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Aaron's Game
Chapter 9: Preparations

by Redspkscott

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Copyright on this story text belongs at all times to the original author only, whether stated explicitly in the text or not. The original date of posting to the MMSA was: 12 Jan 2017


Aaron’s Game – Chapter 9: Preparations

Watching the commandos torment the punks made us horny, so when we made our way back to the apartment, Craig and I tag-team fucked Max yet again, this time out in the pool, bent over the side on the shallow end.

Between just the two of you, I got fucked five times today, Max said afterward, obediently cleaning up our mess. He didn’t sound terribly unhappy about it, but he did have his own stuff to do, too, so we couldn’t treat him like a fuck toy every day.

Well, when we get some more boys, we’ll be able to spread the love around, I said. So that party better be a big hit.

I’m working with Lenny and Trip, he said. Those are two of the pretty boys who are going to help keep the penthouse in order. They’ll help host the party. We’re gonna have it at night the day after tomorrow, so be prepared. They’re inviting all the golden boys in the building.

Awesome, Craig said. There’s lots of hot jocks in here.

Reuben, Rico and Jeffrey were hanging out in the penthouse conference room, fiddling with their new laptops.

Hey guys, Rico said. Check it out–the golden boys are starting to get organized.

The three of us claimed our laptops and fired them up. They were a breeze to use. I already had a couple of e-mails. One was from a gladiator named Brent, who was speaking on behalf of the grays, the gladiators who all shared the gray secondary color, the leadership designation. Tomorrow morning we were all invited to an orientation to start preparing a preseason. After that was another email from Brent just to me and Craig telling us to prepare to start gathering some ideas on how the matches and punishments would be organized. After that there was an e-mail from Reuben, describing in detail how he was going to viciously beat my ass at every opportunity in the arena and then fuck me so hard my asshole would start squeaking.

Damn, Reuben, I said.

He sent you a letter, too? Craig said.

Victor’s idea, actually, Reuben admitted. I guess, um, they’re going to read them on the gladiator network. I mean every goddamn word though! I’m gonna tear your asses up, boys.

I’ll work on a response when we have time, I said, grinning at him. He growled at me.

What about you guys? Craig asked our football-playing tenants.

We’ve organized a team entirely out of guys in our building, Rico said. We’re actually going to audition coaches.

How does that work? I asked. I figured the coaches would choose the teams or something.

It was Max’s idea, Rico said.

The Painfather pushed us all together first, Max said as he typed away. We didn’t even meet any possible coaches for a couple of days. So I figured it was natural for us to organize ourselves, then find a coach that matches our team’s personality.

And that is? Reuben asked.

Fucking hardcore, Jeffrey said, and the three football players laughed.

We decided we want to have a heavily disciplined team, Max said. We may not get our asses beat as much as the gladiators, but we definitely decided we wanted to put them on the line.

Oh, yeah? I asked. So what does that mean?

We took a vote and we’re going to select a coaching staff who all have black as the third color, Max said.

I thought about what that meant for a moment. Their coaches’ colors would all be gray, gold then black. Strong leadership skills, competitive, and also mercilessly sadistic.

That’s gonna be a rough ride for you boys, I said. He’s gonna beat your ass when you mess up in practice, beat your ass when you lose, and beat your ass just because.

I’m looking forward to seeing how it works out myself, Reuben said.

We’ve already decided on our team name, Rico said.

The Pain Pigs, Max said.

You boys are gonna be squealing if you’re anything less than perfect, Craig said.

That’s the idea, Max said.

Okay, count me in on your fan club, I said.

Me, too, Craig said.

Me, three, Reuben said. Rivalry truce, but only when it comes to supporting the Pain Pigs.

Agreed, I said. Reuben and I bumped fists.

We’re still gonna bust your asses though, Craig said. We all laughed.

The rest of the evening was relaxing and casual. Reuben had been molesting Rico and Jeffrey throughout the day and had been training on his own. Max and Craig’s asses were sore from abuse. Mine was still recovering from my recent beating from the hunters. Craig and I worked together to prepare a little presentation for tomorrow with the other gladiators. Max brought up Lenny and Trip to the penthouse to introduce them to us. To my surprise, they were both built a lot like gladiators, very muscular and tall, and they wore shorts similar to ours, with the asses cut out. Their shorts were green, but their trim colors were pink, gold and black. It seemed like an unusual combination.

We’re built to be ridden hard, Trip said, winking. Golden boys don’t like lightweights, right?

They didn’t flinch at all when I pulled out my cock to fuck them, Max said.

Let’s see how tough those beefy bottoms are, Craig said. I grabbed Lenny, and Craig grabbed Trip. We bent them over the conference room table and beat their asses good and hard, no breaks, for a good 15 minutes. Pretty light punishment for us, but it was getting late. The two of them kept their bubble butts raised perfectly. They alternately moaned and whimpered as the punishment went on.

Pretty boys seem to have a more enhanced feeling of pleasure between swats than the rest of us, Max said. So they enjoy the actual punishment more than we do, not just how it feels afterward.

I’m not used to punishing somebody without having them struggle first, Craig said.

I’ve been chatting with them, and our Pretty Boys here have some athletic skills, Max said. They do know how to wrestle and stuff. I guess it’s because of having gold in that second slot.

If it’s a turn-on for you, we can resist, Trip told Craig.

Yeah, it’s more fun when we have to fight for it, Craig said. At least for gladiators. Keep that in mind for the future.

I doubted we’d have much time to play with Pretty Boys in the coming days, though. Our own punishing schedules (in both senses of the word) would probably keep us busy, as well as molesting the additional tenants we’d allow in the penthouse. Craig and I decided to retire for the night. Rather than letting the boys leave, Max directed the two of them to his own room for some fun of his own. I fell asleep to the sounds of Max alternately punishing their round bottoms with his thick strop and their moans from him fucking them.

The next morning Reuben, Craig and I all headed back to the stadium to meet up with our fellow gladiators. Despite the new wheels, we decided to walk. It was only a few blocks and it helped us keep in shape, not mention take in what was going on in our neighbors. Besides, Reuben wouldn’t be able to torment us when we lost by finger-fucking us all the way home if we drove. It occurred to me that I needed to come up with something similarly humiliating to do to Reuben when he lost.

Craig had added a new addition to his skimpy outfit that separated him from me and Reuben. He had gotten a pouch he could hang on the side of his torso with a tight harness across his chest.

What’s that for? I asked.

It has all my fun stuff from the prank shop for when I get my hands on somebody’s ass, he said. Time to start showing guys there’s more fun to be had than just paddles and straps.

Along the way we came across another couple of situations where commandos had punks forced across their knees and were paddling them hard core.

Maybe somebody needs to teach those punks how to fight, Craig said. Assuming anybody is interested in making their little conflict more fair.

Those punks are right where they belong, Reuben said. Asses in the air, getting blistered. Given that Reuben shared a color with the commandos and not the punks, he was inclined to take their side. Craig and I didn’t, and we just were more concerned about the fight eventually growing stale. That would be a while, though. For now, it was fun to watch the punks get bullied.

We made it into the stadium as other the other gladiators arrived as well. It turned out the facility was pretty busy now. There were producers, executives and blue-collar guys everywhere putting stuff together, hanging lights, figuring out camera angles, making alterations to the machinery in the arena, et cetera. Executives were disciplining both the blue-collar boys and the producers as necessary. As I suspected, they were making use of the punishment tubes if they were too busy to paddle asses themselves. I saw two bare bottoms sticking out of tubes set to be machine-paddled for two hours, it looked like.

Gladiators, gather on the field if you would, came a voice from the loudspeakers. It turned out to be Brent, we would soon discover. The grays had selected him to represent him for now with the gladiators. I wondered if it wasn’t because he actually had gray hair. I had yet to see anybody else with that shade. I understood mentally that this was typically something that happened to men as they grew older, but that wouldn’t happen to us, and Brent didn’t look any older than the rest of us. He also had a mustache and goatee and an odd scar down his chest. Like Levi’s piercings, I guess the Painfather wanted to make sure we all had interesting unique characteristics that made us each sexy in our own ways. I had discovered that my facial hair stayed at its permanent look of not having shaved in two days. It never grew any longer. I wondered if it would grow back to that point and stay there if I shaved it off.

We all gathered on the field, and now that I was not caught up in the excitement of the matches, beating Reuben, and being in the presence of Patron Derek I was able to get a much better look at my fellow gladiators. Green was definitely the dominant secondary color. Gray and orange both seemed equally represented after that, with Craig and I as the lone two bearers of purple. I verified for certain this time that not a single gladiator wore pink or blue. It made sense. We were neither very accommodating like the pinks, nor were we interested in team work or manual labor (other than fighting each other) like the blues.

We all sat down on the field as Brent stood up to talk. He waved off to the side to an executive.

Boys, delay all tasks for now and take seats in the stadium, the executive said into a headset that fed directly into the loudspeakers. All team leaders to the field. Repeat, team leaders to the field.

I watched as all the workers headed up to sit and watch us on the field from the stands for now. A handful of guys walked out to the field to join Brent. There were a couple of executives, producers, a commando, and even a grinning punk. I noticed Victor among the guys. They stood around by Brent.

Gladiators, are we ready to get this arena going? Brent yelled. We all cheered in response.

Great! He said after the cheers died down. So now doubt the question of everybody’s tongue right now is What the hell is going on? The gladiators laughed at the truth.

Just to let you all know, I’m not actually in charge, Brent said. At least not yet. More chuckling. We drew straws to see who would be the voice of preparations, and that was me. But part of our intent today is to determine who actually will sort of be in charge of the organizational structure for the gladiators.

What does that mean? one gladiator immediately asked.

I will get to that, I promise, Brent said. That’s next on the agenda, but first on the agenda I want to introduce you all to these non-gladiator gentlemen who will be working their butts off to make sure we are able to focus on fighting each other. Brent went on to introduce the executives who were organizing the blue collar and producer teams who would operate the stadium, televise the fights, and operate our special gladiator network. The commando was introduced as the head of the stadium’s security team to keep fans and the crowd in check.

I won’t be afraid to toss troublemakers in one of those spanking tubes overnight, the commando, named Oliver, said. If they go overboard with their support for you guys, they can share your fate.

I wondered why he thought that would happen and noticed him glaring at the punk. Brent introduced him as Spike.

Spike here will be working with the producers to oversee the fan program. I noticed that Spike’s colors were orange, gold and pink.

What does that mean, exactly? asked one gladiator who shared Spike’s orange.

I’m here to help stir up shit, Spike said bluntly. We laughed. Oliver did not. As your patron, Derek, has declared, you guys are the big cheeses of the golden boys, yeah? Every one of you is going to end up building your own fan bases, and your rivalries are bound to spill out of the arena, right? Y’all saw what happened to Aaron and Craig?

Punks with secondary gold like Spike here are going to help foster those fan rivalries to help keep interest in our events high, Brent said.

Some of my boys will also be helping out with music and entertainment for events between matches and stuff, Spike added. If you want your own theme song, we’ll hook you up.

Some guys perked up at the idea, but the mention of hard-core fan bases got the gears of my mind spinning. While Brant continued explaining the operations of the stadium, my mind wandered off, until ... .

I know how to bring Joss and the hunters in, I said to Craig.

What? How?

I’ll explain later, I said. But I think he we can incorporate our fans in somehow.

Intriguing, Craig said.

But by that point Brent had worked his way through his explanations of the facility.

Before I explain how we’re going to organize our league, I’d like to bring up Aaron and Craig for some quick comments. As you may recall, the two of them were specifically selected by Patron Derek to organize how the matches would actually work.

We got some polite applause as we stood up to talk. We made our way up front, patting Victor on the shoulder as we passed by.

Okay, I started, Just to make it clear from the beginning. We aren’t here to force our own idea of how the matches should be on all the rest of you.

Though we’d be happy to do so, if you like, Craig said. We have a million different ideas.

Too many ideas, actually, I said. We want to make sure we focus on the ideas that appeal to the most gladiatorsm though. You are going to be e-mailed a couple of surveys by me and Craig. Please fill them out as quickly as possible and send them back.

And be honest, Craig said. Those responses are going to determine our recommendations for how everything in the arena plays out. Everything from how the matches are organized to how losers get their asses punished. The reference to us punishing each other got everybody cheering again of course.

Craig and I are splitting duties a bit, I said. Craig here has lots of wonderful ideas about how to organize the fights between you guys to make them interesting, challenging, and painful. You may catch us experimenting with some of his ideas when we spar.

Aaron here is going to be focusing on what happens to our asses when we lose, Craig said. If you think the fighting is going to be painful... .

Yeah, I added. We will be preserving our patron’s demand that losers be punished for a full 24 hours. The gladiators all cheered. But I’d like to see something a little more creative than those spanking tubes, and so will our fans. Your survey responses will help make that happen. I thought about mentioning the hunters at this point, but I wanted to working things through with Joss first and see what the other gladiators felt as well before teasing them.

We got another round of cheers as we sat back down. Even Reuben gave a reluctant nod of approval.

So, Brent said. That leaves us with a need for an organizational structure to prepare schedules, make sure the ideas those two put together become formal policies and deal with any potential game-related conflicts that might come up.

The grays got together and hammered out what we hope will work for all of us. Fortunately we’re a small enough group to include direct democracy. What we’re about to propose will be put up for a vote by all of you. We’re not just gonna impose it on you.

Our idea is a council of seven gladiators. Just that simple. They will organize the policies through which we all operate. They’ll make sure Craig and Aaron’s ideas are approved by all of you and then implemented. They’ll make up fight schedules to make sure they’re fair