Rebuilding a Gladiator

Luke and Jamie's contractor said that Darren would start work after Doc's weekend. But first that weekend. I hoped Jon might drive us out. But on the Wednesday, a Mr Hardwicke called to say that he would pick us up Friday night. I gave him directions to our quarters. He told us to be showered, body and pubic hair trimmed, pits and cracks shaved, wearing boots and slave shorts (shorts just until the cabin). Shorts that fit Luke were tight on Jamie and Darren, gross on me -- my cheeks and balls showed nicely and dick just about stuck out. But not shaved until he could decide our individual looks. He had me spend time in the sun with a ring of sunscreen where a collar would go.

Mr Hardwicke was taller than average, solidly built, and way fitter than the free-man average -- a working man, tanned from outdoor work in sun and weather -- wavy dark hair, sharp blue eyes. He owned property and construction companies and the slave crews to run them. He commanded instant obedience, like a Marine colonel. For the weekend, he owned me and my guys.

He picked out Jamie, Darren, and me by our name tattoos (backs and dicks) and Luke because he had none. He reminded me that I'd be working with my slaves and had to look like them. There was a prize for the guest who picked me as the free man (me?). He put a temporary tattoo on my shoulder that looked like the slave 'S' brand; he said he had spares if that one came off too soon. He had Luke put a collar on me just like theirs (said it would be temporary -- what could I do?).

He had me get my cane and tawse. To set the scene and my attitude, he asked the guys who wanted to cane me. After Darren's training, they all did. He let them do four each, told them to make each one real -- or my guy and I would both get double make-up swings.

I bit leather to stay down and quiet, avoiding more. I kept reminding myself that this was the cost of getting Darren back. After just a couple aspirins and a few minutes under a cold, wet cloth, it was going to be a tough ride. But I'd look like a hard-ass slave, which was kewl if you gotta look like a slave.

The ride was kewl too! Mr Hardwicke drove a classic arrest-me-red Ford F250 diesel truck with a crew cab (real, padded front and back seats, so we could all ride inside) and short bed. Even three-point seat belts to get us there safe (gladiator vans never had that). Darren rode shotgun; I sat between the other two in back, in my place. Never mind the bullwhip hanging from the gun rack. We rode to Mr Hardwicke's compound to load the toolchest, chainsaw, lawn and garden equipment and supplies, and truck-bed full of gravel.

We got to the cabin after dark. Shorts stayed in a locked compartment in the truck cab for the weekend, gravel did for now, bullwhip didn't. We unloaded it, the toolchest, chainsaw, and lawn and garden equipment and supplies. Mr Hardwicke showed us where to stow the gear -- bullwhip over the fireplacein the cabin, everything else in the shed. Boots off in the house.

While the other guys were busy in the shed, he grabbed me by my collar and pulled me to the front of him. I felt his muscles on my unmarked back and his tackle between my welted cheeks. He looked as menacing as he felt, but very quietly, so the other guys couldn't hear, he assured me that no one would get hurt. Doc wanted to entertain his guests while showing his reconstructive skill, not damage the merchandise. Mr Hardwicke learned from our contractor that I kept the whip off my guys so their skin wouldn't get broken. He explained that his six-foot bullwhip cracked like hell and stung like hell but would break no skin, and the welts would clear faster than cane marks. 'We'll work y'all hard and play y'all hard, and y'all will go home DAMNED sore, but no one will hurt any of you.'

For looks, Jamie and Luke would shave every morning and evening, for that clean-cut look. Darren and I shaved that night but not for the rest of the weekend, for the thug look.

He showed us our quarters -- an alcove with two mattresses and some bedding behind the fireplace. After a beer each, a light six-stroke bullwhip demo on me (each pec and tit, each lat, each cheek -- the impact and sting surprised more than hurt), and a pep talk, he went to his room and left us to a not-bad night. I felt whatever I lay on, but Luke serviced me nicely, and we heard Darren and Jamie connecting.

In the morning, we four slaves swam to clean up. Jamie and Luke shaved and stayed indoors to set up for the guests. They were the hotel maids. Darren and I set to work with the gravel for the parking area and paths.

A dozen or so guests arrived. We met them to take their gear. We called each man 'Sir,' or Mr or Dr so-and-so if he told us. Doc introduced us -- gladiators Darren, Jamie, and Steve, apprentice gladiator Luke. We were all violent serial offenders, -- natural gladiator -- so Mr Hardwicke had volunteered to control us and our attitudes. The three younger guys were juvenile delinquents; I was an ex-Marine who'd been convicted as a repeat offender for assault with violence -- against a woman and against a gay man. Doc was very proud of his work with Darren (never mind my rehab). Our stable was too small to afford a first-class orthopod like Doc, so we were the payment. Darren and I looked like grubby, sweaty convict thugs. Weirdly, I felt proud.

Doc added that one of us was free, and the guest who guessed which one with the best explanation would get the free man for the night. A tie would share him.

I'm a decent cook, especially stuff like bacon, sausages, and eggs. We stood while serving, keeping balls and dicks away from the plates.

I do enjoy showing me and my guys off, but the men admired my dozen mismatched welts and speculated just how hardass I was and how hard to manage. Lots of butt-slapping and welt-tracing. One guy pinched a welt to confirm how little protective subcutaneous fat I carried (training with Darren paid off). To prove I was housebroken, I had kneel to give Doc and Mr Hardwicke a blowjob each and got tawsed by the other while doing it, driving me forward and the dick in. Someone added the cane, just wrist-strokes like a snare drum, keeping my own dick under control. I hate giving blowjobs, but Doc did fixed Darren and this was the price.

Luke stayed at the house to help the guests. Jamie joined us working the grounds. Some limbs had blown down, so there was brush for him to trim back while Darren and I went back to improving trails, building one, and hauling that truckload of gravel. We rolled the paths. We cut and hauled wood and brush and split and chopped it for the fireplace. We finished the gravel. I was grateful that I'd trained so hard with Darren. We enjoyed the work (and showing our buff bods).

Mr Hardwicke and his whip kept us moving smartly, like a chain-gang movie. The guests looked on. A couple tried out as overseers, practising first on trees so we could enjoy the sound. They worked too hard to impress us, which hurt. Then we broke for lunch -- quick swim, dry, cook, serve, clean up.

Darren and I, the thugs, continued the grounds work after lunch, then the dock. Jamie joined Luke to do the gardening. They got six each for showing how clearly they preferred our man's work with the chainsaw, sledge hammer, and wheelbarrow. They did get to share a pickax. Dinner meant another quick swim, cook, serve, clean up -- all kewl!

Until the show and orgy. The men helped us clear a ring in the centre of the main room, in front of the fireplace, and sat around it. We gave a great show, as good as any private one at Phillips (but nobody got hurt here). We demoed some gladiator moves, then fought (loved it, though we had to restrain the force, mostly wrestling). The winners dominated, tawsed, caned, and fucked the losers, who also serviced the winners' bodies nicely. Kewl -- I took Darren and Jamie, Darren took Luke, Jamie took Darren, Luke didn't fight me or Jamie. We posed and flexed a LOT.

Then the finale I was going to hate. In finishing order -- Jamie, then Darren, then Luke -- each tawsed, caned, and fucked me while the next guy face-fucked me and the third abused everything else, mostly balls tits legs lats. Someone tickled me too.

Most men picked Darren as the free man with the attitude who put up some of his guys (or his dad's) to pay for fixing him up. A couple picked Luke or Jamie, who were younger and looked less thuggish. A couple men made lucky guesses about me -- older -- but the winner was another contractor who knew how his crews interacted and watched our behaviour with each other. Even with my guys ragging me and me on my best slave behaviour (mostly to avoid Mr Hardwicke's discipline), he identified the guys' respect.

Mr Kraus was built even better than Mr Hardwicke, almost as well as me, above my height, and black despite the German name. He stood me up in front of him (and everyone else). He made me look into his eyes while he tested my chest, shoulders, pecs, arms, neck, butt, thighs, dick, and balls. He said, you'll be a good nigger for me tonight. I barked my best parade-ground 'Yes, Sir.' He didn't have to hold my balls: he held me in his eyes. Mr Kraus donated a grand for me to the children's orthopaedic clinic. Doc auctioned off the other guys for clinic contributions, but I didn't see them again that night.

Mr Kraus took me and the bullwhip (around my neck) out to the truck, barely lit by the porchlight. I hardly noticed the gravel under my bare feet. I spreadeagled on the tailgate, first front, then back, feeling the cold, hard metal on my beefcake. He showed me how a mean nigga flogs a free white man. I showed him how a proud, tough, free, white gladiator takes a strong, expert nigga's flogging. My first ever (except for last night's easy demo, and once when I ran away from a POW camp)! After each side, he ran his hands ALL over me, especially the muscles, welts, tits, balls, butt, balls, and standup dick. He said, you know what you want, boy, what you need. I swear I barked 'Yes, Master, you Master.' He kissed me hard, hard like both our dicks.

Barefoot, stripped off, he raced me into the lake. We wrestled and raced. We came out with his hand in my collar and dick in my crack, marched back to the truck, dropped the tailgate, and climbed aboard onto a rough blanket. The blanket and I guess the scene fired all my nerve endings. I'd never licked balls, pits, and ass before, but I did for Mr Kraus. I serviced him well. His body on mine felt like Mike's. I kissed him while he tawsed my butt and fucked me, nigga dick and all. Then we rolled over and changed roles. He ordered me to warm up his chest and butt with the tawse, then kiss and drill.

The lights and applause shouldn't have surprised me, but I was into my master and his scene. And I learned that real chest and back flogging fires enough endorphins and adrenaline to keep a guy high for days, way more than just butt work.

Sunday morning, my guys and I swam to clean up, the cleancut brothers shaved, and we started the workday. I cooked breakfast and we all served it. This time the men still didn't know my deal with Doc, but they knew more about my free-man hardass attitude, so I got more attention by hand and with the tawse, snare-drum cane, real cane strokes, and whip. I stayed high.

Even working like a field-slave, I showed out way more than I ever did in the arena or a private party. The day ended with a late brunch and early orgy. The men had bid for us to do fairly normal suck-fuck stuff. Mr Kraus bought Luke, not me, but I sure thought about him while my buyer and I showed each other's dicks and other parts a good time.

Mr Kraus said he'd have a proposition for me.

After we loaded the guests out, Doc explained that the gladiator 'stable' was me and my guys, workin' contract construction labour, and that I not only rescued and rehabbed Darren but literally put my ass on the line for him. He handed around business cards he's printed for me and the stable -- Steve's Studs. Others told me to expect propositions.

We swam once more, loaded the gear into Mr Hardwicke's rig, and said goodbye to the cabin, lake, and Doc and his guests. Slave shorts felt funny, as did sitting on the car seat with my welted back belted to the seatback, even the seatbelt over the chest welts. We rode in the same places again, me in the loser's spot in back centre.

I expected that the guys would be grateful that I'd done this for Darren, but their attitudes changed to what felt like real affection.

We unloaded everything back at Mr Hardwicke's compound. No gravel. Before he gave Luke the tool to remove my collar, I had to hear his proposition. It was good. I said I'd consider it but was also expecting some others.

Back home, we flexed and posed for each other, wrestled a little -- still high on adrenaline and endorphins -- and they all felt me and my welts. It was a great night, and I hope their Mondays went okay at work. Darren's first day on the job and all.

I thought I'd be ashamed, but taking my shirt off in the gym that week actually turned me on. So did the way it felt when I moved in it. I wished for an audience, a training partner or trainer, especially Darren, who was off with the contractor. I missed the feel of the collar. I missed being a hardass thug.

So I was open to the propositions that started coming in.

First up was the one Mr Hardwicke put before he handed Luke the tool to remove my collar.

Thanks, Pete!