Tommy, the young bartender had made a special point of making sure he knew how to get there. It was a once a year blowout for the Warehouse regulars and a chance to spend a long, private weekend, outdoors, in leather, among friends.

Tommy was a hot favorite at the bar and he was in charge of making sure the best customers got a very personal invitation. Scott was among the few newcomers to get the word. One slow night, just after closing, he'd been given a carefully drawn map showing the way.

The old farm was about an hour and a half out of town. Cliff, who owned the Warehouse, had owned the place for years and used it for private parties and time alone with some of the young leathermen he entertained.

It seemed a long time after leaving the main highway, and counting miles of paved two lane before Scott rolled off the pavement and onto a dirt track leading through the trees. Half an hour of slow going later he saw the first traces of rusted fence and finally the nearly overgrown lane leading toward the old house and outbuildings. Yes, it was remote and that was why the guys liked to come here. Cliff owned almost a square mile of trees, small ponds and meadows out in the middle of what some of his friends called, "Buttfuck, Nowhere."

Some of the guys had obviously made the trip easy on themselves and traveled together in the vans that were parked in the yard. Only a few had their own trucks or bikes. Scott didn't mind riding with other guys, but when, or if he decided to leave, he didn't want to wait until some other guy was good and ready. He found a good parking spot and kicked down the stand, swung off the bike and unzipped his jacket. After the long, hot ride, the cool air felt good on his bare chest. He knew he'd peel off more later. As he walked toward the group, he saw Cliff, busy making sure all the guys had plenty of beer. Scott thought he must really love the work because he spent so much time doing it here and in town. Cliff was a big guy. Not pretty to look at, but with a body solid as concrete. He was friendly and popular but nobody fucked with him here or in the bar. He treated the guys right and earned a good living doing it. They all respected him. Tommy and Chad, the two bartenders were busy all over the place. The hot little turn-ons, Cliff's slaveboys, were bare-assed except for their boots and leather jocks.

Scott walked up to Cliff and thanked him for the invitation. He got a friendly punch in the gut and a cold beer in return. Tommy came up and, smiling, fell to his knees, pressing his face into his new guest's leather-clad crotch. The biker pulled the young man's head tighter against the bulge, roughed up his blonde hair then pulled him upright for a kiss on the lips and a slap on the ass. Tommy leaned close and wished him luck. Scott hugged the kid and told him not to worry.

Just getting laid would have been too easy. There were about fifty leather guys at the party. Most were familiar faces. Men careful to dress the part of "S" or "M." There was a lot of friendly talk, eating, drinking and horseplay all afternoon.

The teams of "S" and "M" guys played out their good humored tie- up and torture games. Lots of sex and good fun, but for Scott, the scenes were too predictable. Too much like demonstrations. He watched, talked, drank and ate with the rest but after a while pulled back from the crowd, found a quiet spot in the fading sun, peeled off his jacket and stretched out. He closed his eyes. After the ride, the beer and the food, he relaxed and gradually, drifted off . Tommy would come for him when it was time. His body was hard. He knew he was ready.

It was dark when he felt the young man's hands rubbing his naked chest. Raising his head he saw the bonfires from the party and heard the shrieks and laughter. Tommy bent closer for a kiss. It was almost time to meet the other guys down by the barn. The muscular biker raised himself and kissed his playful friend's lips. Scott tossed his jacket over his shoulder and the two men walked together toward the dark building.

The barn hadn't been used for generations and looked like it had seen all the winter storms it could take. It rested on a stone foundation at the edge of a gentle slope . The lowest floor was half- buried in the hill and accessible only through a small, heavy door at the rear. There, in the dark three other men were waiting, talking together. Tommy quietly introduced him. It had been a year since they'd been in this place. For Scott, it was the first time. In the dim light, he could see that his new friends were also dressed in leather, open jackets, bare chests. Scott thought they were magnificent. His cock stirred inside the tight confines of his leather jeans. He felt ready for anything tonight. Tommy stood next to him, rubbing his hand over the smooth, black leather encasing his thighs. Again, the boy wished him luck.

It was only a few minutes before the door creaked open. Cliff and young Chad were inside. The men entered a large, dirt floored room. Light came from a series of torches on the stone walls. This place wasn't used for the sort of revelry they'd left to the others outside. Those men could only dream about the action Scott and his muscular friends were about to witness and experience.

As his eyes grew used to the torchlight, he began to see the weapons. There were several types of swords, spears and enough different knives to satisfy any collector. Tommy came up beside him, smiled and began unfastening the wide, studded belt in his leather jeans. Then Cliff's young slave knelt down, licked and then began began to remove the dusty black boots. The other men continued talking while they too stripped off their jackets and Levi's. Chad and Tommy happily assisted everyone to peel black leather and denim off hard, sweaty, bronzed muscles. Cliff walked among his spectacular naked guests, passing out beer and speaking to each like an old friend. Cliff gave Scott an approving look as he approached with a welcome. Tommy stood up and followed his master to the center of the room. The four new friends, naked muscle studs, gathered close. Scott felt the heat of the strong bodies near him. His cock, like the other mens' stood out, fully hard.

Cliff made sure each man knew what he was getting into. Once they had decided to stay, no one would be allowed to leave until the games were over. Cliff would say when, unless someone dared to challenge him.

One team would be chosen. One man would die. A simple drawing would determine which two gladiators would fight to the death. He paused briefly to see if anyone wanted to leave. The veterans moved closer to Scott. All those who were about to risk death in the ultimate blood sport kissed and embraced. Cliff walked to the door, slid the heavy steel bolt home and padlocked it into place. The outside world could not interrupt, neither could those inside choose, anymore to leave.

Cliff and his young assistants made sure everyone was relaxed and comfortable. There was again, plenty of cold beer and some good weed to smoke. Scott and the other fighters, talked together and moved around the room admiring and commenting on Cliff's weapon collection. There was no bragging or showing off. They talked together like long time friends. Scott admired the rippling forearms and pecs as he watched the others test and swing some of their favorite blades. He wondered what the others thought of him. Which of these studs would he have to kill or which would kill him ? Would he get a chance to fight at all ? With only four in the lottery, the chances were fifty fifty. Either he would fight or not. Either he would live or he would take a blade through his bare chest in this arena. He was excited more than he'd ever been . Life, he thought, is so beautiful and simple tonight.

After an hour with these men, Scott felt he loved them all. Living with them or dying in front of them would be a privilege. Soon, Cliff called them to the center of the arena space. Cliff removed Timmy's leather jock and placed four numbered slips of paper inside the still warm pouch.

One. Two. Three. Four. The room was quiet. Cliff handed the pouch to his assistants. The two slaveboys stood up and walked toward the waiting fighters. Tommy and Chad kneeled down in front of Mike, a black haired, heavily muscled man who'd lived through three of these games. Mike reached to draw his number. Without looking, he folded it inside his hand. Jody was next. The slim and wiry young man was beautifully defined, though smaller than the others. Scott thought he had a dancer's body and would bring a dangerous agility to the arena. Following Mike's example, he took a number from the kneeling slaves. The boys then moved to Chris, He had long blond hair, a body so free of fat every muscle called for a label. His pecs were square and decked. His abs looked like corrugated marble. Scott thought he'd never seen a man more beautiful. He wondered if he could bring himself to kill a man like that if he had the chance. Then, Tommy and Chad knelt before Scott. There would be one number left. Tommy pulled it out and placed it in the hand of the last waiting gladiator.

Cliff approached the four. He announced that the men who drew numbers one and four would be the winning team tonight. Each man unfolded the slip of paper he held. Numbers one and four would soon take their places in the center of the room and fight until one of them was on his back, pinned to the dirt floor with a steel blade pressed against his chest.

Scott unfolded the paper Timmy had given him. Number four. He looked again, experiencing the thrill of winning a chance to give these men a night they'd never forget and the concern over which of these hunks would try to kill him.

Chris was number one. The man standing beside him. The one Scott thought so beautiful he couldn't wait until they were struggling in the dirt, using all their powerful muscles to keep each other's blades away from their chests.

Scott turned toward Chris. The two naked studs kissed and embraced. All the rest gathered close to wish them both luck. Chris whispered in Scott's ear that he'd gotten the partner he wanted. Whether I kill you or you kill me, he said, tonight is ours.

It would be the slaveboys who prepared the two fighters for their duel to death. Scott and Chris walked to the center of the room. Tommy and Chad brought small buckets of oil and began smoothing it over the two mens' bodies. Tommy knelt in front of Scott, dipped his hands in the liquid and started working it up his legs and thighs. The boy smiled and look up into his hero's eyes. Scott wondered whether the youth wanted to see him win or die. Either way, as Chris had said, the night was his. Soon, both stars were completely oiled from their necks down. Chests, backs, arms, asses, cocks, and legs. They both stood facing each other. Their tanned muscles shone like polished copper in the torchlight.

Then, the boys brought the leather and the weapons. Tommy and Chad grasped the gladiators cocks and balls to strap on studded black leather cock sheaths. Chris and Scott both winced as the eager hands snapped the cockrings shut and tightened the drawstrings around their extended rods. Scott felt he was on the verge of shooting a load into Tommy's face as his friend worked to prepare him for combat. Cliff handed the boys two wide leather belts. Each one carried a huge, sheathed dagger. Scott guessed the blades must be a foot long and three inches wide at the hilt. Blades thick and heavy enough to drive most of the way through a man's body. The slaves finished their work, fastening the belts and blades low around the gladiators' slim hips. The two men kissed one more time before stepping back toward the edge of the arena floor. They waited for Cliff's signal to attack. The other two gladiators, still naked and obviously hard stood back. Tommy, Chad and Cliff pulled back too.

Cliff clapped his hands together once. Chris pulled the long dagger from its sheath and moved forward, slowly waving it in front of him. Scott realized his hottest fantasy was now a reality. Tonight he would have to kill this hot opponent or die himself. He drew his blade. It was not as heavy as he expected, The leather and wire wrapped handle felt good and solid in his grip. The blade felt responsive, like an extension of his hand, not like the steel club he thought it might be. Chris moved closer. He looked like a Norse warrior ready for Valhalla. Deadly dangerous, but fascinatingly beautiful to watch. Scott moved forward, on his guard for a sudden slash or lunge.

Chris was a skilled fighter. He'd been in this arena before to fight for his life. This time the opponent looked like he could be as fast as he was. The blonde gladiator had admired Scott's body earlier this evening while the bare chested biker lay sleeping in the grass, waiting for this moment. He'd hoped then that he'd have the opportunity to face him. Now, with Tommy's help, his wish had been granted.

Scott came forward, slashing with his dagger. He lunged past Chris, just missing the tip of his opponent's blade which passed close to his ribs. Both men stopped and turned quickly to face each other. Scott lunged forward again. This time he tried to get a hit on Chris' knife arm. Chris was too quick. He slashed back just nicking Scott's thigh. Taking advantage of the cut, Chris wheeled and lunged at Scott's side. Again, the naked biker narrowly avoided the weapon. Scott gripped his blade tighter. Losing it would mean death. Chris looked relaxed and fluid as he circled around again looking for another chance to draw blood. Chris' smile made Scott feel he was being toyed with. Was Chris so confident of killing him that he was just putting on a show for his friends? Or was he just a dammned good actor trying to psych him out ? Suddenly, the smile faded and Chris' eyes narrowed. He lunged forward again, slashing rapidly, his blade aiming for Scott's ribbed belly. Scott fell back at the rapid, viscious attack, all the way to the bales at the edge of the circular arena. Suddenly Chris withdrew. Turned his back and strode confidently to the center of the ring. Scott was on the verge of anger now. He thought he was being toyed with, teased by this pretty-boy killer. His love for the beauty he was facing began to change. Chris was a cocky bastard. Scott recovered his poise and moved toward the center of the ring. He knew he had to strike fast. Chris had turned to face him again, ready for more play. Scott threw aside any of the hesitation he felt before and rushed toward his opponent. He kept his eyes focused on Chris' blade arm. Above all else, that was his objective. As the two closed, both men swung their blades. Chris was still trying to slash Scott's gut. Scott had seen the move before. He judged just how close he could safely come. His own body would be exposed but he kept his eyes focused on Chris' forearm and came down hard with the wide, flat side of the heavy knife. He was concious of his own muscles working together to effect the risky move. He felt the rapid contraction of pecs and lats, the tight muscles in his forearm and hand. With a loud slap of steel against muscle and bone, Scott hit the blonde god hard enough to make him yell in pain and drop his blade. Scott knew immediately he'd succeeded. The blade hit the inside bone in Chris' forearm. On target, the force of Scott's blade had temporarily numbed his opponent's arm. Chris' hand flew open at the extreme pain. Like a gift, the deadly blade, which his single minded opponent had tried to drive into his ribbed belly, had just slid into the dirt near his feet. Chris, held tight to his bruised arm, rapidly flexing his fingers in an effort to regain feeling. Little blood had been shed, but Chris was no longer the smiling, confident gladiator of a few short minutes ago.

Chris shook the long, blonde hair out of his eyes. Like Scott, the sweat and oil made his muscles shine. He was naked, unarmed, down on one knee and looking up at Scott. Scott read the unspoken message in the proud gladiator's eyes. This was his last fight and he was prepared to die.

Scott knew he would kill this beautiful opponent tonight. Now, it was his turn to play the star. He reached down to pick up Chris' lost blade. Approaching the young stud, he dropped to his knees to face the man he thought he would hesitate to kill. Chris raised his head and braced himself for an expected knife thrust to the chest. Scott looked into his eyes and slowly handed him the blade he'd retreived. The two shared an understanding only two fighters who respect each other can know. Scott raised his knife arm above Chris' chest. Slowly, Chris matched his move. They wrapped their strong fists around each other's wrists and Scott began to force the tip of his blade toward its naked target. Chris responded with equal strength and the final, mortal struggle began. Using all the strength in their upper bodies, each man tried to press his blade closer to flesh. Scott extended his leg and slowly levered his oiled partner over on his side. Grimly clutching their weapons, the two muscled torsos fell together onto the dirt floor of the arena. Chris knew that while he was not as quick or graceful earlier, his superior strength would help him win now. He was prepared to play with Chris the way he'd been played with earlier. Scott let Chris roll him over on his back, allowing him to take advantage of his own weight as he struggled to pin him to the floor and drive the knife home. Scott's heavy delts and chest kept his would -be killer's knife arm well away from drawing blood. He allowed the knife to come just shy of his pecs more than once and then, using his powerful legs and stomach, rolled Chris over onto his side again. Now, Scott knew he was the winner. Chris would die tonight in Scott's own time. Slowly, carefully, he forced his blade down, down, closer to the sweaty chest. He felt Chris relax the deadly pressure against his arm. At last, almost lovingly, Scott pressed the hard steel dagger into the center of Chris' chest. The spot just below his pecs was where the blade had to go. Death for Chris would be quick, when it came. For now all Scott wanted to see was blood on this perfect chest. Chris' blood signifying his total victory. He pressed steel against flesh just enough to cut the perfectly tanned muscles. Chris threw away his knife and fixed his eyes on Scott's blade. Again, he was expecting to feel the hard dagger deep inside him. Scott laid his knife on the man's heaving chest, stretched out his legs and laid himself atop his hot opponent. Both mens' cocks were bursting hard inside the restraints of the leather sheaths. Both were on the very edge of releasing their loads and after a long, deep kiss, Scott raised himself. He unfastened the leather straps restraining both of them. Raising Chris' ass, Scott thrust his heavily oiled cock into the defeated gladiator. Chris accepted the painful thrust with a gasp and a slight smile. He would be allowed one final pleasure before dying.

The men in the room approached the center and got down near the two fighters. Scott motioned for Tommy to move closer. The eager youth placed his hot mouth over the entire length of Chris' huge cock and began slowly loving it with his tongue and lips. Chris was near ecstacy. He looked up into Scott's eyes as the victor began slowly moving his hips back and forth. Life for him was over, but his death would be perfect and the men who would appreciate it were with him. Scott moved his hand toward the blade he'd rested on his lover's chest. There was no hurry now. The struggle was over. Chris would let them all know when the time was right. Scott continued the slow, loving man fuck and Tommy's skillful work soon brought Chris to the edge of paradise. His breathing became shorter, his beautiful chest rising and falling each time. At last, Chris let out a yell of pleasure as he shot his load into the slaveboy's mouth. Scott fired his cock into its target. In a split second, Scott raised the heavy blade and plunged it deep into Chris' chest. The gladiator who'd fought so well felt the ecstacy of release as the blade tore through his hard chest muscles and down into his wildly pumping heart. Scott leaned forward once more. He wanted to be as close to Chris as possible as the life poured from his lover's perfect body. He held his bleeding friend close for the final minutes, then Chris' head fell back and the gladiator was dead.

Scott lay with Chris a few minutes longer. The men in the room were silent until Tommy crawled over to hug Scott around the neck. Tommy told him how Chris had wanted to fight him and how he'd arranged the drawing so he could. He'd been afraid Scott would die.

The gladiators embraced again. They were still all hard even after the sex they'd enjoyed during the fight. Standing over Chris' naked body, they gathered around to pay their respects. Scott began stroking his cock as he remembered the power he'd overcome and the feel of Chris' muscles against his. All the others joined in. Soon they shot their loads over their honored friend's body.

Cliff brought beers for the party. They toasted Chris for his beauty and skill and remembered his loyal friendship. Chris would be with them this final night. Tomorrow, before they left the farm, they'd dress him in his leathers and lay him in the earth beneath the arena floor with other honored gladiators from their club. Each man knew ,as the sun rose, that morning that someday soon, his turn would come.