Battle Glory
There might be some implied snuff here. But it's only implied.
The arena is a place of spectacle. Young men come to fight and die for honor and glory. All will fight, most will die. The happy few who achieve victory are well rewarded for their courage and skill in combat, but most don't come to the arena skillful. Indeed, most males who come to the sands are weak and rather talentless with blades and nets and shields. It is only through harsh training that weaklings become warriors and warriors become either victors or corpses.
How these men train is simple, but harsh. First, they are made to build muscle and strength. They work like slaves hauling crates and cracking rocks. Physical might is built through sweat and groans of exhaustion. Male bodies are built to physical power through effort and the suffering that comes of it. Once noodle armed, reed like men are made hard, rigid and well-chested, the real training begins. Power and stamina are just the first half of the equation. A warrior must be honed into the weapon he wishes to be. His reflexes must be sharp, his senses must be keen and he must gain an instinct for battle through ruthless training.
Men earn their scars while they train. They take their blows without shirking and in doing so, gain a tolerance for the pain they are sure to endure when they actually fight. Nothing but a mortal wound should stop a true warrior from keeping up the fight. When these powerful men stand at attention, presenting their proud, powerful chests still glistening with sweat and matted with dried blood, there is a shared fullness between them, a quiet exultation at the shaping of their manhoods. Weakness has been sheared off until only the hard and the brave remain. Very soon, these men will participate in what they came here originally to do: fight to the death.
It is rather remarkable that even pitiful males can come forward and be molded into powerful beasts in so little time. The trick to all of this is to deny the male even the most basic of sexual gratification. Any man that arrives to be trained is fitted with a cock cage. He will not even have the joy of an erection all throughout his training. All his masculine effort will be channeled into bettering himself, but this masculinization has its own effects. Naturally, balls swell with unspent sperm. Flaccid cocks are dwarfed by massive scrotums containing some very firm, very tender orbs that would like release, but are denied it constantly. The only outlet for this sexual stress is either harsh exercise or mock violence, both of which exist in abundance. Still, this relief is only temporary. Heavy nutsacs still remain with both seed and desire and there won't be any release while these men live and die in the arena.
But there is a kind of reprieve that always comes before the fights begin. Right before the start of combat, every male has his manhood freed and he is allowed to experience the simple pleasure of being an erect male. But all these men get is the simple pleasure. Special oils are applied to both cock and sac that render men incapable of achieving orgasm. Without victory, there will be no sexual fulfillment, no release of pent up lust and seed.
Yet, this isn't the worst of the tormenting tease. In pairs, the men are lowered into pits. These specially fashioned holes are where the men will spend their final night where their lives are certain. They are cramped enclosures made ever worse by the fresh bulk the males have put on. Men are stuffed muscle against muscle, pec to pec and cock to cock and left to stew in the low lighting and steamy heat they produce. For the entire night before the fights, the warriors have this closeness to enjoy.
Otherwise stoic, brave-faced men are broken down by arousal as their erections, finally loosed from their cages, grind up hard against the cock of another man. It is in these pits that orientation breaks down and kinks run rampant as hard-bodied, long-denied men are put up right against each other. Even the bitterest of rivals will be kissing almost immediately as they are settled in and it's not long before powerful, thickly muscled hips start grinding the most sopping wet, rock-hard erections against one another, yet never able to cum. Men like this can rub each other like this for hours, their swinging sacs never once discharging a sticky, hot load, but that doesn't stop the inevitable foreplay that does come.
Even the most girl-hungry stud finds pleasure in kissing the neck of his soon to be enemy, fondling his hard pecs, twisting his nipples and getting his own nubs gripped and squeezed. No man could resist both the intimacy of his tiny surroundings and the months of denial that preceded it. Raging erections become coated in layer after layer of another man's pre, soaking even the lengthiest of shafts and always drenching the balls as well. The scent is always raw and intense, but it's near impossible for a hyper-aroused male to notice.
Naturally, inhibitions get broken down here. Dirty talking is more than common. In fact, men have the habit of revealing secrets to impromptu lovers. A shocking number of men who come to fight are masochists. Normally, they enjoy pain, but all hopped up on testosterone like this, with a lethal man pushed up against him, masochism deepens. Confessions get made. So many firm bodied warriors tell their fantasies.
They imagine sharp swords penetrating their hard abs, stirring up their bellies and being kicked to the ground so that the victor might claim his victory, gory sword in hand, trampling the defeated male. They see themselves being disarmed, sliced deeply across their bare chests, dropping to their knees and raising their heads to welcome the singing edge of a sword for a swift beheading, spectacular and faintly erotic. They want to be pinned to the ground and strangled by the powerful hands of a sexy, hard warrior, killed slowly, but softly, hard and frothy while they die.
Very commonly, the replies to this are shared desires for the same fate. One of the two will be lucky enough to experience this. Much more rarely, a sadist will be sharing the pit with such a confessor and the reply changes just a little. It goes from mutual appreciation of violence to a desire to give that violence, exciting the male who reveals such a desire. The mood heightens, the arousal skyrockets. Dirty, dark words get exchanged and men moan as they imagine the outcome. Brutal, bloody, sexy, the sun rises before the men tire. They are lifted from the pit, drenched in sweat and reeking of pre and bid to rest. Come the night, they will be put to the test. Fight, kill, die. That is what they will do until only a single champion remains, the best of this cohort, the most primal of males.