The following totally fictitious writings of Faibhar are intended for the sole readership of those of LEGAL AGE. The ADULT ONLY material contained within is also for personal use only where local standards permit scenes of extreme violence, torture and sex. Please do not read further if any of these subjects offend, or if you are not of legal age. The following is for your sole enjoyment and your cooperation in not using the material in any other application without the express permission of the author is requested. Thank you. Faibhar NOTE: The following fiction can serve as a stand-alone story, though it is strongly recommended that the reader first read the "Girlfriends" series as the two share the same characters. Knowing what came prior to the following may make for a richer reading experience. F. C The Fighting Slave PROLOGUE: Each bump in cab ride over to Kate's ratcheted the tension. Cynthia took the time to assay her assets. Following the hospital stay she was not bad looking; she was still in her twenties, however close to pushing 30 those twenties were; she intimately knew Kate and wanted to serve her more; she had money from her old jobs that she would gladly give; and had told no one where she was headed. She also vividly recalled the recent past, and who called the shots. Cynthia brushed back errant blond strands brushing the side of her face, adjusted her sunglasses and sighed as the cab jerked to a stop. She uncrossed her legs and stepped out. Paying the driver, she squared her shoulders and stepped up to ring the buzzer next to the metal door of the two-story flat. Kate delightedly welcomed her visitor, displaying not the least surprise. They hugged in the foyer. The two chatted over a bottle of Chardonnay and Gouda in Kate's spacious living room. Like long-parted sisters, the two caught up on lost time. Cynthia learned that Shara had become a full-fledged mistress and gone off on her own. Kate complimented Cynthia on her shoulder-length hair and asked if she could braid it. Plans were made for shopping the very next day. During a pause, Cynthia summoned strength and told Kate of her desire to serve and be her's exclusively. Kate answered by leaning over and kissing Cynthia's cheek. Both women shed tears of happiness. That evening, Kate plied Cynthia's hair into a single tight braid. The two made love in Kate's bedroom. The older female admonished the younger for feeling self-conscious about the missing nipple and visible scars as she pulled her onto the massive bed. The encouragement spurred the blonde to new heights of abandon. All pent-up sexual tension from the past four months spent hospitalized was relinquished. Cynthia cried herself to sleep with tears of joy as she lay locked in Kate's embrace. Never had she felt so loved. The isolated warehouse quickly became Cynthia's second home. Called The Arena by mistresses and slaves alike, Cynthia looked forward to each opportunity to show off what she had learned from Kate. Not long after her first fight, word spread throughout the Sapo Sadists community of a new champion. Anticipation announced itself each time she stepped into The Arena, Kate removed the long cloak she had been given, with "Mistress Kate" Kate herself had embroidered on the back, and then limbered up as Kate's fingers oiled down her slave body. Shortly after her arrival from the hospital, Kate purchased various workout equipment. She built a small gym on the first floor complete with mirrors, a Roman Chair, free weights, incline benches, adductor machines and the lot. Cynthia adhered to the strict diet she was given and even submitted to the daily steroid injections. Every day she trained for six hours. Kate proved to be a very strict personal trainer, but Cynthia could see the daily change in her physique. What body fat percentage there was drastically reduced. Cup size diminished to be replaced by solid pounds of mostly hardened muscle. Calves were now like rocks. Obliques sliced each side of rippled abdominals. Biceps piled on top of triceps. She didn't mind when the training also caused her periods to cease. Occasionally, Kate would come to visit, usually to part Cynthia's legs as she held them straight out while braced in the Chair. It was at those times that Cynthia realized much of her inner core remained. Kate's actions melted away her stamina and she quickly lost concentration. At the end of one day's work, Kate stood next to her as they both looked at their reflections in the wall-size mirror. Cynthia appraised the changes shown in her reflection. Only her growing hair and eyes seemed soft. The rest of her features were chiseled muscle. The regimen she had been a disciple to now made her bulked up and ripped. She looked ready for more. Kate told her of The Arena; she wanted her slave to represent her; and that her fighting name was henceforth to be "C". Cynthia pressed her nude body into the shorter woman's pant suit and kissed Kate. She saw the lovely velvet and rhinestone collar and felt Kate wrap it around her thickened neck. Cynthia's only hesitation with the suggested tattoo was to worry to Kate that it made her ass seem too big. Kate assured her that it did not and sternly admonished her for whining. C's fingers tightly gripped the towel as Kate worked the needle. Four-inch high block letters wrapping from the side of one buttock around to the other spelled out "Kate's". A slightly larger "T" in the middle of the tattoo joined C's two dimples near the base of her spine. The longer part of the letter divided her buns. The process was long and hurtful, but Cynthia proudly endured. Her first opponent was easily dispatched. The buzzing noise and glaring lights startled. Fighting nude was no problem though, and the shorter brunette she fought was no match. Adrenaline coursing through her veins ignored what pain the big needle later caused as it pierced her labia with her first tiny victory ring. Kate had not mentioned the ring and piercing, but it filled her with pride. C trembled with electric excitement as Kate embraced her and patted the big letters across her behind. Many more appearances at The Arena followed and soon two rows of shiny rings lined C's shaven lips, each ring representing another defeated foe. Depilatories kept the area bald, but even without them the accumulation of victory rings left precious room for new growth. Given the pecking order the jewelry afforded and her growing reputation, C clearly became the one for all slaves who fought in The Arena to beat. It was only a matter of time before the buffed blonde Amazon got her comeuppance. The only thing C noticed peculiar from their previous arrivals at The Arena was the female guard. She had never noticed them shouldering weapons before. Shrugging the observation off, she followed Kate through the massive tracked doors. Inside lights high in the rafters lit the fans assembling in favorite bleacher seats that lined the oval. C returned smiles to familiar faces greeting her entrance. What followed seemed largely routine, too. The leash and cloak were removed and Kate's strong hands warmed her body with oil. The sensuous touching never failed to alight her excitement. As the last of the oil was applied, C allowed herself the opportunity to look through the high curtain of wire mesh that separated the combatants from the spectators. Seats were filling fast. She flexed her wrists and each leg. Time to fight was drawing near. Where would The Arena officials find a place for her next victory ring, she secretly joked to herself as her confidence swelled. She didn't have to bend down to know that her pierced pussy lips were already crowded with sparkling rings from many previous wins. C saw Kate make her way through the rows of bleachers to her usual place and sit down. The tight single braid brushed the middle of her back as the champion lowered her gaze to The Arena. Her opponent had yet to show. Bemused, C stood in the ring alone and glanced again back up to where she knew Kate would be. Her lover smiled a friendly wave of assurance. Those in the stands on either side had grown quieter than C could ever recall. Despite Kate's comforting smile, she felt herself getting edgy. Cheers erupted loudly. The sudden noise startled C. Across the hardpan from her stood someone dressed as Catwoman. Her right hand held a burlap bag and in her left was a coiled whip. This was no slave. Frantically, C looked up to Kate for help but the butch power-lifter only flashed a cheery smile in return. It didn't make sense. Many in the stands were on their feet. The cheers continued. Gooseflesh bumped over C's oiled body. The clapping died down as "Catwoman" removed a bottle of red wine from the bag. Beneath the cowled head fire engine red lips and bright white teeth flashed at C's obvious astonishment. The bottle flew down from her hand and shattered on the macadam. A hammer was removed from the bag. Squatting down, the woman smashed the broken glass into tiny pieces as the bottle's former contents pooled around her boots. Uncoiling the tapering snake, she emptied a tube of glue over its long length. Still leering viciously at C, the woman slowly pulled the glue-coated whip through what remained of the bottle. Broken glass mixed with wine adhered to the sticky leather. C sought help by looking again up to where Kate sat. That's when she saw Kate and a pretty brunette kissing. The stranger was much younger than she and looked unmarked. C felt betrayed. She also felt fear for the first time in The Arena. She looked back at the Catwoman. More was being dragged into the ring, including an old wood table and a wine barrel horizontally suspended between two vertical beams by a rod. C stepped back in the futile hopes that by doing so would lead her to some escape. She looked up to where Kate sat. The young interloper now had her pale arms around Kate's neck and one skinny naked leg draped over Kate's lap. The two seemed to be looking right at her as they laughed. C disgustedly jerked her head away. C guessed the woman dressed in the shiny black costume was shorter than her own 5'10", but the heels made her almost as tall. Those shoes might give her trouble moving around, C thought as her mind switched to gauging this new foe. Her own bare feet might prove to be an advantage. The other woman certainly did not have the same build. C started to feel her confidence return until she remembered that she was the nude one and the other wielded a mean looking whip. Vulnerability returned. What the table and barrel were for, C could only guess. She decided to ignore them and focus her full attention on the woman who was now walking closer. "My haven't you changed, slave bitch?" The voice shocked C. She hadn't been called that since the trip she took with Kate and...and, SHARA! Eyes she knew so well from the past glittered behind the mask in front of her at this very moment. "Yes, it's me, slave bitch... Except that, now I am called MISTRESS Shara," the shapely figure in black hissed as she glided near. The glass and glue coated whip ominously swished from the handle held by the gloved hand. The whip's loose end scratched along the hard floor. "Call it something of a promotion and now, guess what? I'm back to finish what I started before." A humorless giggle tinged her voice. The giggles brought back a flood of memories. Horrors C assumed long gone rushed through her senses. The body getting closer, even though clothed, now looked familiar. C started to speak, but could not find the words. She took another step backward. Space was running out before the wall of the ring behind would stop her retreat. C now wanted more than anything else to put distance between herself and Shara. Instinctively, she knew her life was at stake. There was no denying the feeling of a trap closing and she was the caught prey. Sweat slicked the oiled goose flesh as the victorious fighting slave known as C stopped. The only room left was in front of her and that was diminishing as Mistress Shara closed the distance separating the two...
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