhaps the term was apt.

  All I know is that I hated it. The pain as each of those long wands touched my flesh at various points was bad. Very bad. But worse was the leering faces of the men who stood around the cage holding the wands—and those behind them who were waiting for their own turn with the wands. It was also horrible that Peter and some other slaves were also there to see my distress.

  Worst though were the guests and the expressions on their faces. They were all sadistic bastards all right and while most of my mind was concentrating on trying (rather unsuccessfully) to avoid the tips of the active wands, another part made me cringe as I read the enjoyment each and every one of them was deriving both from the display of my so naked body as I danced around trying to avoid the wands as they reached out towards me, and my pain as one of them actually touched my flesh.

  As I say, it went on for over two hours and I think it would have been even longer except that lunch was looming and if those sadists didn’t want to miss out on their midday meal, they would have to end it now.

  Another macabre punishment Jake invented involved enemas. Fortunately for me, I didn’t have to suffer this dreadful punishment but Peter did and I was forced to watch, just as he had had to stand and watch me electrocuted.

  Jake had the equipment constructed as lovingly as he had built my cage, and all the other ghastly tortures he designed for our so-called punishments. This one was much simpler than the electric cage being nothing more than a two foot high vertical water pipe on the top of which was screwed a chromed metal dildo, lovingly fashioned in the shape of a penis — a very large one, complete with a set of chromed balls at the base where it was screwed on to the pipe. At the base of the pipe was a valve operated by a foot pedal.

  Yes, I am sure you can imagine how it worked.

  Peter had to move onto the small concrete square out of the centre of which stood the pipe. He then had to step up onto the small box they placed on the left side of the pipe and cock his right leg over the gleaming dildo and allow it to penetrate his rectum. “And now step down off the box, slave,” Jake ordered.

  Peter did so only because
if he hadn’t, they would have shocked him but I gasped as I watched most of the twelve inches of the shiny dildo sliding up between his so boyish buttocks.

  “Hands up behind head, boy,” Jake now ordered and then stepped up to the pedal., raising his foot to press down on it. I could see he was now looking down at the valve and I now noticed a meter beside it, presumably measuring the amount of water they injected into his bowels.

  I have never had an enema myself but after we got home, I read up on it and discovered that there is a fetish among some S&M players who delight in what they call ‘penal’ enemas, that is huge ones that bloat and stretch the bowels and cause incredible distress to the victim (or in their case, the ‘bottom’).

  That is what they now gave my husband — and all because one of the men who ‘bought’ us complained he hadn’t thrust hard enough into his backside! Jake gave the watching guests a running commentary on how the volume of water he was dispensing into Peter’s bottom was growing. “It’s now a pint, gentlemen; a mere fraction of what he is going to suffer as a penance for failing to please Mr Akura, here.”

  I shuddered. I thought of the volume of a pint and then related it to a normal evacuation of my wastes and shuddered again. Surely a pint was about the same? Well it might have been but it was indeed only a small part of what poor Peter had to suffer that day. Jake stepped on the pedal again and I edged closer so I could see the figures on the gauge.

  Oh God, it was now just on two pints. But still that wasn’t it.

  I looked at Peter’s abdomen and could now see a visible swelling. When Jake added another pint and then another one again — four pints in all, he looked as if he was pregnant and now he was moaning, too, and clearly having difficulty keeping his hands up where they belonged. He dropped them down to clutch at his now terribly swollen belly — and received a punishment shock from his implant to the root of his cock — at which he doubled over in agony — and quickly restored his hands where they were supposed to be.

  Still he moaned however and my heart went out to him as I stared at his stomach. Could he take more? Apparently Jake thought so for once more he pressed down on the pedal and gave Peter another pint. His belly was now really swollen and he looked as if he was about to give birth to twins. But still Jake went on.

  Peter was screaming now, his skin was sweaty and his face pale. His whole body was constricting and shaking in his distress but then Jake called a halt and nodded to the guard to replace the box so Peter could climb up onto it and remove his body from the horrible dildo.

  “But you are to retain the enema, slave. We require that you now trot around the compound. If you are successful in holding the dose inside your filthy body, I may allow you to expel it into this bucket; if not, I will add another pint.”

  Peter stared at him wild-eyed. So did I. Could he be serious? He was and Peter now had to trot around the perimeter of the grassed area, still keeping his hands up behind his head while trying to keep the terrible liquid inside him. He managed it, God knows how and was then allowed to squat over the bucket and let it all out. It stank, of course, and was a brown colour and he screamed as his anus squirted it out in little fits and starts.

  But then he had to repeat the whole process, the ceremonial injection of water, the exercise run and then the evacuation, over and over again. Five times, until the water he was expelling was crystal clear — and then he had to drink it — or at least some of it.

  Our days resumed their old pattern. Especially our training in our own particular discipline as well as some in others, then the three days of the next scheduled guest visit. Jake had originally planned to arrange these every week but for various reasons it didn’t work out that way. I think the main one was that he couldn’t get twenty guests organised on such a regular basis and so it turned out on a rather more ad hoc basis.

  This was better for us for we came to dread the visits more than the normal training, bad and all as those days were, not the least because we were then available for sexual and pony use by the guests. That mightn’t have been so bad if they were not, more often than not, fat and old, and bedding therm such a really hateful chore. But it wasn’t just their physical bodies we hated. It was their sadism and the way they thought of us: as nothing more than human animals provided for their use and pleasure.

  Having endured all those months on that island as a slave, I know now what the black slaves of the sixteenth to nineteenth centuries must have felt as they were peremptorily ordered to ‘shuck down’ and show off their bodies stark naked so a white master could ‘finger’ them, sliding his hands all over their naked flesh and into their bodily orifices—their mouths, their anuses and their vaginas — and with the boys, fondle their penises to full erection and ejaculation — all for their own prurient pleasure… for I now realised their ‘inspections’ went far further than were necessary to assess their physical capability for work.

  To that time, although I suppose I thought ancient slavery was a bad thing, I don’t think I really appreciated just how evil it really was. Now, after being ogled through the bars of our cage, inspected in like manner myself, forced to fight stark naked in some bizarre manner, used as a whore and then as a human pony, I knew at first hand just how bad it must have been for those slaves of old.

  Even worse of course were the so-called punishments which were administered on the fiction of some supposed crime we had committed.

  There were around two dozen of us slaves most of the time although the numbers went up and down as a pair were shipped off, as Greta and Hans had been; or if Jake was offered a figure he couldn’t refuse for a particular pair. But then, new ones were coming in to replace them at odd times too and so it was a more or less transient population.

  I know I still harboured a sneaking hope that Ukanda wasn’t a fake and that at some time in the future we might be rescued and so I really dreaded the thought that one of the guests might make a bid for Peter and me.

  In the meantime we had to fight. It was usually every third guest visit or thereabouts and so far it had always been in my own discipline — kick boxing. Peter too had been lucky in this regard for when we were scheduled to fight in a different sport to that we had been trained in, it was generally so our opponent would win and we were then scheduled for Obb’s whip. As I say, we had been lucky here and I think this might have been because we were always careful to give Jake and his hateful guests as good a time of it sexually as we could. Those occasions when he had us punished for a complaint by our purchaser were rare but I am sure that even then, he knew the complaint was unfounded. Not that he would let us off the punishment for the whole ethos of the island was pain, humiliation and degradation—ours.

  But then, probably because a particular guest asked for it, I was scheduled to wrestle another girl. You may remember Kesho, the Nigerian girl wrestler who won the uneven bout against her male opponent? Well, she was a magnificent wrestler and now I was pitted against her. My heart sank as I looked her over. She was bigger and stronger than me for in kick boxing, a slender physique, lithe agility and ballet-dancer type grace is required. Further, I wasn’t trained in wrestling and hardly knew the various holds. Oh yes, this was a set-up all right and I knew then that I would soon be dangling upside down from the gallows, awaiting the kiss of Obb’s whip.

  And so it proved. I really didn’t have a hope although I tried valiantly to beat her. Not a chance! The moment we grappled, our white and black naked bodies struggling together in what must have been a most sexy display, she had me down on my back, her superior strength and knowledge of the falls, the moves and the best ways to achieve an imbalance in your opponent, easily dropping me so that she sat astride me, grinning down at me, not in triumph so much as satisfaction for although we weren’t allowed to talk, this girl and I had become friends…

  And the next two falls were the same. I didn’t even win one, Kesho easily able to drop me and pi
n my shoulders to the mat.

  It was with a heavy heart that they escorted me out to the gallows that night and had to suffer the indignity of lying face down on the grass, having my two ankles affixed to the ropes and then hauled aloft so that I now dangled upside down, my legs pulled wide open — and there to stay all night and all the next day, waiting for the late afternoon when I would be ritually flogged by the so expert Obb.

  It was a terrible wait. Yes, it was uncomfortable — even painful — to hang there all night and most of the next day but it was more the shame; the humiliation and the degradation of being strung up like a side of beef, waiting for the flogging that was going to be about the worst pain I could imagine.

  They kept Peter in our cage during this time. It wasn’t far away and he stood there at the bars, staring out at me as I hung there, waiting for the time to pass so that at last it would be over. Alas, we all know how time passes when you want it to? It takes forever, doesn’t it?

  The moment came, of course. I was pretty desperate by then. I had been hanging upside down for not quite twenty-four hours and I was distinctly light-headed but as the guests began to assemble around me, I knew the time had come at last. Of course during the day, they had come over to stand around me or even move in to finger my flesh as the whim took them. Some of them wondered to each other how I would respond to the whip and where Obb might lay it on my body. It was horrible. As much to hear them discuss me as if I wasn’t there, or even worse was insensible to their words—a thing, nothing more…

  As I hung there and they gathered, Obb appeared, wearing nothing but his spiked codpiece and the supple whip coiled in his hand. Jake made his usual announcement and then stepped back, nodding to Obb to begin.