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Please note that the following fiction is intended for ADULT ONLY entertainment. Do not read further if you are easily offended by extreme themes, or your local community codes do not permit such suggestive material.
This fiction is intended for your use only. Any further dissemination of it must first require the author’s permission.
Thank you.
Faibhar
Arena Fights
The band’s booming drums and blaring trumpets shook even the groggiest awake; unnecessary because it seemed the circus-like atmosphere already awoke all. The mastermind behind the day’s Arena Fights also needed no further help in being aroused. Arousal was something new and could be dealt with.
Slydus corpulence shifted. His loins stirred uncharacteristically. Last evening such movement was perfectly explainable as he set about “greeting” his latest captive. This morning’s movement in his groin did, however, perplex.
“Somewhat
uneasy, I take great satisfaction in knowing the warrior will soon learn the
awful consequences of her rebellious lack of compliance to my many, many charms.
Perhaps another luscious fig will help
ease my perplexity…”
He plopped one into his mouth, turned to his simpering nephew beside him and said, “Today, you shall see the true meaning of courageous strength and beauty.
“I wonder if my charge fully appreciates the scenes about to unfold…”
The young aide twisted his high-lighted curls and nodded in animated agreement. He hiked the frilly gold hem of his pastel tunic up above his knees. Despite the early hour, the day already warmed and he wanted to stay as cool as possible.
“His uncle the governor, whatever his vast, really, REALLY vast, shortcomings did after all hold my fate in hand. I hardly wish to curry disfavor with El Tubo.”
He scanned the arena. Even at this
hour the five tiers were nearly filled with patricians like his boss seated in
the lowest rings, then civilians, then military, etc., on up to the nose-bleed
section where women sat. “The place was
nearly S.R.O. with anyone and everyone just totally unattractive.”
The inspiration for the day’s events, hardly felt beautiful as she emerged from the shadows. Quamria saw stands filled with people, a sort of mesh overhead for shade. Warming sand between her toes gave some assurance of being actually “grounded”, while at the same time there was no mistaking where she was, or why she was were she was…
In the center, clear of the shaded area, stood a man holding a bow and arrow at his side. Quamria recognized the bearded toughie as another of her rapists from the night before. Determined to settle that particular score, she took another step forward. The capture, later tortures and rapes could easily have dampened a lesser spirit. She could succumb to their barbarous invasions, yet she wanted to be no victim. Instincts taught her to seek revenge. The attacks aroused more bitterness than hurt. She strode purposefully, each step masking more agony. The metal collar chafing her neck reminded her of one more humiliation. She determined to confront the bearded man with a brave face.
Last night’s many abuses lingered in ways not quickly forgotten. By design, the beaten copper plates she wore over her chest freshened Hell with the slightest of movement. Small holes in the centers of each disk allowed her nipples through, yet the circumferences of the holes were unfinished. Nerve endings fired from fleshy nubs scraped raw.
The brief skirt made of interlocked metal rings did not cause further pain, but clearly was designed more as some sort of light armor and less for any sense of modesty. Beneath its loose weave her tightly cropped nest of light brown pubic hair showed.
Slydus animatedly observed. The blonde stood taller than his soldier. He saw her surprise as the man handed the bow and arrow over to her, wasn’t surprised in the least that she immediately knocked the shaft to the bow and aimed it directly at the swarthy lout’s chest.
“I would not blame you if you did shoot me here and now,” he said in voice only she could hear and much too confident for such an easy target. “But I do caution that you only have one arrow and might possibly find another use for it.”
Quamria lessened the tension.
“He reeked…”
She listened and then curiously watched as he turned to walk away. His “disarming” manner-certainly not inspired by the slightest hint of any charm-caused her to lower the bow and arrow. Annoyed noises from the tiers ringing the arena muttered restless boredom.
Quamria pivoted. Behind her bars forming the portcullis clanked. Crowd noise grew. Out from the shadows stalked a mountain lion. Yellow cat eyes spotted Quamria.. She heard a low growl. The feline continued to circle in the shadows of the arena, licking its chops. Already hungry and sensing that a good meal was “there” for the taking, the mountain lion bounded for the circle of light and Quamria.
The single tail of her golden hair blurred as she rearmed the bow and arrow. Timing it just as front claws sprung out at her, Quamria fired. The shaft flew and sunk into the lion’s fur.
At her feet it lay bleeding and almost dead. Cheers saluting her called around the compact arena. Quamria dumbly twisted around at the sound of so many people so close, and then knelt to remove the shaft from the dying animal’s neck. Before she could pull it out, however, more cheers sounded.
To Be Continued…
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