Gladiators

Gladiators

By JP

Chapter 1

With one swift movement I was flat on my back, arms pinned and almost completely at her mercy. Any Calydia wasn't famous for her mercy. The crowd were baying for blood and I knew a kill was inevitable - hers or mine.

It was a stalemale but the odds were with my opponent, the upper ground so to speak. Although I still had my Proteus trident firmly gripped in my hand, it was useless pinned down by Calydia's fierce grip. The weight of her body prevented me from squirming free and her knees sank painfully into my thighs. It wasn't hard to tell she was trying to pull my arms together behind my head so she could recover her Kelis dagger with a free hand. To allow her to do so would mean certain death. . .

The roar of the crowd grew and the excitement on her face was showing. The beads of sweat on her forehead ran down her face, her neck and between her ample bosom, barely contained by the skimpy metal bra. The sexual arousal was obvious - this sick bitch really got off on killing.

"Caly! Caly" reverberated round my head as my arms were slowly drawn together. She had to twist her head to the side to avoid the long points of my trident and gradually the idea for my salvation formed. The blood lust was so clear in her evil eyes as she grew nearer and nearer to the kill. Putting all my strength into one huge effort, I managed to free my right leg from her knee. It was, to all intents and purposes, a pointless move. She smiled, delighted I had wasted so much strength on a meaning less escape. Even if I could bring my leg to full force, it would never be enough purchase to dislodge her. That wasn't my plan. . .

The crowds loved Calydia. She was such a perverted beast, often orgasming at the point of driving the cold steel into her opponent, then fucking her whores the rest of day in huge public orgies. She wasn't a Gladiator because she had to be, or because she was sold into it, she was here because she got off on it - and because she was so popular, if she lost, she was never killed - the arena couldn't afford to lose her.

My arms were now almost completely behind my head and I could feel her heavy breath on my sweat-damp neck. Our breasts were pressed tight together, and her face was almost against the side of my neck. Turning away the short tridant, I twisted my neck to face her, staring her straight in the eyes. Slowly, carefully, I slid my free thigh up between her legs, pushing into the tight leather thong she wore. Although not yet distracted, she moaned slightly as I used what little mobility I had to rub against her pussy. Even in the heat and sweat of battle, I could sense the dampness and heat of her sexual excitement - but there was no way I was going to be just another orgasm for this evil cunt.

I craned my neck towards her, it meant enabling her to pin both my wrists with a single hand, but I was betting my life she would be willing to wait to kill. My face was so close to hers, her lips red with excitement, her pupils large and eager. I parted my mouth gently and began to lightly caress her lips with my tongue.

Her hips began to pulse with my movement, rubbing her clit into my leg. She now had my arms pinned and her dagger raised, poised to strike. With a further effort, I kissed her, pushing my tongue into her mouth. It was greeted instantly, and passionately. She allowed her whole body to press into mine, breast against breast, lips against lips, gyrating and thrusting together.

I know enough about when an orgasm is approaching, and Calydia was well on her way. She tensed, and through a half open eye, I watched her raise the knife further, planning to plunge into deep into my throat as she came. Hooking my calf around her lower leg, I rubbed faster, just enough to bring her to climax a half second before she expected. . .

The kiss grew firm, the muscles tense, and the full weight pressing against my prone body - maximum contact. But full force on chest and pelvis, means less force supported on the arms. Breaking free, I pushed her head back violently with my left hand. As the look of intense pleasure and orgasm spread across her face, and the dagger gleamed in the intense sunlight, I drove the trident down through her breast into her heart.

She froze, instantly orgasmic and dead. With a final kiss, I rolled the dead weight over, withdrew the bloody weapon and faced the stunned crowd. They didn't know whether to cheer or mourn.

****

"You shouldn't have done that" Grenadia said as she cleaned my armour.

"What? " I sneered "I should have let the sick whore kill me?"

"No, but maybe there was. . . another way?"

"Why?! If we had both lived the elders would have called for a death anyway, and then Calydia would have ritually killed me, but she'd have fucked me senseless first!"

Ritual killings were a favourite of the elders. If any gladiatorial match ended without a death, the high and mighty of the state could call for a ritual killing of the performer they had been least impressed with. Ritual killings were far worse than being killed in battle, the aim was to encourage fighters to give their all - an honourable draw, worse, a boring honourable draw, meant one would face the horror of a basic humiliating murder. The victim was, without exception, bound naked, raped and then slowly, painfully dispatched. The sickest gladiators, male or female, would continue the rape after that. If the elders hadn't beaten off during the fights, they would then.

"Even so, I fear for your safety now, Thalia"

Grenadia could be so sweet as times. Still naked, save for the bandages covering my quickly recovering wounds, I walked over to where she was sitting.

"Don't fear, little one. If I can take her, I can take anyone" I kissed her lightly on the forehead, and then held her head softly in between my breasts. "Provision has been made for you and your family should anything happen to me"

With surprising violence I was pushed back. "Do you think I only care about fucking money?!" I had never heard Grenadia swear before, I thought it was against her strange new religion. "You are so. . . " she wasn't going to repeat the slip " self-absorbed!"

Letting the armour fall to the floor, she stood up and dashed out past the heavy wooden door out the dressing room, leaving it wide open. Gragus walked past, talking an eyeful of me standing naked. Shoulder back, hips swaying, I exaggerated my gait as I walked towards him, giving it just long enough for the swell to grow. Wrapping one arm around his broad shoulders and the other gently across his face, I kneed him hard in the bollocks.

"Fuck off. . . " I whispered in his rapidly descending ear.

****

Indeed, lovely little 'Nadia had been right, I was fiercely unpopular to begin with. I had always been a fringe fighter, not many Gladiators careers last very long, but Calydia had been an exception - she'd been fighting in the arena for at least three years, and had more kills to her name that I could remember.

Her personal slave, her equivalent of my Grenadia, made a very poor, ill-judged attempt at revenge. I heard her approaching from yards away and only a fool didn't wear at least some back armour. I doubted very much she had been treated very well, and with no job and no family, she faced only a long, drawn out life of begging, prostitution and disease ridden death. It was a favour I did her, snapping her weak little neck.

The elders had had many a happy wank to Calydia's public displays, her orgies of seven or eight young women; huge bosoms, long legs, kissing and licking. Contact with members of the other sex was strictly forbidden - but the old laws took no account of each other! And gradually over time, it had been inevitable. Occasionally a elder would marry one, have some fun for a few weeks and get bored; she'd lose her sparkle, become a nag with ideas above her station, or just plain become second best to a new fancy. His final satisfaction with her would be seeing her slaughtered at the hands of a gladiator in a hopelessly unfair battle. Usually, anyway. . . sometime, just occasionally, that tart would surprise people.

And the plebs didn't like me anymore. There was at least sufficient decorum left that open masturbation in the arena was banned, but memories are long, and sharpened by fresh blood. For most of them, it was their source of fantasy for the whole week, between that and seeing members of that strange new sect torn apart by the beasts.

The only people I gained any respect from was my fellow female Gladiators and their slaves. It wasn't a bad life being a fighter, if you could ignore that fact that you stood a good chance of dying with a matter of weeks. But you were rewarded as such; slaves, feasts, well paid. Normally the girls didn't have a choice though, like the silly little wives or daughters sold to the arena. They just cried while their husbands or fathers made off with the money and beat off to the thought of their deaths - sick, twisted men.

I had been a Gladiator for about three months, and fought a few fights. Aside from my first and the most recent, they had been rather simple affairs. I had grown up in the country, outside the soft upbringing of the city girls. I had fought to defend my virginity from farm boys since I was of child-bearing age. And more than one skeleton lies undiscovered in the farms were I grew up - the beasts haven't eaten as well as many the parent of a randy young man believe. Of course, you can't win them all, sometimes news gets back, people get angry and steps need to be taken. But I was seventeen before I had to come here, and that was plenty old enough.

I met Grenadia after my first fight, since I wasn't expect to win they hadn't bothered giving me a slave. Grenadia had been the slave of my opponent, a famous woman called Herides, some foreigner. My husband had the sense to know it would take someone special to defeat me, but the stupid fool still underestimated. Until a month ago things had been good; Grenadia was a young but experienced lover and Beraeus had lost interest in me. But then the bloody weirdo's got to 'Nadia and the shit of a husband decided he wanted me dead after all, since technically, we were still married.

Ever since then, I was pretty pissed off.

****

Grenadia wasn't my only slave, it was right to own any slaves of defeated opponents, so I had a little band of twenty or so, some better than others. None were a patch on Grenadia, but when I was tense or bothered, I let them substitute. I longed for the soft caress of 'Nadia's tongue between my legs, her expert skills with massage and pleasure, but that stupid religion told her same sex relationships were wrong, and she was now celibate. She refused to even teach the others.

I visited my personally whore house, and tried to make the most of it, to little avail. It didn't help when a messenger informed me my next fight would be in a week, against the bitch from hell, Jerimia. I pushed the unless slut away from my neck and slid off the couch, closing my thighs around the head of the slave licking at my pussy and forcing her to fall to the floor out of sheer mean frustration. Beraeus was a bastard, but this was rough even for him. He must have his eyes set on a new wife soon. It wasn't acceptable to sleep around or have a mistress publicly, but to attempt to virtually have your old wife murdered was perfectly acceptable.

"Son-of-a-whore!" I screamed at the top of my voice once the girls had left in short order. Wrapping a towel around my myself, I picked up my discarded clothes and decided I had no choice but to see Grenadia to try to work out a battle plan - and that would hard for both of us. She only stayed with me out of love, she hated the fighting now, and the very thing I wanted right now to relieve my tension was out of the question. . . well.

It was going to be a long, potential final, week, one way or another.

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