Pankration - match 6: The barbarian vs. the seven plebes (written by Harry)

This is a new part of Harry's epic series Pankration that is set in Ancient Greece. I hope you enjoy this story as much as I did!

Previous parts:
Pankration
Match 1: Tallus vs. Amun 
Match 2: Nico vs. Pollux
Match 3: Lysander vs. Ali
Match 4: Theaetetus vs. Amun
Match 5: Karma

Warning: Can contain traces of cum.

At his desk in the shady corner of the common space, a studious young man with curly brown hair concentrated, struggling to memorize a long list of names.

Over his shoulder, a younger teen craned his neck to get look at the list. He fidgeted, trying to smooth a colic in his short-cropped black hair, until he was shushed by the older boy.

Nearby two more teens gazed intently over a chess board. They lay on the floor with their chins propped on their elbows. The slight, shaggy-haired one moved his pieces quickly, swooping over the board like a bird. His opponent approached the match more cautiously; he bit his lip and evaluated all possible outcomes, while the piece hovered above the board in his brawny grip.

Observing the chess match from a distance another young man was seated in erect meditation. His breath was as light and even as the morning sun, but he was secretly watching. His dark eyes warned the hesitant player of danger should he commit his piece to the wrong square.

It was quiet in the Princes’ Palace. Too quiet.

Until recently the Princes’ Palace had hosted an invitation-only combat competition called Pankration. Daily matches that were often physically brutal or sexually humiliating (or both) had provided an engaging spectacle for the Lost Princes. The Princes were a rag-tag group of young men from all over the Mediterranean world, and whether by fate or by folly (or by prison sentence) they were all now wards of the great palace. With not much else to do, they lived for competition, and their combats and rivalries forged bonds between them that overcame their differences in status, background, and even common language.

But then—abruptly—the Pankration was ended when the leader of the the Lost Princes, Nicomachus, halted the selection process. More specifically, Nico had smashed all the competitors’ tokens to ensure his rematch against the twin warriors Castor and Pollux. After the fallout from the rematch, the twins were AWOL, and the Princes’ Palace was as quiet as a library. Too quiet.

“Heeeyyy, Theooooo…”

Lysander’s whisper shattered the silence. The Spartan teen simply wasn’t well suited for library-level quiet.

“Don’t you think it’s a little too quiet around here?” Lysander whined. “I miss the Pankration.”

Theo’s curly brown head collapsed into his hands. All morning he’d been trying to think about how to re-construct the Pankration, and all morning the Spartan jock-boy had been bugging him. Ever since Nico’s authoritative victory in the last Pankration match, Lysander had been an ever-present fan boy. Nico liked the kid (and the attention), but Lysander got on Theo’s nerves.

“Hey, Lysander, come check this out,” Theo said, waving his antagonist forward. Lysander skipped up to the desk. Looking down he saw only Theo’s left hand closed into a fist. His knuckles were white.

“Bet you can’t guess what’s inside my fist,” Theo taunted. Lysander leaned forward eagerly, pleased that the older prince was acknowledging him and confident that his well-trained muscles could break the brunette’s grip.

As he began to peel Theo’s fingers back, Lysander had the uncomfortable experience of feeling a palm rise up between his spread legs and cup his testicles. His eyes went wide as saucers but he did not have time to react before Theo closed his right fist, crushing the young fighter’s spuds in his grip.

“That wasn’t the fist that I meant,” Theo smiled sweetly as he pulled his left hand away from Lysander. Theo had a solid hold on his annoying friend’s ball sac, and he could feel the contours of his spongy, warm orbs and also some of the tube of his soft dick. Lysander bit his lower lip.

“Well,” Theo continued slowly, “Can you guess what’s inside my fist?”

“My…my nuts,” Lysander answered in a raspy voice. His wide gray eyes pleaded with Theo to be merciful to his junk. “My nuuuuts are in your fii-iiiist.”

“You win the game!” Theo said with enthusiasm. “You’ve won a special errand! Can you go find Nico for me?”

“Yes, yes, yes.” Lysander did not feel particularly winning with his gonads trapped in another guy’s hand. He quickly nodded his agreement and was rewarded by having his nuts released. He hobbled quickly around the desk and away before Theo could change his mind. He continued cupping his junk until he had disappeared around the colonnade.

**************************

“Shh!”

Nico’s freckled face was animated, but he was insisting on total silence.

“I hate it when you shush me. And, seriously, why are we hiding behind the stables?” Theo looked over either shoulder with the creeping feeling that he was on another of Nico’s wild goose chases.

“SHHH!” Nico hissed, pointing to a yard just beyond the last barn. There were a dozen or so figures standing in a circle. Theo recognized the Theban palace uniform and assumed they were servants taking a break. Before he could ask why they were spying on Nico’s servants, the prince beckoned him forward.

“You’re gonna love this. See, I stole a horse a couple days ago, and when I brought it back, I saw them fighting,” Nico whispered.

“You stole a horse?” Theo repeated incredulously. “Like someone told the prince of the palace that he couldn’t ride one and…” Just then Theo caught up to the last part. “…Hey, what do you mean ‘fighting’?”

“These guys—some servants and some other guys from the city. They have their own secret Pankration!”

Theo squinted more closely at the ring of young men in the distance. They appeared to be about the same age as the Lost Princes.

“You mean they follow the same rules that we do?” Theo asked, curious. He had never fully disclosed that he had made up most of the rules of Pankration from his imagination. The coincidence would be too unlikely.

“Yep, all the same. I know for sure that some of these guys watch our matches while they pretend to be working. But they won’t have to sneak around anymore. I can’t wait to invite them to join us!” Nico had long since stopped heeding his own advice to keep quiet.

“Hmm,” Theo mused sullenly. “Or maybe you can join them? Since you destroyed our Pankration when you smashed the tokens against the wall.”

Nico looked sidelong at his friend. The brunette was peevish sometimes, especially after Nico broke something. Which happened a lot.

“Aww, Theo! You’re putting it back together though, right? I bet you’re working on it already,” he guessed. Nico’s hazel eyes shone and his dimples cajoled Theo, who was soon nodding along despite himself.

“Ugh. Fine. I can add them in with the rest of the Princes.” Theo paused. These guys were not Princes, they were just ordinary teens. Probably they didn’t even have training. The competition could get really ugly if a farm boy picked a fight with a warrior like Nico or one of  the twins. He thought quickly.

“But first we need to have a try-out.”

Nico was not understanding. “But they’re already fighting? What else do…”

“Nico, Nico, Nico,” his friend chided softly. “There’s a lot to the Pankration. Leave the planning to me. All they have to do is beat one of the Lost Princes, then they’re in.”

Nico’s face lit up and he leapt to his feet. “I’ll bring them to the Princes’ Palace tomorrow! Thanks Theo!” He sprinted toward the circle of would-be warriors to share the invitation.

********************

Back at the Princes’ Palace, Theo was relieved to discover that Lysander was still gone. Their little game earlier must have been sufficiently motivating for the Spartan fan-boy to keep his distance. Theo had an idea of how to test Nico’s new recruits, so now all he needed was a Lost Prince to represent the home team.

Only Tallus and Ali remained in the courtyard, still poring over the chessboard. Ali had taught them the game, and most of the Lost Princes were enamored with it. They quickly recognized the interplay of aggression with defensive strategy and boldness with finite resources. Chess became the combat they practiced after their muscles ached from too much of the real thing.

The Gaul warrior Tallus had taken a special liking to the game. The wild red-haired teen was technically a captive of the King of Thebes, but his tremendous energy, fearlessness, and good nature had quickly won him friends all over the palace. The Greeks regarded Gauls as barbarians for their recklessness and strange customs, but under their rough facade, the Gauls were civilized. Tallus was intelligent and had rapidly absorbed the Greek language during the three months he had been in Thebes. But he also enjoyed his “barbarian” reputation, so he happily played up wilder tendencies for the shock value that they offered the parochial Greek community. By virtue of his reputation, Tallus could chug stolen wine or walk nude around the palace with impunity; his lifestyle made the other Princes rather jealous, actually.

“Son of a bitch!” complained Ali. Theo found it amusing to hear the outburst in the Persian boy’s soft, musical voice. He sat down next to the chess board.

Ali’s hands were twisted in his shaggy black hair, and he was clearly aggravated by the game. Despite wincing and hesitating over each move, Tallus’s pieces were methodically closing in on Ali’s king. Sly bastard. Theo thought with a smile. Always playing dumb.  
 
“Tallus, I have a problem I was hoping you could help me with,” Theo began. Both chess players looked at the Athenian with curiosity.

“I’m trying to re-start the Pankration, but too many newbies want to join. It’s going to suck if they’re not strong enough. Would you test them out for me to see if they have what it takes?”

Tallus’s brown eyes lit up. “Yesyesyes!” he insisted in his clipped accent. “Test them means…FIGHT them, right? How many?”

“Seven plebes. But maybe that’s too much…” Theo trailed off, but Tallus was shaking his head emphatically that seven opponents was perfect. Theo grinned. He could have said there were three hundred plebes, and the red-haired stud would have still insisted it was not a problem.

Tallus flashed a broad, toothy grin at Theo and gave him a bone-rattling pat on the shoulder. He turned back to his friend Ali, and shrugged before overturning their chess board with a bellicose shout. He looked around the Princes Palace as if the plebes might come pouring in at any moment.

Ali glared at his wild friend darkly. “That was really unnecessary,” he muttered, retrieving the scattered pieces from the sandy floor.

********************

“So yea, it’s pretty simple. The plebes will each get a chance against Tallus. Another plebe can enter the match every five minutes, when I ring this bell. BONG. If any of them can get Tallus to submit, then that plebe is eligible to join the Pankration. Any questions?” Theo looked around at the Lost Princes who had gathered to take in the audition.

Lysander looked confused and started to raise his hand, but Theo silenced him with a look.

The Egyptian prince Amun sat a little farther off and appeared bored. His solemn, dark eyes flickered over to Theo then looked away shyly. Snob, Theo thought peevishly.

Ali was busy trying to cheer up Nico, who was staring out at the courtyard disconsolately. The prince’s hazel eyes were sorrowful, and even his olive laurel sat crookedly in his tangled blonde curls. When he’d heard that there would be a fight with SEVEN competitors at once—and that HE would not get to fight any of them—the disappointment was just too much to bear.

Theo rolled his eyes. Nico had sworn to never speak to him again, but the Athenian twink knew that would last for just about five minutes. Theo jogged over to call the plebes into the Princes’ Palace, ticking them off his list mentally. “Hmm. Seems like there’s one extra? Wait a minute…” At the back of the cluster Theo spotted a familiar tangle of blond curls poking out from behind a tall Nubian.

Theo ground his teeth. Of course Nico would try to join the fight by any means necessary! He jogged around the pack of excited, nervous plebes and grabbed the blonde by the shoulder, but when he turned around, Theo stepped back in surprise. This young man’s hazel eyes were startlingly familiar. And the dusting of freckles across his nose and cheekbones was very, very close. But something about his smile told Theo right away that this guy was very different from Nico.

“Hey,” the plebe said. “You’re in charge, right? Thanks for letting us try out.” He extended his hand. “I’m Alexander.” Even his rich baritone voice sounded like Nico. Theo blinked stupidly for a second before returning the blonde’s greeting, wishing him luck, and jogging to the center of the courtyard.

The rest of the plebes were chattering excitedly. Other than Alexander, each of them seemed nervous to some degree; they tried to cover their nerves with bravado. Since the Pankration had so few rules, it didn’t take long for Theo to give them the run down. Every five minutes, another challenger could enter the match. Any challenger who submitted—either verbally or by submitting his seed—was out. Any challenger who could get Tallus to submit was also out, and he won the right to compete in future combats. Even if Tallus submitted, he would have to continue fighting so that all challengers would get a shot.

As Theo was taking questions, he noticed Nico at the far end of the colonnade. He was in animated conversation with the blonde teen Alexander. Theo couldn’t read lips, but the exchange seemed heated. In fact Nico looked furious. Alexander tossed his head angrily and stormed out of the Princes’ Palace.

Theo didn’t have time to wonder about the odd exchange, because at that moment the champion of the Lost Princes made his entrance. Tallus charged into the middle of the courtyard at full tilt, bowling over a few plebes in the process. He whooped loudly at the assembled crowd, pumping his fists as his friends cheered and stamped their feet. The goofy, easy going Gaul warrior was well-liked, so his fans would be raucous.

Tallus had prepared for combat in traditional Gallic fashion: he was fully nude and had painted half of his body in blue war paint. The upper right side of his brawny torso was slathered in sky blue, as was his lower body on the left side, from the hip down. His brown eyes twinkled merrily behind the paint that was streaked across his face, and his white teeth flashed as he snarled at his opponents. Otherwise he was pale and pink from the Greek sun, and his impressive muscles were etched with veins that popped out from beneath his unblemished skin. His untamed red hair flowed down to his rippling shoulders and broad upper back.

“The plebes have every reason to be nervous,” Theo remarked, taking his seat as the applause simmered down and the seven challengers huddled up and Tallus continued his “barbarian” rampage. Nico returned quietly and took his seat nearby, and Lysander scooted over to sit next to the popular prince.

Theo rang the bell to indicate that the match had begun. They had five minutes before the next challenger could enter. The plebes remained huddled, peering dubiously at Tallus as if none of them was particularly eager to be first to square up against the muscular red head.  

Theo looked at his notes. “First up is Jason. Works in the palace stables?” He glanced at Nico for confirmation.

“Jason and Ajax both do. Fairly well built. Sort of lame guys, though,” Nico said. The Princes glanced around in surprise. It was about the most negative thing they’d ever heard the cheerful Theban say about somebody. Nico must have been in a foul mood.

But Nico’s judgment was confirmed when the huddle parted and Jason stomped forward into the middle of the courtyard. As the rest of the plebes formed a ring around the combatants, the stable boy began beating his chest and howling incoherently at Tallus. Now it was clear why the plebes had been huddled so closely: Jason had stripped and rubbed blue paint randomly over his body, making a crude impersonation of a Gaul warrior.

“Bro! You dudes look, like, exactly the same!” another plebe whooped from the sideline. Theo guessed that must be the other stable boy, Ajax.

Tallus stood very still. He cocked his head slightly, and his expression was impassive while Jason flexed his biceps to intimidate him. His buddy Ajax was still laughing like he’d never seen such a funny joke, but a few of the other plebes looked embarrassed by the disrespectful stunt. The atmosphere where the Lost Princes sat was frosty.

Nico broke the silence. “Lysander, can you tell me why that douche is not going to fit in with us Princes?” he asked.

The young Spartan concentrated hard, not wanting to disappoint his idol with his answer. His gray eyes narrowed on the ridiculous plebe, then lit up.

“I’ve got it! It’s because his…umm…his privates are really very small,” Lysander answered earnestly. Laughter burst from the Princes like a cork had been released, and Lysander’s pride swelled.

“True, true,” Nico agreed, pointing at the stable boy. “That little shrimp should have been thrown back,” he said, wiggling his pinky finger. “And those raisins look like they were stolen from a five year old. But, maybe there’s another reason too. Theo?”

The Athenian knew his friend’s mind very well. “Because he’s a racist fuck?” Theo asked rhetorically..

Nico nodded. “I can’t wait for this,” he growled, directing their attention back to the match.

After regarding his imitator warily for a moment, Tallus’ expression brightened, and he gave a joyful-sounding greeting. He dropped his fighting stance and walked toward Jason, nodding approvingly at his painted muscles. The stable boy flexed proudly and bumped knuckles when Tallus offered. The red haired Gaul scratched his chin and chewed on his lip as he examined the paint that Jason had applied. Without speaking—since he was supposed to be a barbarian, after all—Tallus mimed his offer to make a couple adjustments to the paint. Feeling secure and savvy, Jason shrugged agreement.

Tallus scooped a glob of paint from the crease of Jason’s elbow and brushed it across the challenger’s meaty pec. He traced it into a crude X. He followed by painting Jason’s cheek with a smaller mark, and then, ever so gently, rubbing a tiny X on the teen’s wrinkled, rubbery scrotum. Tallus bit his lip and kept his face tilted down to keep from laughing out loud at the stable boy’s inadequate equipment.

“Hey Theo…” Lysander’s totally unsubtle whisper could be heard half way around the courtyard. “What’s he doing?”

Theo just shrugged, but Ali’s quiet voice chimed in answer: “He’s marking his targets.” The Lost Princes’ eyes went wide with delight.  

Satisfied that the warpaint looked on point, Tallus beckoned Jason forward. As soon as the arrogant stable boy put up his fists, Tallus threw a left jab that connected with the X on Jason’s cheek, rocking his head back. Jason threw a sloppy cross, but the red head ducked under it easily and landed another jab in the same spot. Tallus put on a boxing clinic, landing every blow on the exact same spot on Jason’s cheek until the beefy teen was rocking incoherently on his heels.

BONG.

The bell rang, announcing the five minute mark and the entrance of the next competitor. A tall, black-skinned young man stepped forward and shook out his long arms, showing a ripple of well-defined muscles down his shoulders and back. His hair was twisted into thick stands, which were tied back at the crown of his head. His brow was smooth, and his dark brown eyes regard both Tallus and Jason with a stern expression. The new challenger was among the plebes who had not been amused by Jason’s insulting behavior, and he did not seem to be in any particular hurry to help him now.

“He’s Tahar-Qa,” Nico whispered. He was filling in the plebes’ bios for rest of the Princes. “But he goes by Q. Him and his cousin Mani have only been in town for a few weeks. Their families are merchants, and they travel between Greece and Nubia a few times every year. They don’t have many friends here, so they pretty much just work and train in wrestling. Tough guys.“  

After assessing the new challenger, Tallus grabbed Jason by the hair and launched a ringing chop across his pecs, marking off another X. He swatted the same spot twice more just for good measure until he was basically holding the listing stable boy up by his hair.

Tallus stepped back and lined up his final shot, squinting to make out the X on Jason’s meagre ball sack. He furrowed his brow in concentration.

“You’ll need to be very precise!” Nico yelled, triggering laughs from the audience, and even from a few of the plebes. Q still declined to intervene, but he paid a price for laughing when Jason’s buddy Ajax drove his foot up between the Nubian’s legs from behind.

“You’re supposed to help him, asshole,” Ajax yelled as Q toppled over. He hadn’t even had time to flinch as his nuts were hammered between the top of Ajax’s foot and his own pelvis; the bright blue tunic around his waist did little to protect him from the unexpected blow. Q went down in a heap.

Meanwhile Tallus’ ferocious concentration paid off, as he landed a sniper shot to Jason’s tiny targets. His quad lashed out and punted all the way through his targets, deforming Jason’s junk so completely under his foot that the stable boy looked like a eunuch. But unfortunately for Jason the kill shot confirmed that even the smallest set of nuts can cause excruciating pain. Jason dropped to his knees, thrashing wildly in the sand, looking for the remnants of his manhood. Between his sobs, he found breath to submit and to beg the Gaul warrior for mercy.

But Tallus had already moved on from the totally broken challenger to one that was just a little dented. Q was looking queasy, but the fire in his eyes suggested that he would be more formidable than Jason had been. Tallus grabbed a handful of Q's twisted hair to pull him back to his feet. Tallus grunted when the kneeling teen threw a pair of uppercuts into his midsection, but the rock hard plates of his abs deflected most of the impact. The Nubian gulped. He had never fought an opponent who boasted such spectacular muscles. He tried a different angle, but his fist bounced off Tallus’ rock-like obliques. Tallus flashed him a grin full of shiny white teeth and yanked his head up farther.

The muscular warrior wasn’t so lucky when Q aimed a little lower with his next strike. He connected with Tallus’ naked ball sac, splatting the Gaul’s fat testicles under his knuckles. Tallus’ grin froze on his face. He didn’t flinch or cup himself, but his heavy, naked sack swung back and forth in silent torment. Q couldn’t believe the stud didn’t go down.

There was a cheer from the other plebes, since this was the first blow their side had landed against the champion of the Lost Princes. Some of the Princes hooted approval too. Although they sympathized with their red haired friend’s busted spuds, they wanted the newbies to have some kind of chance.

Rather than take time to lick his wounds and comfort his nads, Tallus charged bravely forward, tackling Q onto his back and powering his knee up between the bewildered Nubian’s spread legs. Groans echoed between the watching plebes, whose chances of victory were diminishing along with Q’s chances of ever fathering children. Tallus stood over the challenger as he moaned in agony. He yanked on the hem of Q’s bright tunic, shredding the fabric and spilling the naked teen onto the hot sand. The challenger lay looking dazed and clutching his beaten balls. His smooth cock was respectably long but not in the same league as Tallus. Tallus pulled on his thick dong proudly to confirm his superiority.

“No surprise there,” Theo commented. “The Gauls hate to fight a clothed opponent. They feel it’s unmanly.”

“Is that why you always want to wrestle me naked too, Theo?” Nico asked, scratching his curly head. “Do they have the same custom in Athens?” Theo blushed furiously. He couldn’t tell if Nico was teasing him or genuinely curious. When Amun snickered from the row behind him, Theo glared daggers at the Egyptian prince. He rang the bell to halt that particular line of conversation.

BONG.

The next challenger had been waiting for his cue and had already lined up right behind Tallus. When the bell struck, Ajax jumped on the Gaul’s broad back, wrapping him in a choke hold. Unfortunately for the plebes, as Tallus stumbled forward under the unexpected weight, he landed once again between Q’s speed legs. The tough African teen was just starting to pull himself together when the combined weight of Tallus and Ajax crashed into his groin, taking him totally out of commission. His dark eyes rolled back as he drowned in a bottomless sea of pain.

Ajax made the most of his surprise attack, cutting off Tallus’ wind and lashing his ribs and kidneys with knee strikes whenever he had an opportunity. Tallus was panting and becoming flushed, but with massive strength he rose to his feet with the stable boy still clinging to his back. With reckless abandon, he toppled them both over backward, landing fully on Ajax’s chest and slamming him into the arena floor. The bone-jarring move was more than enough to break the hold, but Tallus rolled back to his feet and slammed Ajax back down twice more in succession.

Tallus stood up, brushing sand off his smooth, pale skin and shaking out his powerful neck. He was feeling the exertions by now and wiped some sweat from his brow, grinning broadly. He was never happier than when he was throwing himself into combat. Several of the other Princes felt the same, and they watched Tallus’ workout with envy. Lysander’s bare feet were tapping the floor and Nico’s fists were clenched as if he might not be able to resist joining the fray.

Nobody was expecting much from Ajax after the pathetic showing by his “bro,” Jason. Tallus pulled the gasping stable boy to his feet. His eyes were dazed and his wits seemed muddled after being dumped on his head moments earlier. Tallus gave the onlookers a challenging smirk as he yanked down Ajax’s toga; the wild Gaul never got tired of offending Greek sensibilities. But this time the crowd’s response was not what he expected.

Nico gave a low whistle. “Man! It’s either all or nothing with these guys.” Next to him Theo’s pretty red lips had fallen open in disbelief.

Tallus looked from the audience back to his opponent. Ajax was coming around and tried to cover his genitals, but it was hopeless. Swinging between the stable boy’s legs was the longest cock that any of the audience had ever seen. Tallus’ eyes traveled down the length of his opponent—down, down, down. The red haired warrior was nonplussed. He cleared his throat and gave surreptitious tug on his own member. Tallus was not accustomed to being so…outmatched.

Unhappy being the center of so much attention, Ajax took a few steps away to regroup, but Tallus didn’t let him get very far. He thrust his arm between Ajax’s legs from behind and gripped a portion of his mammoth dong. Ajax yelped and skipped backward on the tips of his toes as he was dragged along. Tallus tugged and strained like he was leading an obstinate mule, inspiring cat calls against the stable boy.

“Amun, that guy’s freak dick is almost as long as yours,” Theo remarked over his shoulder. He turned to where the shy teen was seated behind him. Amun looked anywhere except toward the saucy brunette. The Egyptian priest was somewhat prude, and the nudity and sexual aspects of Pankration made him uncomfortable. His jaw was clenched and he felt like his ears were on fire.

“My…is not as big as…” He trailed off into silence. There just wasn’t any response that didn’t make him sound ridiculous. He hung his shaved head in his hands.

Theo’s wide brown eyes twinkled as he watched Amun squirm. He lowered his voice: “I bet his doesn’t shoot as much as yours though,” he whispered so that only Amun could hear. Neither teen would soon forget the splashy ending to their match a few days earlier, although the proud Egyptian wished that he could. For the briefest moment his dark eyes flashed to Theo’s, then he jerked his head away.

“Hey Theo…” Lysander’s raspy voice interrupted them. The young Spartan was seated with crossed legs. His chin was resting in his hands, and his gray eyes regarded Theo and Amun curiously. “Are you guys…you know…flirting? Because I had sorta thought that you…”

Theo whirled around on his ever-present antagonist, nearly falling over with outrage. He held a white-knuckled fist inches from the boy’s face. “Lysander, do you want to guess what’s inside my fist?” he sputtered, menacingly. Lysander shook his head and cupped his gonads protectively. With hands firmly between his legs, he scampered away to find a seat out of Theo’s reach.

Meanwhile, Tallus had dragged Ajax back to the middle of the courtyard. He had pulled stable boy’s oversized sausage back through his legs such that it had nearly settled between the soft, pale cheeks of his ass. Each time Tallus tugged, Ajax essentially wedgied himself with his own cock, compressing his nuts in turn.  Right, left, back. Right, left, back. All the squeezing and yanking was making him sick. He’d never thought of his abundant equipment as a liability before, but now Ajax was drooling on himself and wishing he’d been born with a tiny nub like his buddy Jason.

But whether by tenacity or stupidity, Ajax had not submitted yet. In fact neither had Q, who was still rolling on his back in a vortex of private pain.

BONG.

With a new opponent on the way, Tallus had to adjust his strategy. He dropped Ajax to the ground. The swooning stable boy cupped himself and tried to hide his much-abused pole. Next Tallus grabbed Q by the wrists and pulled him across Ajax, so that the Nubian and the stable boy were basically in a 69 position. If he was going to fight yet another challenger, Tallus at least wanted to let these two keep each other busy. But when he saw his next opponent, he raised a merry war cry.

“Okay,” Theo said, elbowing Nico sharply. “This is why I said we have to have a tryout!”

“Hey!” Nico sounded offended. “Lippo could be a great fighter! You haven’t even seen him in action yet.” Nico’s voice was brashly confident as always, but the freckles concentrated around his hazel eyes as he chewed his lip.

Making his slow way across the sandy courtyard, Lippo, the palace Baker’s Assistant cut a formidable figure. Not a swift or well-defined figure, but formidable for sure. His billowing toga stretched over his gut and flapped around his trunk like legs. His sweet, flabby face showed a mixture of determination, panic, and complete lack of preparation. Every part of Lippo was soft, and round, and out of place.

Standing with his foot atop two fallen challengers, Tallus was the opposite of the Baker’s Boy. The red haired warrior’s hard muscles shone under the sun, veins bulging under his smooth, pink skin. Every contour of his bare figure gleamed with a mingle of sweat and blue pigment, evidence of daily training in athletics and combat. But after sizing up his new opponent, Tallus faltered. He was a fighter, sure, but not a killer! There was no honor in picking on this soft guy. Tallus looked toward the other Lost Princes for guidance, but none of them seemed to know how to stop this train wreck from happening.

In the end, Tallus let Lippo do the work for him. When the heavy teen stumbled toward him to attack, Tallus stepped aside and let him fall. His chubby arms flailed in a slow windmill until he splashed belly-first across Q and Ajax. The air was emphatically squashed out of Q’s lungs as the Nubian found himself sandwiched uncomfortably between his fellow plebes. At the bottom of the pile, Ajax was nearly invisible. Climbing up to take a seat on the top of the pile, Tallus pounded his chest in celebration of an easy victory.

“Son of a bitch,” Ali’s soft voice surprised the other Princes. “I see what he’s doing.”

“You mean raging like a barbarian instead of winning a submission?” Amun asked.

“No. It’s like a chess match. He’s crowding the pieces so that they get in each other’s way.”

As if he could hear what they were saying, Tallus caught the Persian boy’s mysterious violet eyes and gave him a wink. Tallus tapped his forehead knowingly, then he hopped off the squirming pile of plebes.

Ajax’s legs were sticking out from the bottom, and his gargantuan cock was folded down between them. The miracle of flesh must have seen better days, because it was peppered with purplish bruises and slumped in the gritty sand. Tallus brought his heel down unapologetically on the one-eyed serpent, crushing it’s head into the dust. Ajax shrieked and thrashed his legs, but he was firmly pinned under the two other plebes. Q’s eyes were as wide as saucers. Stuck in the 69 position, his face hovered just above the gifted stable boy’s crotch, so he could not just see but also feel and hear the destructive impact of Tallus’ stomp.

Tallus walked around the other side of the pile, pausing to give Lippo an encouraging pat on the back. The Baker’s Assistant was still trying to roll back to his feet, but he was having difficulty getting the right leverage, and his rocking around was not doing any favors to the plebes trapped beneath him.

The smooth brown globes of Q’s ass protruded invitingly from the pile. Tallus accepted the invitation with relish, spanking Q’s beefy cheeks with a stinging open palm. The handsome Nubian looked like he would melt from embarrassment at being stuck in such a compromising position. Tallus then kicked his legs apart so that his bare genitals hung exposed just above Ajax’s face. He grabbed Q’s nuts and pulled them down to the bottom of his stretched sack, plopping them directly on Ajax’s nose. The dim-witted stable boy was understandably resentful of the fat nuts blocking his air, and he thrashed his head around to remove them, bouncing Q’s balls painfully in the process.

“Man, how about you let him stand and fight you, asshole!” Q’s cousin Tanta-Mani had not been rung into the match yet, and he was fuming on the sideline. The handsome Nubian boy resembled his cousin, with fine features and high cheekbones, but his hair was too short to be tied back like Q’s; Mani’s twisted locks spiked out over his forehead, framing his furious dark eyes.

As he often did to escape chastisement, Tallus pretended he couldn’t understand Greek. He raised his hands innocently, appearing every bit the unwitting barbarian. Mani scowled but stopped yelling. Still standing between Q’s forcefully spread legs, Tallus reached down and softly patted his aching junk, as if to apologize. He gave Mani an encouraging smile, but just out of view, he deftly pointed the head of Q’s flaccid cock at Ajax’s lips and gave it a sharp tug.

The red head circled back around the pile of groaning plebes. Q’s handsome face was clouded with shame, and he was struggling to keep from getting to close to Ajax’s cock. If he’d been told that morning that he would be stuck in a 69 with a horse-smelling, horse-hung stable boy, Q would have punched whoever said it. He looked up at Tallus with fury, but the barbarian just grinned blithely, like he didn’t know what the problem was. Then, completely on accident, Tallus stepped right onto Ajax’s much-abused cock, squashing it into the sand yet again. By now Tallus’ ‘accidental’ blunders were making even the most credulous audience members wonder about his run of luck.  

Regardless of his intentions, Tallus’ misplaced (or carefully-placed) foot set off a chain of reactions that the plebes would very much regret. Ajax wailed like his life was ending. As he voiced a primal scream, Q’s sagging balls slid down Ajax’s nose and into his mouth. Ajax’s scream was silenced as abruptly as it started, and his cheeks bulged with a mouthful of nuts. Unable to draw breath, his mouth labored like a fish out of water—gumming, sucking, and chomping on the orbs of soft tissue blocking his airways.

Q’s dark brown eyes bugged nearly out of his head as his precious gonads were enveloped by Ajax’s warm, undulating mouth, and the normally stern fighter shrieked each time his jewels were caught between Ajax’s molars. Q’s embarrassing soprano wailing made his cousin Mani grimace and hide his face.

The grinding down of his precious organs also ground down the Nubian teen’s willpower. His eyes rolled back and his head rolled forward and face-planted in the sand. That is, he planted partly in the sand, and partly on the head of Ajax’s cock. The giant serpent had tried in vain to curl up and hide from further abuse. But Q’s lolling head ground it deeper into the sand, peeling back its hood and introducing a new hell of pain.

Ajax spit out Q’s nuts with a gasping shriek, only to find that his teammate’s cock remained lodged in his throat. And it was getting chubbier. Ajax protested mightily, with his nostrils flaring hot breath under Q’s recently gnawed-upon nuts, and his screams closing around the teen’s hardening cock in with humming undulations.

BONG.

“Oh, god,” the handsome Nubian moaned. Mani saw that Q’s eyes were glossy and far-away, lost in a novel combination of sensations, and he knew that his tough cousin was done.

Meanwhile, Tallus walked around the pile of groaning, agonized plebes like he wasn’t sure what to do. He checked on Lippo, who was still rocking back and forth on top of the pile, trying to swing back to his feet. The Baker’s Assistant’s fleshy face was flushed from the effort. Tallus gave him a very toothy white smile and two thumbs up to encourage him.

“Oh god oh god oh god,” came a husky voice from underneath the husky baker. The humming pressure of Ajax’s throat around his cock caused Q’s balls to churn irreversibly, dumping his hot, salty seed down his fellow plebe’s raw throat. Too squashed even to buck his hips, Q moaned as his nuts pulsed methodically, milking hims and completing his humiliation.

At the bottom of the pile, the feeling of his cheeks brimming with another guy’s hot, salty sperm was the last straw for Ajax. With no oxygen left, a sadly beaten dick, and a face full of drained balls, he tapped out his submission on the sandy floor. Tallus walked away from the pile with a swagger, like he had just pulled a pin out of a grenade.

The Lost Princes had seen some crazy shit at the Pankration, but even they were dumbfounded by the double-submission. Lysander’s mouth was agape, and even the irrepressible Prince Nico had trouble understanding the wreckage.

Only Theo maintained an even demeanor. “Six out of ten,” the Athenian brunette said over his shoulder, casually scoring the very intimate spectacle. “What did you think?” He turned and stared at Amun. Amun licked his thin lips as if he would answer, but he said nothing.

Theo rolled his eyes. “Prude.”

Tallus was still flexing his sweaty, painted muscles when his next challenger made his presence known. A foot kicked up between the ginger warrior’s legs from behind, launching his balls and dick into a painful orbit around his lower abdomen. The stud’s broad, goofy grin melted down his face as his hands moved to comfort his heavy balls. But before he was able to comfort them, the anonymous foot returned and punished his nuts once again. For the first time in the melee, the fierce Gaul warrior fell to one knee.

“My nuts!” Tallus squeaked in a tiny voice that seemed to clash with the rest of his rugged physique. Amid all the action, he hadn’t heard the bell signaling another challenger.  

“Woah! You can speak Greek,” the new plebe observed. A short, well-muscled young man stepped out from behind Tallus. “Prince Nico was right.”

In the Princes’ corner of the courtyard, several sets of eyes darted toward Nico.

“What?” the cheerful blonde prince asked sheepishly. “These guys needed a little bit of coaching. They really want to fight well, they just don’t have any skills is all.”

The Lost Princes gave a collective groan. Nico would never believe anything but the best in people, so it was useless to argue with him.

“Besides, Dionysus is one my best friends in the palace,” Nico continued in a sunny voice, heedless of the cloudy look that his actual best friend Theo was giving him. “Because Dio makes all of our wine!” None of the others could really argue with his logic regarding good wine.

In the center of the courtyard, the vineyard laborer was acquitting himself quite well so far. Dio wore the simple uniform of the palace staff: a simple white linen toga with brown leather wrist bands and a matching headband. His curly black hair was oiled and shiny; the oil made the sweat bead up on his shoulders and arms that were tanned darkly from hours working in the fields. But Dio’s most remarkable feature was his legs. The quads that traveled down from his short toga bulged spectacularly, bristling with raw muscles. And from just below his knee down to his bare feet, his skin was dyed deep purple.   

“Do they really make wine by stomping on grapes?” Lysander asked, eyeing his bare toes speculatively. “I bet that’s a pretty fun job!”

Theo was about to shush the Spartan kid when Amun’s deep, quiet voice came from behind him: “You’re right, he looks really…fun. Nico, what did you say the new guy’s name is?”

Theo rounded on the Egyptian priest, laughing overly loudly, but not really smiling. “That’s hilarious! Oh, Amun, only a desperate virgin like you would think that the wine farmer boy is handsome. You’re too much!”

Amun regarded the brunette twink with steady, cat-like eyes. The louder Theo became, the more quietly Amun responded. “Actually, I never said he was handsome.”

Theo opened his mouth and closed it again with out speaking. He decided that the match was more interesting that the boring priest and turned around abruptly.

The vineyard laborer Dio had followed up on his early advantage by applying a pec claw to Tallus as the red haired barbarian kneeled to nurse his sore nuts. Dio’s short stature gave him the perfect angle to bear down on Tallus’ meaty chest, digging deeply into his proud muscles. Tallus howled gibberish, hoping that his earlier slip up did not blow his cover as an illiterate barbarian. But he howled in genuine pain just as much, grimacing as the newest plebe’s iron fingers tore into the smooth globes of his pecs.

Tallus gritted his teeth and rose gingerly back to his feet. Dio looked nervously upward at the barbarian prince who outranked him in every dimension. He felt like just a shadow of the wild warrior teen; his hands dropped from Tallus’ massive chest. Dio tried again to level the match by aiming a sneaky knee strike up between Tallus’ legs, and his kneecap struck something hard. He glanced quickly downward, shocked to discover that Tallus had blocked the strike with a single beefy fist.

Reluctantly Dio’s gaze travelled back up the shredded, sweat-drenched body of his opponent, until he stared into Tallus’ wide brown eyes. Intelligent eyes. Playful eyes. Angry eyes. Tallus cupped his junk lovingly, out of harm’s way. He waved his heavy, rosy nuts and chubby, paint-streaked cock at the plebe.

“Want some of this?” Tallus asked with perfect diction. Together the combatants looked down and admired the heavy artillery that was on display. Now that Dio saw through the ‘barbarian’ charade, it only made him more timid. He swallowed slowly, preparing to be torn to pieces.

But preparing for the future is a tricky thing. Having finally rolled off of his miserable, defeated teammates, the Baker’s Assistant Lippo had thudded back into the action. With a slow-moving but unstoppable belly bounce, Lippo flattened Tallus and inadvertently took out Dio at the same time. The sweet-faced boy was proud to see their muscular bodies flung recklessly several meters across the courtyard. He slapped his belly as the audience cheered and laughed for the unexpected new leader of the contest.

Dio and Tallus lay sprawled side by side, wondering what had hit them. They rolled onto their backs and stared around the sun-drenched courtyard for a moment before a shadow crossed over them. As if in slow motion the shadow grew darker and resolved into a shape. It was Lippo, falling gracefully through the air. In other circumstances, Tallus and Dio would have been amazed to see it.

Lippo had followed up his tackle with a flying splash across both other teens, friend and foe alike. Tallus got the worst of it with Lippo’s gut landing fully across his chest and knocking the air out of him in a single whoosh. But Dio did not fare much better, as the gargantuan thighs landed across his torso.

Ali shook his head at his barbarian friend. “Just like chess. Tallus is clever with attacks, but he forgets that even a simple Pawn can take a King.”

Lysander nodded sagely, but he had no idea what Ali was talking about. He scratched his short-cropped black hair. “Hey Ali, remember that other game you taught us? The one that was a lot more fun than chess?”

The Persian teen covered his smile so he wouldn’t appear condescending. “You mean Checkers?”

“Yep! Now that was a fun game!”

Theo and Amun snickered, but Nico nodded at Lysander and whispered, “You and me both, Sander.” The Spartan boy grinned proudly at his idol.

Meanwhile Lippo had made amends with Dio by helping the black haired boy back to his feet. The two palace servants had been friends since childhood, and held no hard feelings. Tallus was curled up on his side, stoking the wind back into his lungs. He scowled at Dio when the latter grabbed his feet, and kicked at him roughly. But he again failed to take Lippo into account, and the ponderous teen splashed down across his abs yet again. Tallus’ six pack was tough, but it crumbled completely under Lippo’s mass. By time Lippo splashed down into his gut for a third time, Tallus was not much more than a blue and ginger puddle in the sand.

Lippo looked to his friend for guidance, and Dio directed him to pin Tallus down. The Baker’s Assistant gave a round, cheerful smile. This was an assignment that he was well suited for. Lippo sat with his full weight on Tallus’ chest and a thick leg stuck out over each of the Gaul’s arms in a classic schoolboy pin. The teen warrior’s macho pecs and biceps all but disappeared; he was fully immobilized. He looked up at Lippo with wide brown eyes and panted shallow breaths. The most he could do was blow some of his wild red hair out of his eyes. Tallus regretted not having more sympathy for Ajax, who had been at the bottom of an earlier scrum, but his regret came too late. Now he had to atone.

BONG.

Ever since he was a young boy, Dionysus had worked for the King of Thebes doing just two things: picking grapes and crushing them into wine. As he seized Tallus by the ankles and spread his legs apart in a wide V, Dio felt that he was back in familiar territory. Between the pale warrior’s reluctant legs, his ripe grapes hung in his rosy pink scrotum. The hot weather and his exertions in combat had loosened Tallus’ smooth sac so that his nuts sagged low and clearly defined. His big left nut drooped all the way to the sandy floor. To Dio’s expert eye, such fat fruit was undoubtedly ready for juicing.  

“I can’t watch,” Nico said solemnly. “This is going to be a massacre.” But his hazel eyes didn’t look away for a second.

“Me neither,” Theo echoed, also staring unabashedly. “What if he’s the last Gaul? This will be the end of the tribe…”

Only Tallus didn’t fully understand his predicament yet. His horizon of experience had narrowed, so all he felt was a struggle for breath, and all he saw was the expansive, winsome pink face of the Baker’s Apprentice. Tallus knew that he was dominating this match so far, and he was sure that if he could get out of this jamb, he would decimate the rest of the plebes. Then his balls exploded in blinding white pain and the notion of decimating anyone vanished like dream.

Dio stomped his roughened, bare sole down on the stud-warrior’s vulnerable testicles. Then again. And again. He was methodical, like the true professional that he was. His purple-stained foot bore witness to countless smashed grapes, so there was no reason to expect anything different here. The corded muscles of Dio’s quads pumped mechanically, never tiring and never missing their mark. The only change was the flush that crept into the olive-skinned teen’s smooth cheeks.

Tallus’ sac also changed color as it was pulverized. From rosy pink to angry red to suffering magenta. His loose testicles were repeatedly bounced and crushed against his own buttocks and pubis, and as they sagged lower, they were driven mercilessly into the sand. The crashing ocean of pain between his legs left Tallus’ mind completely numb. Icy shivers of pain ran up his legs and muddy bile invaded his guts. Each blow to his nuts echoed outward in waves through the rest of his body and bounced back again in a cacophony of misery.

Tallus screamed like he was dying. Lysander was covering his ears. Nico saw the young Spartan’s reaction and looked like he wanted to do the same. Only Amun appeared relaxed as he had closed his eyes and begun to meditate to block out the screams.

Dio dropped Tallus’ legs and stooped to inspect the fruit. The mottled bruising was ugly. He flicked the warrior teen’s cock out of the way and felt his gonads. The firm orbs were palpably softer than they had been. Still dense and compact, but feeling much less sturdy. He walked around Lippo and looked into the suffering Gaul’s face.

“Man, you are one tough stud!” Dio effused. “But your nads are starting to get smushy, so this  is probably the right time to submit.” The vineyard laborer’s excitement flickered across his earnest, expressive face. Tallus was experiencing a deficit of attention, but when he heard the word ‘submit,’ he gritted his teeth and turned his face away automatically.

Dio shrugged and circled back around to the obstinate boy’s feet. He grabbed his ankles and resumed stomping the warrior’s ripe grapes. Now he felt free to be more creative. Occasionally he threw a heel stomp onto Tallus’ fat dong, and every fourth strike or so he stood up, driving his rival’s testicles into the floor until they were nearly flat. Dio felt something funny under his foot, and he dropped down to inspect more closely. Tallus’ balls were truly swollen now, and he could feel them throb under his fingers with each beat of the brave fighter’s heart. They were not entirely crushed—Dio was an expert in crushing, so he would know—but the orbs had softened noticeably and were losing their sturdy structure. He waggled the teen’s fat cock, but it was rubbery and lifeless. He walked around again to speak to Tallus.

“My balls…” squeaked the fallen Gaul, when he saw Dio’s curly head come back into view. His whole body pulsed in rhythm with the agony between his legs; his mind was in his sac with his tortured balls.

Dio got down on his knees so that his lips were next to Tallus’ ear. “I know you understand Greek. So you should know, your grapes are getting really soft, man. Like—pretty soon—squish, that’s how soft.” The Greek teen was simple and straightforward, but he sounded genuinely sympathetic. The word squish echoed in Tallus’ ears as he stared vacantly at the wide blue sky.

Dio sighed and circled around again. He picked up the ginger warrior’s ankles, which felt like dead weight. Feeling sad, he aimed his purple-stained foot at the pathetic mound between Tallus’ legs and pressed forward.

“Oh no,” said Theo. He spoke for the other Princes as they saw their comrade’s manhood in peril. “Oh no.”

“I give! I give!” Tallus’ deep, desperate voice rose above the courtyard and Dio diverted his destructive finishing blow harmlessly into the sand. The vineyard laborer dropped his opponent’s legs and raised a celebratory fist into the air. There was cheering from all around the courtyard, from plebes and Princes alike. Dionysus was the first plebe ever to join the Lost Princes by forcing a submission. He was quickly wrapped in a suffocating bear hug from Lippo and then swarmed by the other plebes.

Dazed and wracked by pain that only a male can understand, Tallus curled over in relief and filled his lungs for the first time in a while. His big, clumsy hands pawed between his legs. His relief at finding his precious nuts intact far outweighed his shame from submitting the match. He punched the soft sand in exhausted relief as hot tears streamed down his cheeks. He rolled over and over in the sand like a loose weed, but he couldn’t evade the gnawing pain.

Tallus was busy feeling sorry for himself when a soft hand began to smooth his paint streaked hair. He opened his eyes curiously and stared into an unfamiliar face just inches from his own. The stranger was very…lovely? Beautiful? Tallus wasn’t sure what the word would be in Greek. It was not the kind of word that Gauls would normally use to describe a male, but it fit the stranger. The stranger tentatively and wiped Tallus’ brow, soothing away the dust and sweat of his recent combat. Since Tallus didn’t gnash his teeth, but just stared at him in confusion, the stranger smiled shyly. His lips were full and pink and looked very soft. He ran his hand down the warrior’s cheek and traced a line between his bulging pecs. Tallus sighed. The caress made him feel a tiny bit better.

“Are you freaking kidding me?” Lysander exclaimed. “That guy’s the next opponent, right?” Nico nodded. “So how come Tallus is just letting him do…uh…whatever he’s doing?” The Spartan wasn’t totally sure what that “whatever” was.  

Nico grinned knowingly. “He’s Ganymede. He works in the palace, too. But his job isn’t really very official.” Nico scratched the cleft in his chin, not sure how to put it. “He entertains people, mostly.”

Theo snorted. “Oh? How entertaining is he?” He wiggled his eyebrows at Nico lecherously, but the blonde prince just shrugged.

Ganymede’s supple figure gradually twined around Tallus’ muscles. The more the unwitting barbarian stud relaxed, the closer Ganymede inched toward him. Everything about the Greek pleasure boy was relaxing. His fair skin was silky and flawless, and his bare toes ticked as he ran them slowly down Tallus’ bare legs. His blue eyes were like cool water, and his long painted lashes lapped over them like gentle waves. His silky bangs brushed over Tallus’ recently-pummeled six pack like a balm.

Ganymede’s humming was the one thing that kept Tallus from drifting completely into oblivion. His hum was deep and manly. Tallus had heard that Greeks had many pleasure boys whom they preferred to their pleasure girls. But Greeks of either sex had mostly kept their distance from him, assuming that he was too wild and unsubtle for their arts. Up until now. And despite the very recent trauma that his manhood had endured, Tallus’ body responded gratefully to Ganymede’s attention. His gratefulness grew. And stretched. And throbbed.

Slap. Ali’s forehead landed in his palm. “Literally the oldest trick in the book. And Tallus falls for it hard.”

“Hard,” Nico repeated, stone-faced. His mouth twitched.

“Falls how?” Theo asked innocently, looking around. Amun was hiding a shy smile and Lysander clapped his hands once he eventually figured out the joke.

“HARD!” the Lost Princes shouted with one voice.

The shout from the crowd caught Tallus’ attention. The pretty stranger’s fingers were combing gently through his tuft of red pubes, humming all the while. His cock was fully erect by now and bounced lightly off his lower abdomen as it stretched toward his navel. His silky foreskin stretched taut, pulling back to show just the wet tip of his bright pink cock head. Tallus grinned in the direction of the Lost Princes, not shy in the least of his swollen show of virility.

But a shadow was cast across Tallus’ mood. Literally, a large shadow fell over him with a feeling of deja vu. Tallus looked at the pretty stranger, whose lazy gaze now appeared focused. Tallus found that his legs were tightly scissored in those of the pleasure boy, just as he looked up to find Lippo standing over him. He swore an untranslatable Gallic curse.

Tallus heaved his body to the side just as Lippo crashed down for another crushing splash. He was able to pivot just enough that Ganymede got the worst of the impact. Ganymede did not move after the crash.

Tallus rolled to his feet amid a plume of dust. He searched around until he kicked the bulky Baker’s Assistant, and he dragged the heavy teen to his feet with straining biceps. Minus the element of surprise, Lippo looked sheepish and apologetic. Tallus’ mottled pale and painted face was the most fearsome sight the soft boy had ever seen. The Gaul picked Lippo up as if to slam him, but he held him suspended, horizontal to the ground. In one great heave, Tallus pressed the massive plebe up to his shoulders. With his quads shaking and shoulders trembling, the ripped warrior finally pressed the woeful Baker’s Assistant all the way above his head. Tallus’ muscles strained and popped majestically under his pale skin. Each straining muscle group was as clearly defined as an anatomy lesson.

Lippo looked down at the arena floor over an impossibly far distance. “No, no, no!” cried Lippo.

“No, no, no!” cried Nico.

“What’s wrong with a little payback?” Ali asked, puzzled. “The fat kid trashed Tallus, remember?”

Nico’s hazel eyes were teeming with emotion. “But Lippo makes the absolute BEST sweets! And he always gives me the extras! Without Lippo…” Nico became too choked up to continue.

BONG.

Fortunately for Nico’s sweet tooth, the view from the top was too much for Lippo. The Baker’s Assistant tapped out his submission and Tallus obligingly lowered him back to the safety of the courtyard floor. A much-relieved Lippo wrapped up Tallus in a suffocating hug before exiting the arena. A much-relieved Nico was hugging a bewildered Lysander at the same time.

Meanwhile Ganymede climbed unsteadily to his feet. The pretty boy was unaccustomed to the sweat and dust of the Princes’ Palace, and he sneezed unhappily. He peered left and right, looking for the studly red head, but Tallus seemed to have vanished. Then Ganymede backed up right into something. He felt something hot and hard poke into his lower back. A brawny, blue streaked hand came down heavily on either shoulder. Ganymede’s brief, raunchy life flashed before his eyes.

Tallus threw a bawdy look in the direction of the Lost Princes, and they responded with whistles and cat calls. Their approval convinced Tallus to have a little bit more fun before finishing off the pretty plebe. He rolled his hips forward, finding the way that his fat cock nestled between Ganymede’s buttocks most agreeable. The Greek boy had an exquisitely luscious rump considering his slender physique, and his choice of combat attire—a nearly invisible thong—offered Tallus easy access to his welcoming crack.

The wheels were spinning in Ganymede’s head, as he calculated whether he could get the red headed barbarian off, tricking him into submitting his seed and inadvertently giving up his overpowering strength advantage. Ganymede tentatively pressed back against Tallus’ rigid tool and was satisfied when he heard the big warrior groan softly. A sweet smile warmed Ganymede’s fine features, and his cock strained against his thong.  

His plan was going so well that by time Tallus grabbed him by the chin and pulled his face around, the Greek pleasure boy was even expecting to be kissed. But he found Tallus’ fierce, intelligent eyes regarding him coolly. Ganymede froze.

“Why are you stopping?” Tallus asked. “I’ve never played with a boy like you before.”

Ganymede realized that he was in fact the one being toyed with, and not the other way around. He was torn. After all, the rugged barbarian was far more handsome (and better hung) than the rich palace guests he spent his days entertaining. But when Tallus bared his teeth and clamped his hands down on his shoulders, Ganymede didn’t hesitate.

“I give!” he squeaked, putting up his hands but not letting up the pressure of his juicy ass on Tallus’ cock.

“The match is over, so what kind of reward do you want?” Ganymede continued breathlessly, turning around to face the teen warrior. He looked briefly over Tallus’ shoulder, and when Tallus started to turn, the Greek redirected his attention back to him with a single finger on his chin. He was humming softly.

Recalling how the pretty plebe’s humming concealed a previous attack, Tallus’ suspicions were raised. He frowned and did tried to do a mental count of how many plebes he had defeated. There were the stable boys, and the fat one, now this pretty one, and…

“Shit.”

From behind him, an unfriendly hand reached up between Tallus’ sturdy legs and seized him by the balls. Tallus’ already softened-up gonads were compressed in an iron grip. The ginger warrior gave a strangled moan and his mouth remained slightly open. Ganymede stole a kiss from the surprised stud’s rough, red lips; the kiss was deep and wet and electric for both boys. Ganymede exited the arena very reluctantly.

From behind Tallus, Mani’s shining black skin and spiky, twisted hair appeared. The Nubian teen’s handsome face was angry and focused. A bright orange tunic sat low around his hips, and his upper body was bare, showing off well-defined arms and abs.

“I’m lucky number seven, I guess,” Mani’s deep voice growled in Tallus’ ear. Normally, this isn’t how I’d want to beat you, but you just want to play, play, play. Now who’s getting played, bitch?”

Mani had been forced to watch helplessly from the sidelines as Tallus had merrily wrecked plebe after plebe, including humiliating his cousin Q. Now that Mani was an official competitor, he was in no mood to play games. He squashed Tallus’ fat testicles against each other, pulsing his grip and drumming his fingers to deliver maximum agony. After just a couple minutes of work, the muscular warrior’s body drooped until he was pretty much being held up by Mani’s grip.

Tallus was lost in his pain. His awareness couldn’t escape his flaming groin for longer than a moment before it snapped back, as if he was leashed. The rolling action of his nuts against each other renewed the trauma of Dio’s recent grape stomping demonstration. Against his will, Tallus was marched toward the end of the colonnade where the plebes were sitting. The flagging warrior groaned. He really didn’t want them to see him in this position.

Tallus’ muscles were jelly, and his head rolled back against his tormentor’s shoulder, causing his Adam’s apple to poke out. But somehow, his fat cock was harder than ever. He was close enough now that the audience of plebes could make out the blue veins that ran along his shaft, pulsing in time with his heart. Even his foreskin betrayed him, drawing back over his sensitive, rosy cock helmet. The pain rolled out from his crotch and rumbled in his stomach, but Tallus resisted submitting. He didn’t want to know what his voice would sound like right now.

Viewing the wreckage from up close, the plebes twittered excitedly. Jason and Ajax looked smug, gloating behind dark, beady eyes, relishing their former bully’s humbling. Q and Lippo grimaced in sympathy and flinched whenever Tallus’ fat cock waved in their direction.

“Oh no,” Ganymede swooned against Dionysus’ shoulder. “I really wanted to taste that stud before his nuts got turned to mush. Can I throw in the towel for him?”

Dio blushed at his teammate’s candor. “Sorry, but not in Pankration,” he answered. “Besides, if his nuts were really mush, would his boner still jump around like that?” The boys considered it. Nobody knew the answer. “Anyway, that bully knew the rules, he knew what he was getting into.”

Once Mani felt that he had shown enough dominance, he reached around the reeling warrior and choked his jutting cock. He tested the teen’s firmness like he was testing a side of beef cooking over the fire—the springy tension when it’s fully cooked. When Tallus’ breath hitched, Mani dragged his fingernails up under his bright, flaring head, biting into his most sensitive and private spot. Tallus’ body twitched from his pecs to his toes, then Mani knew he was  completely done.

Mani released his nuts and held Tallus up just by his red hair. He nudged the Gaul’s muscular legs apart and lined up his kill shot. Then he plowed his knee up between Tallus’ legs from behind, crushing his nuts brutally into his pelvis and lifting him several inches into the air. The organs were deformed and squashed between the unyielding walls of muscle and bone; they surrendered completely.

The silence that followed was like that between the lightening and the thunder. Several of the plebes’ mouths mirrored Tallus’ own—gaping and apocalyptic. Then the silence was over and he erupted, shooting thick, salty spunk in all directions. His fat cock looked potent, and it’s performance did not disappoint. The plebes in the first couple rows jumped back to avoid the spray.  

Mani could feel the warrior’s testicles churning against his kneecap as he pumped out his essence and submitted his seed. When Tallus’ orgasm finally trickled to a stop, the entire courtyard smelled of his pungent sex. Mani released his hair, and Tallus sunk to his knees in the sand, emptied and exhausted.

Cheering rang from the plebes’ side of the courtyard, led by Mani’s cousin Q, whose earlier defeat had been dramatically avenged. Mani raised his arms and smiled for the first time. Now that he’d settled his score, he wasn’t sure what to do with all the attention on him. He was glad when the mob of plebes converged and he could just celebrate as one of the guys.

The Lost Princes surged forward too, to congratulate the victors and to peel Tallus off the floor of the courtyard. Nobody was racing to be first to touch him, though, covered as he was in an unimaginable sludge of sweat, sand, cum, and blue war paint. Ali and Lysander eventually got under each arm and helped the worn-out teen to his feet. Tallus limped tenderly supported by his friends, careful not to jostle the sack of crushed nuts between his legs. His fat cock was still halfway erect, and it swayed and drooled as he walked. As they made their slow way to the baths, Ali reminded Tallus that he had just won more victories in a single match than any of the rest of them had on their whole record. Statistics couldn’t make Tallus’ beaten, empty nads feel better, but he gave Ali a bleary smile in appreciation of his effort.

Theo and Nico stood on the far side of the courtyard, smiling over the festivities like proud parents. Theo was excited that the competition he had conceived was back in business. Now he could spend more happy afternoons watching dudes risk their blood and balls to win glory. Nico was happy that he’d helped widen the circle to include more aspiring warriors in their competition and camaraderie.

“Too bad that blonde guy didn’t end up fighting,” Theo remarked casually. “Something about him made me think he’d be tough.”

Nico just shrugged and started to walk away toward the plebes.

“He looked sort of familiar,” Theo called after his friend. “Dopey looking blonde hair, sleepy eyes, probably not the sharpest sword in the…”
 
“Theo.” Nico’s deep voice was quiet but commanding. A long pause followed. “He can’t join.”

“Why not? You’d let every random peasant in Greece join if you could.” Theo was genuinely perplexed. He’d never seen his cheerful friend react so coldly to anyone before. But Nico’s rigid posture indicated that the question was settled.  

“Alexander can’t join. Period. I’ll never let him near my friends.”

Tallus nude - artwork created by Dizzy