This was the Death Game, and it had come into being when the public had got bored of the pantomime of WWF, they had tired of shows like American Gladiators and BattleDome. They wanted REAL gladiatorial combat. The Death Game satisfied their lust for fights to the death.

"Gentlemen, in the Arena tonight, to fight to the death, for your entertainment and for the right to challenge the World Champion. We have Shane, Death Game Champion of Australia, versus Sarj, Death Game Champion of India."

Floodlights were switched on as the two magnificent males leapt into the Arena.

"Give a big hand, folks, to these magnificent specimens of manhood. Each of these guys has sent six of his countrymen to their deaths in the Arena in order to qualify for tonight�s match."

Shane was a ruggedly handsome young bloke, his dark blond, centre-parted hair was shoulder length, his body was muscular. His arms and thighs were also muscular. Sarj was a beautiful man, with a lean face, fine features and dark eyes. He wore his black hair short and had a bronze brown skin. His legs, though slightly less muscular than Shane�s, were longer, suggesting he was fast on his feet. Both men�s genitals revealed a state of high excitement.

"Your life is OVER, mate!" growled the Australian.

Shane motioned with his finger across his throat, with a hissing, slitting sound, indicating the fate he intended for Sarj.

"Thank you for reminding me where to put the knife after I win the fight, Shane!" joked Sarj.

The rules of the Death Game were simple. Each man was naked, except for a thin band of leather around each foot. The purpose of this band was to attach to the sole of each foot a sharp little stud. That was the only weapon in this otherwise unarmed combat. The object of the stud was generally to do grief to your opponent, but it had a more specific and important purpose too. If a gladiator could get his foe on his back, and plant his foot on the loser�s cock, and wound his cock, then he had won the Death Game. The defeated gladiator would then be obliged to offer his throat to his conqueror for the death blow.

A gong sounded. The deathfight had begun.

"Time to DIE, Sarj!" menaced Shane.

"No way Shane! It�s YOUR corpse I�ll be dragging feet first out of this Arena" threatened Sarj.

But Sarj had not reckoned on Shane�s strength and powerful physique. Shane grabbed Sarj�s manly flesh and got him into a powerful bearhug. Sarj squealed as the young Australian crushed him in his mighty arms. The Indian groaned as Shane lifted him off his long bare feet, which wriggled impotently in the air. With muscular strength Shane pressed Sarj to his chest, squeezing the breath out of him.

The agony on Sarj�s sweat-soaked face was abject. He gritted his teeth in pain. You could hear his ribs crack as he fell victim to the superior strength of his rival gladiator. Shane, his muscled legs wide apart, his bare feet wide apart and strong and sturdy, kept hold of Sarj in the bearhug until he knew his opponent was done for. Shane released him and Sarj staggered round the Arena, groggy and unsteady on his feet. The crowd, sensing the Indian�s impending defeat, started to chant "Death, death, death!"

Sarj knew he must at all costs stay on his feet; if Shane got him on his back, he would be doomed, for Shane�s foot would be on his cock in no time.

For his next move, Shane decided to make short work of Sarj�s feet. Stamping on his foeman�s long feet with his broader ones, he turned the Indian�s feet into a bloody mess. The Australian grinned at his handiwork. That put paid to Sarj�s superiority of speed.

Then Shane went for Sarj�s neck. There were no holds barred in this unarmed fight to the death. Shane strangled the stunned Indian until he was shaky on his feet, and then continued to throttle him until Sarj could stay on his feet no longer. In vain the enfeebled Sarj tried to weaken Shane�s iron grip

"Die, Sarj, just die!� rasped the merciless Australian.

Sarj succumbed to Shane�s strength and killer instinct, and his strong dominator was able to lie his almost-unconscious body on the sand of the Arena.

Sarj�s cock was massively erect with the thrill of defeat, and pointing upwards over his belly. Without hesitation Shane planted his foot on Sarj�s cock. Nice and hard, with his toes curled round Sarj�s organ, so that his foot-stud pierced Sarj�s cock.

"Aaaaghhhggh!" cried the Indian, his handsome face lined and contorted in agony.

Instantly Shane raised his arms in victory pose. A tell-tale trickle of blood emerged from the planted foot - Sarj�s blood. Shane stepped off Sarj�s penis to reveal the full bloody mess of the wound - the wound that sealed Sarj�s fate. The crowd went wild; Shane had won! Shane beamed and grinned as he flexed his virile biceps. Sarj puckered his forehead in unbelieving, open-mouthed horror and pain.

The crowds cheered the victor, Shane; they pointed their thumbs down at his outclassed foe.

"You have lost, Sarj, now you must die like a gladiator!" said Shane.

"Yes, Shane, you have defeated me. I await my death."

Sarj knew he had been bested by a stronger male and would willingly forfeit his life. The contest had been brief and one-sided and he deserved death. Rallying his strength, he assumed the defeat pose. He knelt on one knee, the other bloodied foot thrust forward so that his toes touched Shane�s toes. He placed both his hands submissively on the Australian�s feet. Sarj�s cock was still erect and bleeding from the wound. Sarj softly kissed Shane�s erect cock, acknowledging the Australian�s superior virility. Then he flung back his handsome head to offer Shane his soft, vulnerable throat. A ring attendant came forward from out of the shadows to hand Shane the Death Blade, a chunky dagger made for the slashing of defeated men�s throats. Sarj would be the eighteenth defeated Death Fighter to feel the unforgiving sting of the Championship Death Blade.

With a grin on his face Shane slashed Sarj�s throat - a deep death-slash - and the handsome Indian fell back with a low moan. A tell-tale stream of blood from his mouth confirmed that death had taken place. Then Shane took Sarj�s long feet, slipped off the impotent studs which had failed to bloody the victor, and, clasping his hands round Sarj�s ankles, dragged the loser to the perimeter of the Death Ring, to the roar of the crowd.

Then he returned to the centre of the Death Ring to acknowledge the applause of his adoring supporters. Shane had seen off his foe easily. He looked at Sarj, lying there, the blood from his sliced throat and from his mouth dribbling into the sand, his cock finally flaccid and his cock-wound still apparent. His long feet bleeding and naked, divested of their vicious little weapons by the victorious Shane.

But Shane�s work was not over yet. He had a fresh and more threatening opponent to fight before the day was through.

The master of ceremonies announced the next fight.

"Now Shane, the victor of that fight, will face the World Champion, Harry, from America! Remember, folks, only ONE male leaves the Arena alive. In the Death Game, as in nature, only the stronger male survives."

Harry entered the Arena, naked, hairy, virile. He swaggered towards Shane, passing Sarj�s corpse where he spat contemptuously on Shane�s victim. Sarj had been a loser, and losers were of no consequence in the Arena. It was winners who counted. Harry was the reigning Champion. He knew he was better in every way than Sarj - more virile, stronger, with a more potent killer instinct.

Harry had been Death Game World Champion for three years now. They say "uneasy lies the head that wears the crown", but Harry relished his challengers. It was a rule of the Death Game that the champion acquired ownership of the heads of his defeated challengers. Five men had sought to knock Harry off his perch, and all five now had their handsome heads preserved and displayed on plaques in Harry�s private gym. He wanted to add more trophies to these gruesome momentoes. He wanted to see this cocky Australian displayed on his wall. Harry relished the prospect of planting his bare foot on Shane�s cock, his Death Blade on Shane�s tender throat.

Shane looked at the man strutting towards him. He saw the square-jawed all-American face, puckering into a handsome smile, with its crew cut hair, its five o�clock shadow and brutality. He saw the broad shoulders and chest covered with dark hair, the well-endowed genitals surrounded with dark public hair, the powerful legs, the large bare feet which wore the bands of death. Harry�s penis was erect with the excitement of the fight and for the same reason Shane�s was resuming its previous degree of animation. So both guys had big targets for their foot studs.

They strutted up to each other. Their cocks touched; their toes touched.

"You may have snuffed the Indian guy, but now it�s time for you to croak!" drawled Harry contemptuously.

"No way, mate, I�ll put you to sleep like I did him" retorted Shane.

The gong announced the start of this second Death Fight.

Shane started by trying his trademark bearhug on the American. But Harry, despite his hairy body, managed to slide out of Shane�s grip. Then Shane tried his second specialism - strangulation. Again he was less effective. Harry had strong arms. With a powerful heave he was able to separate Shane�s arms, pushing Shane�s deadly hands apart, away from his neck.. Shane gulped, unnerved by the strength of the Champion.

Harry, adept in the martial arts, managed to trip Shane up. With a thud Shane ended up on the soft sand of the Arena. "Great", thought Harry, "now he�s mine!".

Harry wanted to spin out Shane�s death. He wanted to maximise the humiliation and win the crowd. He desired not just victory but another magnificent victory. Shane was now prostrate - writhing on the sand of the Arena. Harry decided to start with Shane�s head. He stamped on the Australian boy�s face with his vicious foot stud. The stud cut a nasty gash in Shane�s cheek. The crowd gasped. Shane had been too surprised to resist.

Then Harry continued downwards - towards Shane�s cock. Next was that expansive chest of Shane�s so much admired by everyone. Harry intended to make some nice wounds to spoil that magnificent torso. Then he would pierce Shane�s stomach. Then finally the Australian�s sexual organs would be his for the taking.

But Harry had made a fatal mistake. Shane had rallied. He would resist. Harry smashed his strong foot downwards, towards Shane�s impressive chest. Yes, Harry had powerful, muscular legs. But Shane had powerful, muscular, arms. Shane�s hands caught Harry�s foot. Harry pressed his foot downwards, but Shane�s arms were more powerful. Like a catapult they flung Harry�s foot - Harry�s body - through the air. Harry lost his balance. He fell heavily on the sand.

Shane was ready. He leapt up. Unlike Harry he was not out to impress the crowd. All he wanted was a quick kill. He immediately aimed his foot for Harry�s cock. Harry locked his thighs together. But Shane gripped Harry�s knees and used all his visceral strength to prise Harry�s thighs apart. Shane�s grip was a grip of iron. You could see the beads of sweat on Shane�s brow and the jaw-clenching agony on Harry�s face as slowly but surely Shane forced Harry�s thighs apart, revealing an erect penis, ripe for the taking.

Mercilessly, Shane stamped his foot on the American�s erect cock. Harry�s face creased in pain. His back, his entire body, arched in agony. Blood spurted from the Yank�s prime sex organ. He cried out in agony.

It was all over. Shane stepped back and raised his arms in victory. It took the fazed loser some time before he could rally himself to assume the position of defeat - getting to one knee, placing his hands on his conqueror�s feet, offering Shane his throat for the death blow. Once again a ring attendant approached and offered Shane the Death Blade. How Harry had not expected his! How he had thought it would be the other way round, with the Australian offering him his life! But it was not to be. Harry had finally met his conqueror. A younger man had finally defeated him. Now he must yield. Now the Death Game�s hard man must offer his soft throat to the new World Champion - Shane. Now the Yank�s severed head must adorn the private gym of his successor.

Harry�s forehead was deeply furrowed with lines as Shane poised himself to deliver the death blow. The handsome loser knew there was no escape. He knew he could expect no mercy, no pity. With a sickening slash of the Death Blade, Shane slit Harry�s throat from ear to ear. The blood supply to Harry�s heart was cut off; his heart stopped beating; his eyelids fluttered shut. The dethroned Champion fell back with a groan. His meaty carcass hit the sand with a dull thud. Yes, Harry had been tough to defeat, but in the end Shane had defeated him.

Shane, a broad grin on his face, clasped Harry�s bare feet and dragged him to the edge of the Arena, next to Sarj. They lay together, their feet touching. This night Shane had made the Arena his personal slaughterhouse. Two conquests, and Shane the new Champion! These two hunks of meat were united in defeat and death, and he was the victor! World Champion of the Death Game! Raising his arms once again in victory, grinning to the crowd, the new Champion swaggered out of the Arena of Death.