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" The Other Side of the Fence, pt. 3"

by WolfHound Baxton

"You will be trained into the perfect warrior," Master Xarius Augustine had said. Sigmund remembered it well. The huge dark dragon, horns jutting from his cheeks and head towered over the wolf, covering him in the shadow of his wings. The black wolf slave had fled from his previous Master. Seeking another, he believed he had found a paradise on the island nation of Bastana, serving Xarius Augustine, the self-proclaimed God of Dragons and one of the most powerful men in the world. Sigmund had been bored and annoyed with his old Master, he thought things would be great on the other side of the fence, but it was quickly shaping up to be little more than a living hell. The punishing spiked cock cage and permanent electronic shock collar that Xarius had placed on the wolf was soon to be the least of his suffering.

The next few months were grueling for Sigmund. The black wolf had been experienced in fighting and martial arts before, but nothing quite compared him for the rigors that Master Xarius, his Dragon Lord, had forced upon him. He was sent through endless obstacle courses, trained with multiple weapons, some of which he had never seen or heard of before. He was worked to exhaustion day in and day out by his trainer, an athletic snow leopard that trained Sigmund and three other slaves.

Every day they were taken on a four mile run and then made to swim fifty laps. The one with the slowest time was marked for punishment with sexual torture. The snow leopard made a particular point to tease Sigmund with his cock cage when he came in last, mocking him for his situation and squeezing his cage, digging the spikes in. Sigmund was placed in very small cages, blindfolded, and poked with heavy sticks in front of giggling crowds of ladies and gentlemen at Master Xarius' private parties, increasing his aggressiveness. Every evening, Sigmund would be paired against a training slave. He would practice a move over and over, both with and without weapons, until he got it right. He was also trained in killing moves on practice dummies, both with his bare hands and with weapons. Xarius wanted Sigmund to be the best fighter he could be, but didn't want to expose him to the crowds or to actual danger until he was ready to serve as his elite champion.

Every evening, Sigmund was cleaned and returned to Xarius' chambers, along with a report on his progress. What that evening would be like for him depended on his performance reports. If he received a good report, he could be assured of a romantic evening with his Master, often a nice dinner at his Master's private table, served by Chives or one of the other slaves. Although, if he performed poorly, his Master would be displeased and Sigmund was doomed to an evening of torture. Floggings, whippings, and other tortures such as the use of electric shocks on his nipples and balls were applied.

Master Xarius also made sure that Sigmund experienced a simulated threat of death during his training. If Sigmund was judged to have received a killing blow from his training opponent, the trainer would press a button on the wall activating his shocker, putting him into severe pain for several seconds, and then repeating again after a cooldown period, the whole process lasting an hour. He was then locked in a small cell for the duration of the training session and a red mark was put on his performance record for the day. When Master Xarius saw this mark, he would take Sigmund to a small area he had prepared in the back of his cell, an oubliette, or deep pit from which it would be impossible for the boy to escape without the aid of a rope ladder Xarius reserved for the occasion. Master Xarius called this pit "Hell."

In "Hell," the slave would have barely any room to move around, and must accept whatever was thrown down on him, whether it be piss, spit, bones from dinner, or whatever other garbage or waste his Master or betters saw fit to throw down on him. The oubliette had small holes running from his Master's chamber to the bottom of the pit, allowing it to be filled with the sounds and smells of Master's chamber, teasing the boy as Master enjoyed a pleasant evening with his guests or other slaves of his. Master Xarius could also flood the bottom of the oubliette with the smell of sulphur or some other foul scent through a control panel. The stones at the bottom of the pit were also heated and could be turned up to whatever setting Xarius desired. The boy would be left down here for one, sometimes two nights. Xarius would always rescue him with the rope ladder, but made certain to threaten him that one day he may not.

Finally, after several months of intensive training, Sigmund was ready to be initiated into the Bloodgames. There was the problem though that he was still marked as the property of the old Master he had fled from, Master Silva, as well as having other runic tattoos on his shoulders as his own personal markings. Sigmund had managed to beg Master Xarius into letting him keep the runes on his shoulders, but the mark of Master Silva, a roaring bear on his chest, had to come off, both because he now belonged to Xarius and because that area was reserved for the ID markings of Bloodgames gladiators, which would be tattooed there instead. Never one to be subtle, Xarius had Sigmund strapped down to a chair and gagged. A rotating sander mounted on a mechanical arm moved slowly down towards his chest, shaved of its fur for the procedure, and began to sand through the skin, shearing off the markings layer by layer in a most painful way. When the wolf's tattoo was successfully removed, Xarius waited a few days for him to heal before bringing him back to the chamber again for more pain. This time Sigmund was marked with Master Xarius' insignia on his chest, a roaring dragon's head, next to his fighter number, 01, marking him as the first gladiator from Master Xarius' house. Underneath was his name, "Sigmund." Because it was customary for gladiators to be decorated for the crowd, Sigmund was also marked on his arms and back, tattooed with a full sleeve from shoulder to wrist in a celtic tribal pattern on his left arm, but going around and framing his shoulder runes, His right arm was marked with a tattooed flame extending from his wrist up to his elbow, and his back was marked with a circle and cross pattern in the middle of it. Sigmund was now ready for the arena.

---

The arena for the Bloodgames was hot, filled as it was with the energy of fighting men and an excited crowd. The discrete location of Bastana and its unique labor laws allowed for those with an interest in combat, or an interest in profiting from it, some unique opportunities. The usual safety rules for sports such as boxing, wresting, or other combat sports did not apply, and fights could be brutal and savage. The ring was indoors, in a circular room illuminated by lights on a high ceiling. There was a pit in the middle of the floor and two entrances with locking gates for the fighters to enter by. Surrounding the pit was a cage in which the fighters sat on benches, awaiting their turn to decide their fate in the arena. The circular cage faced the pit, so the fighters in the cage got a good view of the fighting going on in the pit.

Here, in the ring of the Bloodgames, slave owners could pit their property against one another in epic duels using weapons and equipment from various eras and cultures, even some designed specifically for the games themselves in order to maximize the amusement of the crowd. As host of the events, Master Xarius ran the betting stall near the spectator entrance and sat in a special box overlooking the arena. If the spectators wished to bet on any of the fighters, they had to go see Xarius' man at the betting stall. As host, Xarius took the bet money and paid it out to winners. The owners of winning fighters also won prize money, but the money earned by Xarius from taking the bets could cover the cost of maintaining the ring as well as prize money and winnings. The problem was that sometimes a certain fighter started winning too much. It became predictable that he would win all the time, attracting more betters, and his owners would always be able to collect prize money. This was when Sigmund, Xarius' personal elite fighter, was brought out to deal with the champion. By dispatching the champion from the games, Sigmund was able to ensure that no one fighter became too powerful for too long, and helped keep his Master in profitable business.

Sigmund sat on a bench in the pit cage, through the links with a stone expression at the two combatants currently in the ring. They were two gladiators, belonging to other Masters armed with katanas fighting each other. Above the fight pit, crowds of spectators excitedly shouted for their favorite or booed the other. The fighters, a gray wolf and a tiger, circled about each other in a defensive pose, eyeing each other up for weaknesses and gaps in each others' defense. The fighters were the technological collars, marking them as part of the Bastanian guest workers' program, though the tattoos on their chests identified them as fighters belonging to different masters. Their bodies were covered in decorative tattoos for the pleasure and easy identification of the crowd. These particular combatants were armored with only crotch guards and shoulder guards, held on by a leather harness.

The gladiators both held their swords high over each others heads, sizing each other up and waiting for an opening, slowly circling and changing stances occasionally to throw their opponent off. The tension ran high, the entire ring silent as the two fighters came to a halt, staring each other in the eye, searching for a weakness. The wolf, thinking he saw an opportunity, moved in to do a vertical strike down at the tiger, a loud snarling cry issuing from his lips. The tiger quickly stepped off to the side, his blade flashing up, cutting the inside of the wolf's armpit just as he raised his sword to strike, cutting deep with the first five inches of his blade and nicking an artery, causing blood to spurt freely from the wound. In the same motion, he finished his turn behind the canine and brought his own sword down across his neck.

The crowd gave a collective whoop of excitement at the strike and blood splattered onto the tiger's facefur as he maintained a stern expression. The wolf's sword clattered to the ground and his head rolled at the tiger's feet. The wolf's decapitated body fell to its knees, shuddered, and then collapsed. The tiger wiped the blood from his blade off on the wolf's fur and then took a deep breath, focusing his energy and maintaining his stance before sheathing his blade and then leaving the pit. There was no further reaction. Attendants came to pull the body and severed head from the arena and the spectators headed to designated stations to collect their winnings as a mundane murmur came from the crowd. Above it all sat Xarius, the God of Dragons, seated on a thronelike chair in his special box, elevated above the crowd, sipping from a wineglass that his servant, Chives, had brought him.

Death was a part of life in the Bloodgames, and probably the eventual result for most of the fighters unless they managed to survive long enough to bring their Master success, and he mercifully decided to pull them from the games and assign them some other task rather than allow them to be worn down and chopped up in the arena. The tiger would be given a small skull and crossbones tattoo on his chest to show he had made a kill in the pit. Sigmund was far too good to be slain in the pit. He had been trained far more thoroughly than all of the other fighters, and had been to his Master's "Hell" too many times to allow a killing blow to fall on him.

Though life in the arena could be short, it could also be rewarding for those slaves who survived long enough. Champions at the games were provided with two trained pleasure girls or pleasure boys, depending on the fighter's preference, to help relieve their stresses. Sigmund, however, was never allowed this, despite having never lost a fight. He was a special case, being the house's own champion, and not allowed to hold additional titles and privileges. Besides, while he didn't tell other Masters what to do with their own slaves, Xarius would never allow a non-dragon in his house to get off. And so, Sigmund had been constrained in his punishing chastity ever since he arrived in Bastana several months before.

Across the pit from Sigmund, sitting on the other side of the round fight cage, was Ganvil, an aggressive wolverine with red firey eyes. Ganvil was the current champion of the Bloodgames and heavily muscled. The left side of his chest bore the symbol of his Master, a bloody knife, and his number, 23. The right side of his chest contained an impressive array of twenty-five skulls, arranged in rows, representing his kills in the games. Both his arms were decorated with red flame sleeve tattoos, entwining his arms from his wrists to his shoulders. He groaned silently as he relaxed between matches. One of his pleasure boys, a bunny slave, stood behind his bench and rubbed his shoulders while a fox went down on him between his legs, both of them clad in harem gear. The champion grinned and grabbed the head of the fox slave that was wrapped around his cock, rubbing it as he forced it further down onto his shaft, drool dribbling lightly from the fox's muzzle.

Sigmund scowled over at the wolverine, squirming in his state of discomfort. Combat was one of the few times his cock was freed from its sadistic prison, but he was still covered with an armored crotch plate and the guards were under strict orders to stop him if his hands became too adventurous. Sigmund's cock raged hard under his plate as he looked at Ganvil, squirming and snarling in aggression, the aggression that had been building in him for several months.

"Don't even think about it!," said Marius, a doberman guard that stood behind him as he saw Sigmund's paws wandering to his crotch plate.

Security at the Bloodgames and in any area in Master Xarius' domain was no joke, and Marius and the other security guards were well-equipped. Marius was armed with a submachine gun for pit security, and all guards had full kevlar body armor at all times and the visors over their helmets could link them to data from other guards as well as orders from their command or satellite data to coordinate their operations all across the Bastanian islands. The mercenaries were all combat veterans or law enforcement officers from the mainland and were trained in additional facilities on Bastana. Xarius Augustine had the largest private military in the world, outnumbering the forces of the Bastanian military which, also under Xarius' control, often cooperated with the mercenaries in matters related to more public security. Three light frigates and an assortment of helicopters and search planes topped off Xarius' mercenary force, giving him the ability to project his private power in a very large radius around the islands and hunt down runaways or other threats with brutal efficiency.

Sigmund snapped back at Marius, "Don't you have something better to do than watch my junk!?"

"Just making sure the boss' orders are followed boy," said the doberman with a wicked snicker.

Marius loved watching the wolf squirm. He had an eye on him for a long time and sometimes would steal the security tapes of Xarius' sessions with Sigmund and take them back to his house for his own perverse enjoyment.

"It'll be alright, Sig," said Andrew, a dingo who sat next to him. The dingo wore nothing but his collar, a small leather harness over his torso, and his gladiatorial tattoos: A yin and yang symbol on his right shoulder, a sun circle on his left, and two inverted swords on the front of his arms below his elbow. His left chest bore his Master's mark, a stylized equine warrior with a bow, and his gladiatorial number, 14, beneath it. In his right arm he held a long polearm - a weapon with a twisted blade of metal with a pointed end, sharp blade, yet hooked and jagged edges mounted on the end of a long staff - braced against the floor of the cage by its butt. "They gotta let you out of that one of these days."

Sigmund shook his head. "I don't think so, bro. Not the way Master talks."

Andrew had become a good friend to Sigmund. Andrew wasn't the best fighter in the games, but he had managed to be spared a grim fate so far. Andrew and Sigmund had offered each other brotherhood and comfort through hard times. Sigmund at first had been a hard shell and rebuffed Andrew's advances, but the wolf soon found that letting down his guard a bit was worth the prize of at least having one true friend in the hell that was his otherwise abysmal life. Andrew, on the other hand, was initially excited to be talking to Xarius' champion, but eventually grew close to the person he found, becoming friends. Andrew's Master was a bit more lenient than Xarius, and on some nights Andrew was allowed to have his liberty on the islands in exchange for good behavior. They had managed to arrange illicit meetings on those nights in the gardens of Xarius' villa when Sigmund had an evening to himself. A sympathetic guard would let Andrew in and out of the compound in exchange for a few "favors." But on those nights, the both of them could almost forget their slavery, if not for their collars and restraints. They'd walk the gardens, look at the stars, enjoy the breeze and talk about their old lives, spinning wild fantasies of some dream future when they could leave Bastana together. But all it could ever be was fantasy, for more than an ocean stood in their way. Their collars kept them locked to the island, and Xarius' mercenaries could track them down by GPS if they ever tried to escape.

A bell rang.

Marius moved in behind the dingo and gave him a little shove with his submachine gun. "You're up kid!," said the doberman, moving behind Andrew as he escorted him to the door of the cage.

As Andrew stepped into the fight pit, the gate slammed and locked shut behind him. The crowds started immediately chanting his name and some of the females in the audience shrieked in excitement. Andrew had managed to gain a minor following of fans during his Bloodgames career. Across from him stood his opponent - a seven-foot muscle bear clad in full plate armor and a helmet, armed with a small short sword. The armor of the bear was jet black with red trim around the edges, and the dark armor reflected the glint of the fight pit's lights. The armor was highly stylized, with the chestpiece, or cuirass, having been forged in the shape of a muscular body. Twisted protrusions resembling horns and antlers stuck out from the bear's helmet and arms. These, of course, didn't help the bear in combat, but were designed to make the fight more visually interesting as well as to give the bear's opponent a target.

The fight began and the bear rushed at Andrew with a loud war cry. Andrew held out his long polearm, trying to fend off the charging monster with his spear point, but the armored juggernaut moved from side to side so that Andrew could not get a good idea of where he should point his weapon.

Soon the bear got dangerously close and thrust with his shortsword in an attempt to impale Andrew through the belly. Andrew danced back in time, his lack of armor allowing him to move more quickly. He swished his longer weapon down and to the side, knocking the bear's sword arm off balance.

Andrew quickly resumed a guard stance with his weapon and then carefully advanced. He aimed for the joints of the bear's armor, thrusting the sharp point of his polearm in an attempt to penetrate between them, but his strikes simply smashed harmlessly against the bear's plates, only driving him back.

The bear attempted once more to charge the naked dingo with his shortsword. Andrew was ready this time. He caught the bear with one of the hooks on his polearm's blade, it tangling with some of the decorative protrusions of the bear's armor. Secure in his grip, he pulled, causing the heavy bear to fall to he ground with a great smash and clattering of metal.

The dingo disentangled his weapon from the fallen bear's armor and then swiftly swept it down, catching hold of the bear's dropped sword and throwing it across the ring before stepping forward and placing his foot on top of the downed bear. The bear struggled, but the weight of his armor was too great to allow him to get back up and now the dingo stood over him, the point of his polearm pointed straight down to the gap between the bear's helmet and the top of his cuirass, the armor that covered his torso.

The crowd booed, but not at Andrew. They booed the bear for having fought so clumsily and fallen so easily. As the boos subsided the inevitable cry from the crowd began to form and then chant in unison.

"Death! Death! Death!"

Soon, the voting began. Being in the audience at the Bloodgames not only gave one the chance to watch the world's deadliest sport, and all the excitement that might certainly bring to a certain kind of person. Not only did it give one a chance to bet on the fighters and have a chance at a small fortune. The audience could also vote on what should be done with the fallen fighters. The audience had three options to choose from, based on how they believed the fallen combatant performed: Death, mercy, or castration. Fighting valiantly to the end ensured that the audience was more likely to spare a fallen gladiator. If, however, a a fighter fell too soon or showed cowardice in battle, the audience could choose for him to be dispatched by his opponent in the pit or for him to be publicly castrated. Castration also resulted in retirement from the Bloodgames and being assigned to some more humiliating and possibly even more dangerous job.

The crowd picked up their voting pads and registered their votes, tracked on a board hovering over the pit. Finally the tally came down. The bear was to be killed. The God of Dragons himself stood up in his box, raising his arms and announcing the result. "Death!"

With that, Andrew took a deep breath and thrust his polearm between the bear's helmet and the rest of his armor, stabbing him through the back of the neck and into the brain stem, ending his life.

As the crowd cheered him, Andrew took a deep sigh and looked down at his chest. One skull was there already. Soon there would be two. Andrew didn't enjoy killing, and these were not badges of honor to him. They were reminders of the monster he had been turned into for the amusement of the crowd. He fought on partly for his own survival, and partly for Sigmund.

Now, it was Sigmund's turn in the arena, and as Andrew and his fallen foe were removed from the field, the black wolf was escorted by the doberman guard to the gate once more. Opposite him was Ganvil, the wolverine - shorter than most, but a compact mass of heavy muscle and a mind full of focused rage. The two of them would fight bare-handed, using martial arts. Ganvil's twenty-five skulls stood in contrast to the bare right chest of Sigmund, who had no recorded kills. It wasn't because he had no victories, but because he was skilled enough to avoid both giving and receiving killing blows in combat, and his opponents were usually crowd favorites and were voted mercy. Ganvil and Sigmund had both overcome their fear of death, as all seasoned fighters in the Bloodgames had. They knew death was always a possibility, but welcomed the chance to test a well-known fighter's skills.

"Hey there cagepuppy!," taunted Ganvil. "I see your Master let you out to play again huh?"

Despite appearances, this wasn't for Ganvil's amusement, but a calculated attempt to emotionally unbalance Sigmund. Sigmund certainly didn't give any visible response, though his mind was taken back to seeing the wolverine pleasured in the cage across from him, knowing that he could never have such things in his life

The combat began and Ganvil rushed Sigmund, aiming a punch for his face to take him down. Sigmund skillfully pulled and knocked the wolverine's claw away before delivering a kick to the wolverine's gut and then a strike to his face, hitting him in the nose which began to bleed. The Wolverine came back once more and struck at Sigmund with his claws, slashing him down the arms as the wolf blocked to defend himself. The wolverine backed off a bit, preparing to use his signature move now to take down Sigmund. He began what was called a tornado kick, spinning his body around and quickly launching his foot into the air, aimed for Sigmund's face. This move had taken down many of the wolverine's opponents, the force of his entire body going into the kick and smashing into his opponent's muzzle, jaw, or throat. It was so powerful that some of his opponents had been killed on the spot.

Sigmund had watched Ganvil use this move before. Most of his opponents were unprepared for it. Sigmund saw it coming as the wolverine turned around, beginning the spin. He backed off, quickly and stepped to the side. He could tell that Ganvil would be vulnerable to straining himself. The confident champion had, after all, been far too busy getting his dick sucked rather than stretching properly in between matches.

The wolverine's leg sailed harmlessly through the air, but, failing to make contact, he twisted his knee out of socket and groaned in pain when he tried to stand on it again. Ganvil moaned, grabbing his knee and hopping a bit, trying to stay off of it as half the crowd booed at him and the other half laughed. Sigmund delivered a rear horse kick to his injured knee, knee, causing him to grab it and hop on his other one. There was no way he was going to continue to fight with this injury. It was humiliating that the Champion of the Bloodgames had been humbled so soon. Shortly afterwards, he was on his back. Sigmund had knocked him down and out with a knee to the chest and an elbow to his head.

The crowd murmured and looked at one another Some called for his death. Sigmund took in a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment, meditating. He had never been called on to kill an opponent before, but he knew this day might come. He looked up at the board and watched as the audience's votes tallied up, then down at the wolverine below him.

"C... congratulations again ... cagepuppy," groaned the wolverine in between his grunts of pain as he returned to consciousness, his vision blurring in and out. Sigmund snarled in rage, baring his teeth as his aggression came to the full front. The wolverine had meant it as sort of a friendly jibe - congratulating a worthy opponent in sort of an informal way.

Sigmund, however, was angry at being taunted a second time. The need, the pain, and the rage had built up in his loins over several months of confinement. He was hard now, his cock raging under his crotchplate, free of its cage for once. Sigmund looked up at the board again, and saw the the votes had tallied in favor of castration. A sick delight came over him at the wolverine's fate, and that he was to be the instrument of it.

The cage doors opened again and two of the guards wheeled in a cruel device. It was a miniature guillotine on a wheeled platform at just the right height to perform this grim duty.

The crowd salivated at the sight of the terrible machine, soon standing and breaking into another chant:

"Chop! Chop! Chop!"

The injured wolverine's ears perked as he heard this chant, squirming and rolling around. His eyes went wide. Suddenly the tough guy became like a frightened child, begging for his life.

"N... no please! Please don't do this!," he cried, crawling up on his injured knee and clasping his paws together, holding them up to Sigmund as if praying to a god. "Please, brother! Kill me now!!," he cried before hanging his head and wailing in sorrow at the thought of what was about to become of him.

The audience just laughed at the wolverine's pathetic pleadings. Soon the remains of snacks and empty drink bottles were flying into the pit, one of which hit the wolverine squarely in the head.

Sigmund raised his hands and spread them, holding them on each side of the wolverine's neck. For a moment he considered granting his fallen opponent's request.

The wolverine shivered and closed his eyes, preparing to receive Sigmund's mercy as the wolf pulled his hands back.

"No!," said Sigmund in a moment of aggression and anger.

The wolverine opened his eyes and looked up to Sigmund with an expression of shock and horror, the blood still dripping from his face from his combat wounds.

"You sit there with your bitches and get your cock sucked because you can kill. Then you come in here and make fun of me because of what I have to go through, and you expect me to be merciful to you!? I don't think so... You deserve to live as half a man."

The wolverine desperately tried to crawl to the exit of the pit, past the guards rolling the guillotine. They moved to block him and he stood up on one foot, trying to attack them by slashing at them with his claws.

"Just shoot me! Shoot me now!," he bawled.

They didn't, but rather knocked him down to the pit floor. Even for an expert in hand to hand combat, he was easy to best in his current situation.

Marius, the doberman guard, reached down and grabbed Ganvil by his arms, pulling him up and thusting him down into a chair another guard had set up in front of the mobile guillotine, then leaned down and bit lightly on one of his ears, whispering into it as he secured the defeated wolverine in with leather straps.

"I've been waiting a long time for this sight, boy. Give us a show now, huh?"

The wolverine gulped and closed his eyes, whimpering pathetically as he stared at the sight of the gleaming guillotine blade hovering in front of him at the top of its frame. He yelped as he felt the guards grabbing hold of his balls and cock, manhandling them as they shoved them into the lunette, the small two-part frame at the bottom of the guillotine that held his bits in place, and then closed it tightly around his cock and balls.

One of the guards took a hammer and handed it to Sigmund. It was traditional in the Bloodgames to offer a bit of fun to the one who had vanquished an opponent condemned to castration.

Sigmund took the hammer and looked at it, then down to Ganvil's bits, then into his face. He shook his head, thinking of how pathetic this warrior became at the threat of losing his manhood. Sigmund delivered a heavy blow each to the wolverine's exposed balls, smashing them against the wooden platform of the guillotine before tossing the hammer aside. He let all of his rage pour out of him, making him into a mindless animal. He grabbed the rope that held the blade up and pulled at it, growling, finally severing it with his claws, causing the blade to drop.

Ganvil howled in pain, his world shattered as his body shuddered and he went into shock. The remains of his bits fell off the platform of the guillotine and dropped to the arena floor as blood poured from his now bare crotch.

Sigmund's body sweated as he roared in rage, all of his energy pouring through his body as he pulled the rope, then howled out as another powerful sensation rippled through him. He groaned and closed his eyes, then reached down quickly and pulled off his crotch plate, dropping it to the floor of the arena. The sticky white goo that filled it was the mark of his shame.

---

Sigmund returned to his Master's chambers after a hard day of training, carrying his performance report. He shivered in fear, for on it was the dreaded red mark. He tried to hide his report when he got to his Master's room, but Master had wrenched it from his hand, looking it over with narrowed eyes.

"I see you got killed in your training, boy," said Xarius. "And now I have to send you to hell."

That incident from the past, repeated many times, haunted Sigmund's mind now. He stood in the oubliette in his Master's chambers, barely enough room to move or breathe. He cried, something he rarely did in his life, looking down at his chest. He couldn't see it now, but he knew it was there. Crossed bones adorned his right chest, instead of a skull and crossbones. It was the mark of one who had been awarded a castration by the crowd in victory. He beat at his chest and moaned in shame at what he had done.

He had tried to tell himself he had done it because he had to. He had done it because he was a gladiator in the Bloodgames and he had to follow the decisions of the crowd.

"No!," his shame told him. He had enjoyed it! He could have easily broken the wolverine's neck and endured the displeasure of the crowd. He would still be punished, probably just as badly as he was being now. His final shame was what he had done when he had severed the wolverine's junk. He had shot his load. Had he enjoyed what he had done in that way? Was he really that sick? That was all he could think of even as he had been brought before Master Xarius Augustine by the guards after having his chest inked with his mark of shame.

The God of Dragons had been furious. He had the wolf flogged hard on both his back and over his chest, all the while shouting at him and yelling down his kind. Wolves, he had said, were pathetic, and were not made for pleasure. Dragons were the only true people in the world, and he hoped that all other races would one day be reduced to slaves and only be bred through painful sperm extraction methods and artificial insemination. A wolf's cock was not made for pleasure or for fun, The Lord Augustine had explained, but so that dragons could punish them and give them pain.

Sigmund had breathed deeply and tried to meditate as he had practiced long ago, enduring the flogging and the insults. Sigmund was deeply ashamed and guilt-stricken, though for reasons completely other than those his Master would have preferred. It didn't occur to Xarius, perhaps, that someone could actually feel deep guilt over harming another being.

Sigmund gasped for air, the tight space making it feel as if he couldn't breathe. He grabbed and clawed for the stones on the wall, trying to pull himself up but he couldn't. He cried in despair. His Master had placed a cock cage on him again, but had also added a device to his balls to keep them uncomfortably squeezed, keeping the boy in a near constant pain.

Sigmund flashed back again, a tear rolling down his face as he thought back to his past. He remembered Silva, his old Master who he had ran from to become part of this, not knowing what he was getting himself into. The bear could be a bit rough sometimes. Sometimes he wasn't around. But one thing Sigmund knew for sure was that Master Silva would never harm him. He remembered one time he was out past his curfew and had come home drunk. Master Silva had him caned and then locked him in the dungeon for the rest of the night. He remembered afterwards how the big white bear had held him in those big fuzzy arms, pulling him tightly and nuzzling between his ears. He gave him a kiss there and told him how he loved him and would never hurt him or leave him. Sigmund had nodded and pressed his muzle into the bear's harnessed chest, holding him tightly.

Now Sigmund knew a world without love. It was a world of torture, brutality, and death. He had forsaken his old life for this new one. He lowered his ears and gave out a loud moan of despair.

"Master! Save me! Please Master! I'll be good," he cried, clawing at the stones on the side of the oubliette again. He called not for Master Xarius, but Master Silva.

It was then that the rope ladder came down the oubliette and hit Sigmund in the face, startling him out of his trance. He shivered for a moment, then a wave of joy came over him. His pleas had been heard! He grabbed the ladder and with all his might began to pull himself out of the pit, his eyes focusing on the dim light at the top that became brighter and brighter as he dragged himself up from out of his personal hell.

At the top of the ladder he was expecting to see Xarius, towering over him to deliver some pronouncement of doom and explain to him the lesson he should learn again. He was surprised instead to find Andrew at the top of the ladder, his buddy from the Bloodgames.

"A... Andrew?" asked Sigmund. "What are you doing he..."

"Shh!," said Andrew, putting a paw over Sigmund's muzzle. "Quiet... I'm not supposed to be in here."

Sigmund nodded and hugged his friend tighter than he had hugged anyone in his life, burying his muzzle against the dingo's shoulder and crying as Andrew hugged him back.

"Its going to be alright," said Andrew, holding onto his friend.

"Come on," said Andrew, helping his friend forward and out into Xarius' chambers.

"How?" said Sigmund, looking at Andrew somewhat confused.

"Xarius got invited over to my Master's tonight for a party. They're gonna be out real late, maybe to morning. So I sneaked out and came over here to see you."

"I love you!," said Sigmund, hugging Andrew.

"I love you too," Andrew said, nuzzling Sigmund's nose.

Soon, the two of them began to lap at each others lips, closing their eyes as their mouths joined in a passionate kiss. Their arms entwined, rubbing up and down each others sides and backs as they shared this special stolen moment. They broke the kiss and then gave each other a nuzzle on the nose again, smiling happily.

"We're going to leave this place together, you and me," said Sigmund.

"But how?," asked Andrew. "Our collars, they'll set off the central alarms if we get too far out of range."

"There must be a way to tamper with the collars so we can get them off, or there must be some kind of key or electronic signal somewhere that might release them. Then we can stow away on a ship and get out of here."

"The computer terminal, over there on the wall. Maybe it has the answers," said Andrew.

Sigmund went over to the terminal to log it on. It required a password. He closed his eyes and tried to remember the sequence of his Master's fingers over the keys. He meditated for a moment, thinking back to when he saw his Master use the terminal. He looked at the keys now, then typed out a few words that he thought might be important to Xarius. Finally, he typed in "DRACO," the screen lit up and logged him into the system.

Andrew rubbed Sigmund's shoulders as he frantically searched for some information that might help them escape. He didn't find much in that regard. Instead though he came across a great deal of security footage and confidential information.

One of the first interesting snippets he came across was a video of Arcturus, the white wolf/tiger hybrid who had referred him to Xarius, training a gladiator, a large lion male. With a single swipe, the lion's claw slashed down Arcturus' face and through his eye.

"Damn that was a nasty hit!," said Andrew as he rubbed down Sigmund's arms and leaned down to kiss him on the cheek.

"... Malfunctioning equipment," said Sigmund, vaguely remembering something.

"What?"

"Nothing," replied Sigmund, closing the video and then looking for more information. What he found wouldn't help him escape, but it would shock him and rock some of his conceptions. He found pictures of a younger Xarius, from twenty years ago. The twenty tear old dragon was bagging groceries at a grocery store, and doing a pretty bad job of it. Bumbling and messing up things for his customers. He squashed their bread. The bottoms of their bags fell out. He was scolded by the store owner, a tall and manly gray wolf, who told him he would never amount to anything and that his kind were scum that should have been wiped out long ago.

Xarius had absolutely nothing going for him in life back then. He was living with his mother, a high school dropout and headed nowhere in life but down, going from one dead end job to another. But finally Xarius stumbled over a successful strategy that had catapulted him to success. He worked on his physical appearance more than his job performance, building muscles and buying fancy clothes on credit. He had then met his first victim, a meerkat who was easily impressed with a powerful appearance. He dominated the smaller one's life, living off of his income and at his expense, gradually bringing more slaves under his dominion and combining their incomes, managing his flock of cash generators as a farmer manages a field of corn. Finally the truth was revealed. Xarius had never done anything of worth in his life on his own. He only lived off of the work of others. He had never been in the military. He had never seen a battlefield as he had claimed. Ideas and inventions attributed to him were only those he stole from others for his own benefit.

Sigmund shut down the terminal in disgust and stood up with a sigh.

"Everything alright hun?," asked the dingo, holding onto one of Sigmund's arms.

"I don't think we're going to find anything we can use in there," said Sigmund, patting the dingo on the back.

"I understand, dear," said Andrew as he held onto Sigmund, rubbing his paws down his arms, the decorative tattoos of the Bloodgames rippling under the dingo's paws.

Soon there was a great commotion as the door to Xarius' chambers opened, revealing the False God of Dragons himself with ten of his hired mercenaries, including the sinister guard Marius.

"So we finally uncovered this little lovenest did we!?" exclaimed Xarius. "You thought we'd never find out? Those collars do have tracers in them you know."

Andrew lowered his ears. He had come here many times before but was always on leave from his Master. Now, this time of all others, he was caught.

"You liar and fake!," said Sigmund as he irrationally lunged at his Master, only to be downed by the collar once more, as he had been many times before. Crawling on the floor as the shocker seared his flesh and fur.

"Don't you ever learn your lesson boy? How many times am I going to have to shock you before you start to behave?"

Sigmund looked up at his Master, growling and baring his teeth.

"Get that thing out of here!," said Xarius, motioning to the dingo.

The guards reacted immediately, grabbing Andrew by the arms and pulling him from the room.

"I love you Sig! Don't forget me!," cried the Dingo as he was pulled from the room.

Sigmund nodded to his lover as he was pulled from his presence. "I love you too!" he shouted, prompting a disgusted slap across the face from Xarius.

"You never learn, do you boy! Learn your place as a wolf. Learn to worship your god!"

"You are not a god!," exclaimed the wolf, daring the shocker once more.

"Excuse me?" said Xarius.

"I found it all. I found out about your past. I know you never did anything worthwhile in life on your own."

Xarius sighed. "It's apparent to me now that you're no longer worthy to be my champion," he said. "Perhaps, after a period of penance, you will learn the error of your ways and return to my side, if you survive your ordeal."

"I can handle anything you can throw at me!," shouted Sigmund.

"Then I'm sure you won't mind going on whore duty, full service."

"F.. full service?," asked Sigmund nervously?

Because of Bastana's isolated nature, certain activities that would be illegal on the mainland, even in districts with legal prostitution, were tolerated. This included some practices that would be considered unsafe or immoral in an area not under the dominion of Xarius Augustine. "Full Service" referred to prostitution where there were no limits but the client's own level of desire and perversion. Sigmund was not guaranteed to survive this ordeal, either in one piece or at all.

"For how long?" said Sigmund.

"At least a year," said Xarius. "Long enough for you to learn your lesson. If you don't make it back or come back a diseased wretch, I can always find another champion and some lesser use for you.

Sigmund drooped his ears, resigning to his fate. For all he knew he would never see Andrew again. He didn't know what was going to happen to him now. The only thing he knew for sure was that he had to get out of whatever it was and be with Andrew, the one who was meant to be his mate...

To Be Continued

Next Time: Sigmund is sent out to serve his Master as a male prostitute. Will his clients be easy on him, or will he face ordeals more trying than what he faced in the Bloodgames? Will he ever see Andrew again? Will they ever be able to have a life together?