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…

 

 

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

Part Two

 

Quamria stood just in time to see a chariot heading straight at her at full speed. More alarming than the chariot and its driver were ankle-high blades flashing from behind each wheel. She timed her jump just as the blades met where she stood, but felt her hair yanked to their roots. She ran and saw that the driver was a nude Nubian female tightly clenching her hair. Snapped along, she ran after the chariot.

 

Quamria stumbled and fell to her knees, her hair freed. The chariot stopped just as suddenly. Its driver stomped back to where Quamria knelt panting. Quamria glanced up to see the Nubian’s skin shown of oil. Scars between naked thighs showed evidence of female castration. The blonde started to rise. A kick along her spine shoved her back down. Slydus popped another luscious date into his mouth as he watched the scene unfold. Another Nubian female holding a trident kicked the warrioress’ back again. This woman waved to the chariot driver and reversed the trident. She bent down and lifted up the metallic hem of the rebel’s skirt. Slydus spat out his half-eaten fig and watched with more intensity as the blonde’s ass was revealed, shining in the morning sun. Taking the handle of the trident, she plunged it into the warrioress’ open “sweet spot”.

 

“To think that he was “there” just last night.” Slydus salivated, rolling the fig between his teeth as he savored this latest act unfolding before him. “Again my loins stirred for possibly the fourth-no, the fifth time in such a short span! Oh he could just not keep track…

 

How virile! What a man!”

 

“By the gods,” the nephew, cum, assistant thought. “Flabby “Mr. Boss-man” was actually pleasuring himself. The perve! The pig was sweating buckets, his hand jerking off under his royal purple robes.” Not wishing to get any closer to his uncle he pretended not to notice the action to his immediate left. He concentrated instead on the cool shade under which they sat; a dull alternative, but at least not hot….

 

Using the trident handle as a thick prod, the taller of the two Nubians forcibly guided their impaled target back to where the stilled animal lay. The two’s cruel ingenuity won the noisy approval of the formerly stunned spectators. The threesome on the arena floor slowly advanced toward the fallen carcass, the stuck rebel leaving a pain-wracked sandy wake as she crawled on her hands and knees.

 

The one wielding the trident bent down and lifted up a front paw of the now dead lion. With it, she used the claws to rake the blonde’s back. Bright blood erupted. The cord tightly binding the plates snapped. The two discs plopped into the sand.

 

The shorter of the two Nubian’s grabbed Quamria’s left-arm and placed it between the lion’s jaws. She raised her foot high, poised to force it down towards the arm in the jaw. Quamria’s right-palm caught her heel by surprise. With effort she threw her attacker off-balance and backward. The warrioress pulled her arm free and twisted. Rolling, the handle still deep inside, she used both feet to kick up. The Nubian saw the flash of feet. Shock widened the whites of her eyes. Quamria kicked the trident’s points into her oiled neck. She jerked the handle free and rolled back to face the other woman.

 

The warrioress got to her feet and charged. Her lowered head grazed the other’s well-oiled stomach. Her hair again got pulled. She pulled back. Legs kicked up more arena sand as the two fought. Quamria grabbed both oiled shoulders. Her’s were grabbed as well. Muscles flexed. The blonde had a height advantage but the other’s strength compensated for her shorter stature.

 

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can get you from the concessions?” The sycophant looked aghast at his relative and superior. “He should really get a room! Really!” Unsavory gurgling noises came from Slydus, his sole attention seemed to be on the girl fight happening in the arena. “Maybe, just maybe, he’ll settle down after getting his rocks off this time.”

 

Quamria got her foot up into the other’s belly and did a backward somersault, pulling the two of them close to the fallen lion. They landed hard, but Quamria sensed her opponent’s strength flagging. She grabbed the black woman’s head and shoved it where her left-arm had been. She slammed her forearm down on the carcass’s snout. The Nubian screamed shrilly as lion canines cut. Quamria spun away just as the other got to her feet. Holding the sides of her face, blood streaming between her fingers, she ran back sobbing into the shadows.

 

Quamria rose slowly to her feet. Inventory time. All of her ached. She had no concerns about being half-naked, in fact, freed of the cumbersome discs tied with their binding cord, her breasts presented more normally; gentle slopes and curves stood out from her chest. But her nipples burned from the jagged plate openings, and various bites and bruises marking her breasts hurt. She looked down her stomach. Blood trickled along the insides of her thighs.

 

To Be Continued

 

 

 

 

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

Part Three

 

Mid-morning sun illuminated the arena surface. The stands remained shaded, but heat on the floor rose. A male slave labored under a yoke heavy with two sloshing water buckets swinging from either end. Close to where Quamria stood, he set down the load and offered the liquid contents of one bucket to Quamria. She poured the refreshing water over her head and sipped some of its coolness. A guard stepped near the two and said, “Hands on your knees, rebel. We will wash what’s left of the other bucket over your back.” Quamria did as told, catching ever deeper breaths. Very close to her feet lay the yoke.

 

“Please be gentle. As you can see, my back has injuries.”

 

As expected, the guard moved closer to see where the lion’s claws where used to break skin. Diving forward, Quamria picked up the yoke. Now freed of the buckets she slung the wood behind her neck. The male slave dodged her swing, but the guard did not. The wood caught his temple. Another soldier came running. He too was struck as Quamria planted her feet and pivoted.

 

Every man and woman in the arena, regardless of their status yelled. Slydus, too out of shape to instantly react by standing, choked on a half-swallowed pear where he lay on his couch. Anxiously, he gulped down a full chalice of wine. He grabbed himself. All were amazed at the lone female’s prowess in fighting. Slydus added his voice to the cheering.

 

From her periphery, Quamria saw another soldier-this one almost on top of her. She dropped the wood off her shoulders and hit with an end squarely in his crotch. The man fell with the others sprawled across the sand.

 

“Enough!” The shout came from the thin circle of shadow surrounding the arena. Quamria held the yoke and looked in the direction of the shout. Into the sunlight appeared an officer. He was flanked by other soldiers with swords drawn and archers with arrows all aimed at her…

 

The officer was not one she remembered from the night before. Nearly what one might otherwise call “handsome” in some different situation, now he was just one more menace. She sat on the small wood square of a mean device that was not just a vertical rack, but a horizontal one, too. Clearly, it was designed to stretch and pull every axis. Another menace…

 

Her back faced where she knew Slydus sat. Almost touching each shoulder were two uprights that reached high into the stifling air. Long chains from near the top held cuffs. Next to her hips lay more chain and opened shackles. From the looks of the encrusted insides they had already been used…

 

“Put these on the rebel!” Quamria winced. The wrist bands further chafed already bruised skin. Her legs were raised up and ankles locked into the dangling cuffs. “Widen it!” Clogs clattered and rumbled under Quamria’s tiny seat. The uprights began to move away. Behind her, the one cranking the contraption grunted. Her feet and arms tugged. Arms soon extended out, level with shoulders. Legs soared then spread as they lifted. Blood rushed to Quamria’s head as most of her body inverted.

 

Only the back of her neck rested where she sat, a right angle to most of her. She twisted her head from side to side, but could no longer see the arena wall. The roaring noise could have been from the crowd, or from her own body. Frantically she used her only option; to look up. The burning sun now high above glared impossibly bright, but Quamria involuntarily peeked. Sweat cascaded down. Breasts nested her cheeks. The metal ring skirt simmered, draped upside down over her tummy. Chains stopped climbing halfway up the timbers, spreading her legs into a wide “V”. Splayed as she was, there was little to do but submit.

 

Three chained female prisoners walked past. Quamria anxiously sought their help, but in vain. None gave her a glance. Their attentions seemed to be on where she remembered Slydus to be. She thought she heard him begin to address the three newcomers…

 

“What could he be thinking?!” The young chief of staff shifted away in his chair next to the governor and fanned himself. “Well obviously, the girl fight thing and now torturing the rebel so that everyone could see what the girl had for lunch were big hits with this bunch, but did the greasy  oinker really have to stand on his own couch and make such  a complete fool of himself? The aide worried over just how he’d have to explain such crudeness.

 

…“Guilt by association” and all that crap. Pals, especially in that bath group-nice as they were-could be such a bitchy bunch …Such a spin he’d have to concoct!”

 

 

 

To Be Continued…

 

 

 

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

Part Four

 

“You each will have two turns, “the high-pitched voice said, “With the weapons you are given. Do well… and freedom is yours.”

 

“So that’s why the three ignored her! Figures. Slydus and his motive opportunities.”

 

“You look thirsty.” Quamria blinked, from her perspective a huge shape towering above. “See if this helps.” She gulped the cool water, but struggled to swallow. She choked. Most of it ran out of the sides of her mouth, some out her nostrils. “Not too easy drinking from your position, is it?” She recognized the officer’s voice.

 

“You,” Slydus said to the first of the three, “get this branch; you this whip and you get to operate the rack. I suggest you with the rack begin first.”

 

“Here, let us get you started.” Quamria braced for more. Added rumbling tugged at her arms. Her legs further rose and parted. Tendons stretched and sockets threatened to pop. Her head hung completely upside down, only her hair brushing the small wood seat.

 

She saw more of the three women. From the floor of the arena they looked like giants coming right at her. Behind them, she could barely make out the high wall of the arena where she knew Slydus was. Forces pulled more and more apart. The three came closer.

 

“Looks like you won’t need this anymore,” said the officer. She felt fingers around her waist remove the hot metal skirt. “I think we can also loosen your hair.” The small cord holding her hair together was snipped.

 

The filthy, ragged hem of one of the women brushed her face as she reached for one of the two cranks. Quamria tried to prepare for what was to come, but had no idea. She heard the woman strain. The rack began to pull her again: Wider and higher she split.

 

Slydus elbowed his nephew whose focus seemed to be drifting. Below, long legs split. Gaping genitalia glistened, a pink cavern folding around a dark pit, one many in the arena knew led to pleasure.

 

“I want to share with his nephew his last night’s adventure in that particular region, and at least have him watch the sight before him, but wasn’t entirely sure how much the boy really cared. Regardless, today’s sight in his opinion did inspire.” The warrioress’s ribcage expanded as her stomach sunk. Every curve and definition dripped with one thing or another. “No doubt her sweet ass must be clenched tightly behind her, too. So much for the kid. He was missing quite a show…”

 

Quamria fought to breathe. Quartered so was unbearable. Panic shook her head. She felt her hair brushing across the wood below her. Open eyes saw dirty bare legs and tattered dress of one of the women. Behind, sand stretched to the base of the arena wall.

 

Another of them hefted the sturdy branch. “She might use both hands to swing it. She appraised the hanging blonde. Freedom would be so nice but she’d need to get through this strong one first.” She peered at the upside-down ribs. “They looked like a good place to start. She had never broken any, but these she might at least hurt. That ought to make a good impression to help her own her way out the “door”.”

 

 She gripped a gnarled end of the wood and set her feet to swing along the front flank. “She almost felt sorry for the girl, but then again, it was her freedom…”

 

Bones absorbed most of the impact from the harsh blow; the rack’s tension did not allow any movement. Quamria cried out. Immediately, her already struggling breath was drastically shortened. Any inhaling proved nearly impossible. Daggers plunged into her lungs and twisted…Her cries were cut short. Her sunken belly made rapid shallow beats.

 

The sick smacking sound forced the nephew look back down into the arena. “Oh my”. A quick glance at his fatuous uncle confirmed the worst. All around people were going crazy with chant after chant.

 

Down in the arena the one holding the branch stood back. The suspended nude tried to contort her body, but the rack pulled her so tightly she could hardly move. With morbid fascination he joined the others and watched as the woman with the whip in her hand stood behind the blonde and took aim at the center of the parted legs.

 

Quamria’s insides exploded. Raw terror overcame all, including the recently injured ribs. The single-tailed whip gouged deeply and fiercely into the inverted blonde’s sex.

 

Slydus grabbed for all of the fruit and wine in reach. Beside himself with questionable ecstasy, he felt another ejaculation-this time with no hands! He sat back down into the plush divan and stole his nephews fan. He immediately fanned his face, seeking coolness in any way possible.

 

“Very good for all three of you. You are halfway free. Now you know what next you need to do.” The women below nodded in understanding. His job done, Slydus further relaxed to enjoy more of the show.

 

 

 

To Be Continued…

 

 

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

 

* Note the drastic change in Story Codes for Part 5 and Part 6 The Conclusion. They now are listed as: extreme, sm, snuff, torture & nc.

 

 

Arena Fights

Part Five

 

Brackish water splashed her face, somewhat reviving. Another dousing poured down her flexed torso, through the wide valley of her upside-down bosom and over her elongated neck. Quamria sucked what ran over her mouth. In addition to the already foul odor, the water had the coppery taste given by blood.

 

The rack moved again, the uprights moving farther from her shoulders. She lifted more, groaning loudly as she did. Bits of air came in short stabs. Another blow smashed into her back ribs. Quamria cried out. The lash ripped into parted genitalia.

 

Her screams, higher pitched due to the severity of her bruised ribs and added trauma endured, lasted well after the crowd’s roar lowered. Eventually, Quamria’s wailing turned to muted moans. Slydus stood. Below him stood the three women shoulder-to-shoulder.

 

“A classic “Thumbs Up”, he said to the hopeful three, “Or, “Thumbs Down” from not just me, “he gestured around the arena, “but from all here. I will, however, say my opinion is well in favor of the jobs you three have done. Admirable.”

 

His nephew wanted to shrink from site. “Surely he must be seen by someone here. He nervously fingered his locks. What a brute his uncle is! How he would ever live THIS one down escaped him.”

 

“So I give the three a hearty Thumbs Up!” The majority in the tiers echoed the governor’s sign. Smiles widen on all three women especially when their wrist shackles were removed. The threesome bowed their combined gratitude and turned toward the exit.

The arena crowd still was noisy, but more subdued. “Dare he?Dare he? Why not? It was his show and he could call the “shots”. Privilege did have its, uhm, Pleasures.”

 

Slydus surreptitiously nodded to the awaiting archers. The first of the “freed” prisoners added an arrow shaft to her forehead. Mortally wounded, she crashed. Horrified, the other two fled to the far arena wall. The archers followed. One caught an arrow in the back. Her hands reached around to try and pull it free. Blood gushed from the wound. She also fell. The third and surviving member, the one whose task it was to operate the vertical rack, made it to the high wall until stopped by another arrow. Momentum carried her forward and her body smeared the wall as it fell. She lay in a heap where sand met stone.

 

“Can he possibly top himself?” The young assistant shared shock with those around. “And here he was, actually related to this savage!” He looked with pity at the arena women; arrows in three of them, one still alive and impossibly stretched on the vertical rack. “All this carnage because of his OWN uncle!”

 

“Take her down. First splash more water on the rebel. Perhaps that will bring her to her senses.” Slydus triumphantly retook his seat. “Her final lesson in What Not To Do is almost at hand…”

 

 

 

Once righted, Quamaria staggered and nearly toppled. Legs once noticed for their abundant qualities wobbled. Fortunately, there was not far to go. Knees divoted the loosely-packed sand. The officer forced thighs together making sure she faced Slydus. Exposed less to the sun, contrasting marks on her breasts shown vividly. Cuffs and shackles remained, as did the collar.

 

“Do you have anything to say before your days as a rebel slave come to an end?”

 

Quamaria saw the fallen corpses of the three who thought they tortured for their own freedom. “How can you be so cruel to your own people?” she squeaked, each tiny breath an ordeal compounded by raising her voice to be heard.

 

Slydus regarded the warrioress kneeling now before him and laughingly said, “Them?” He pointed to the slain three. “THESE are my people!” Great cheers from the arena horde grateful for such demonstrated magnanimity and relief that they were not the ones down on the arena floor rose in kind.

 

“I have nothing further to add.” Quamaria bowed her head. Water could do only so much to fight off exhaustion and ease agony.

 

“Then you will kindly show us another example of your celebrated strength. Remain kneeling as you are,” Slydus said as two male slaves took the warrioress’ hands and placed them in the sand. “Support your upper body with those long arms…But wait. What am I thinking?”

 

The sycophant wanted to shrink into the chair. His uncle obviously had not had enough fill of this female. “What would the monster do next?”

 

“Let’s make this a little more interesting.”

 

 

To Be Continued…

 

 

 

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

 

* Note the drastic change in Story Codes for Part 5 and Part 6 The Conclusion. They now are listed as: extreme, sm, snuff, torture & nc.

 

 

 

Arena Fights

Conclusion

 

 

The officer took his cue. Holding two broadswords of the same length, he knelt in front of Quamaria scarlet face. He could see from the sweat and pain in her eyes that she was suffering and struggling to keep her body arched up from her waist. Aligning the sharp blade of one sword under the warrioress he sunk a pommel from the hilt into the sand. He did likewise with the other. Both swords stabilized underneath, their sharp edges parallel.

 

Beads of sweat rained over the metal. Those watching from the sides could see her nipples hovering just above the blades. Quamria’s face flushed with more exertion. Shoulders cramped, veins along forearms knotted.

 

She fought against the slow descent. Bare arms shook. All around mad shouts called for her surrender. Taxed from too much on the rack, her strength fled. Shoulders and arms weakened…

 

“Why no cuts remained a mystery. Her breasts must have folded over the blades. I certainly can feel them.” She rested her chin on the sand. “Her heart felt ready to explode, the rest lay slump, burning on the hot bed.”

 

“Lift up the rebel. Show us what has happened,” Slydus said, shouting above the crowd to make himself heard in the arena. He laughed with the rest as Quamria’s arms were grasped and her torso lifted. Red lines glowed up and down her chest. One of the lines perfectly bisected a nipple; the another ran along the outside edge of the other brown aureole. “It appears as though a slight adjustment is in order…” Slydus said as he sat. He signaled the officer to move the errant sword and nodded for the gate to be opened. “Too bad, warrioress. Looks as though you’ll have to use your hands to support yourself up again.”

 

“I can’t lay upon the swords another time and yet…”Loose hair hid the sides of her face, but also trapped waves of heat. Dazedly, she saw two slaves approaching. “They seemed to pull something attached to rope.”

 

The sycophant nephew was totally blown away by the arena spectacle. Two male slaves were dragging behind them a rusty iron ingot-the kind used for ballast in ships’ hulls. The heavy bar left a wide and deep wake in the sand. The rebel saw them too. Her arms trembled. Her sweating torso lowered, the upturned blades testing each nipple. Another collapse seemed at hand.

 

Quamria’s eyes cringed as the male slaves reached her. The object they so laboriously towed heavily rose by rope attached and went behind her, its dark shape blocking the sun for an instant. Breath came in quick, short spurts. She felt light-headed.

 

The two slaves struggled to lift up the ingot. Once it was over the warrioress’ shoulder blades, they let go. The tall blonde at their feet cried out, pounding her fists and toes once. One of the men bent down to inspect the stilled rebel. From under the iron and her smashed tit grew an oily pond. The other side must be the same.

 

“I’ll take it from here,” said the officer to the two slaves. Waving them away, he gripped the sword handles. He pulled up and out. The swords dripped fresh blood. “But don’t go too far. Get this slab off of her first.” He turned to face Slydus and held the dripping swords aloft.

 

The nephew wanted to vomit. His uncle, however, seemed to be enjoying himself more than ever. “At least, he wasn’t playing with himself…The poor bitch down there was barely moving.” He watched as they turned her over. “No wonder she seemed in shock. Both tits were cleaved, covered in gore, sand and who knows what.”

 

Slydus shook his heavy jowls. Those “awful consequences” now were learned, even to one of such courage, strength and beauty. “Wash her off so that we may all see!” “No longer would she awaken his dormant lust, or anyone else’s, for that matter”.

 

The rebel female lay on her back. Cleared sand revealed split tits. The officer picked up the trident from the floor, held the barbed points over her abdominal tunnel, and pushed. Blood-stained hands reflexively gripped the shaft, but slipped free. The officer yanked the trident out much as a fisherman would a gaff from a landed fish.

 

 

 

 

Few remained in the arena stands to watch the warrioress bleed out. Little could be heard in and around the arena in contrast to earlier frenzy. Most departed, including the portly Slydus and his nephew.

 

“I still don’t have the foggiest notion if the lad prefers the pleasures of “snails” or “oysters”…”

 

Conflicted by many thoughts from a most confusing day, the nephew’s signature flounce appeared sluggish. He lackadaisically shuffled behind his rotund uncle.

 

 

(Short) Epilogue

 

Below, one of the male slaves warily collected the shackles and collar from the dying female. Unlike her, they could possibly be used another day.