by Alana Khan
She’s right, I do need my sleep. When she was blathering to the reporters earlier today about athletes’ superstitions, she wasn’t too far off the mark. I have my own superstitions and rituals. I never spill my seed the night before a match.
I know, it’s an outdated belief, but it works for me. I’ve already jinxed myself by coming on Tsing. I have no desire to repeat the performance.
I probably won’t be sleeping at all tomorrow night. Odds are good that I’ll be dead. What harm is there in sharing my bed with the pretty little human?
I nod. “Sleep only, Aerie.”
She smiles and orders, “Wait here. I won’t be a minute.”
Less than one minima later, she pops out of her room wearing a cloth shirt that hangs almost to her knees. She wordlessly follows me next door and into my room.
She climbs into the bed as I enter the bathroom to take a shower.
Resting one hand on the mosaic-tiled wall, I let the warm water sluice over my body. I shake my head as the water runs over my hair. I’ve never danced before. It’s not something gladiator slaves have the opportunity to do. I have no idea why I danced like that.
Actually, I do know, I realize as I soap under my arms. I am at a crossroads. I may die in the arena tomorrow. If I’m to believe anyone who’s had the balls to offer an opinion, I’m a walking dead male right this minima.
If I do live, my life will be completely different after tomorrow. I’ll be a free male for the first time in my life. Either way, I wasn’t going to dance for that Sabron cunt for her pleasure. I decided to take my own pleasure from the experience.
It didn’t take me long to realize my dance was arousing little Aerie. I took pleasure from that, too.
Now she’s in my bed waiting for me. Why did I let her join me? I’ve never slept with a female before. Even Emmannee. My master let me lie with her, share my seed, but we were never allowed even one night together.
After turning off the shower, I towel dry and am about to leave the bathroom naked when I halt. I’m not certain I like the little human, but my cock is more than a little interested. I need to lock him down before I crawl into bed.
Stalking out of the bathroom, I grab a loincloth from my belongings, put it on, then climb onto the mattress.
She’s almost hanging off her side of the bed, facing the wall. It’s good to know she has the ability to be true to her word.
Lying on my back, palms under my head, I observe the ceiling in the scant light that seeps under the bathroom door. Although I try not to, I find myself choreographing possible moves against three opponents tomorrow.
They say your muscles can learn from picturing things in your mind. I’m not sure how that works, but orchestrating a thousand ways I can win tomorrow isn’t a bad method to put myself to sleep.
When I finally close my eyes, I notice little Aerie is tossing and turning on her side of the bed. Perhaps twice a minima she shifts from one hip to the other.
As soon as I turn my attention from tomorrow’s matches to the activities in this room, I understand what’s going on. The aroma of Aerie’s arousal is pungent enough to wake the dead.
I hardly took my eyes from her during my performance. Nor did she remove her gaze from me. Her chest was heaving with excitement, the tight buds of her nipples showed plainly through the thin fabric of her toga, and the scent of her interest perfumed the air.
I’ve always loved the sound of a crowd chanting my name, obviously excited and enthusiastic about my performance. Tonight I discovered the thrill of having a female enthralled by a different type of presentation.
I try to yank my thoughts from the pretty female a mere fierto from me in my bed, but her constant wiggling and twisting demand my attention.
“Aerie, you promised to sleep,” I gently scold.
“Sorry. I don’t know why I can’t drift off.” She turns away from me, plumps her pillow, sighs, and stays still for no more than a minima until she turns again.
“You’re aroused,” I announce without judgment.
Silence from her side of the bed. Then more twisting and turning, accompanied by one long sigh.
“Admit it,” I urge, not knowing what I’m going to do with the information once she shares it.
“Um, maybe.” She turns away from me again.
I don’t want to spill my seed again tonight. Once was one time too many. But I can relieve her so I can get some sleep.
“I can ease you,” my tone is soft, tempting.
She flips toward me and inspects my face. I’m uncertain what she’s looking for.
“Are you fucking with me?”
“No. I don’t do that before a match, but I will relieve you so we can both get to sleep.”
She searches my face again, her own face revealing a dozen different emotions. “Okay.”
I know many ways to pleasure a female, they all involve a great deal of pleasure for me as well. The last thing I need is to ramp up my own desires. My need for sleep is becoming more desperate as each minima passes. I decide on the least arousing technique I can think of.
I pull her shirt over her head, then order her, “Turn toward the wall.” She immediately complies, but not before I see her blue eyes flare wide in surprise.
She’s bare except for tiny white panties that cover her sex. The globes of her bottom are pointed at me, with only a thin stretch of fabric lodged in the crack of her ass.
Drack, my cock can’t help but sit up and take notice. I need to proceed as fast as possible.
I order my body not to ince closer as I reach around, grab the top of her panties from the front and the waistband in the back with the other hand. Then I pull, putting pressure on all her private places.
She sucks in a sharp breath, so I pull harder until she releases a little moan. Then I rock the fabric forward and back, picturing what it’s doing to her little pleasure-button.
I don’t have to imagine too hard, she lifts her knee and thrusts her ass back so I have better access to her.
I hadn’t thought it would be this easy. I’d thought that at some point I’d have to touch her, but perhaps the little human can find release with just this gentle rocking movement.
“Beast,” she moans, then presses herself against the fabric. Her movements become more powerful, her noises grow louder. She’s close.
Then her panties snap, and I’m gripping two scraps of fabric inces from her body.
Impatient, she grabs one of my hands, drags it over her hip and presses my fingers into her drenched opening. My cock jerks in excitement, not understanding that he’s to get no action until after the fight tomorrow.
Aerie flips onto her back, opens herself wide to me and whispers, “Please,” her knees pressed to the bed.
Without thinking, I’m on my knees, lodged between hers, slamming two fingers into her channel. The moment my thumb circles her little button, her moaning rises an octave.
She slides down, impaling herself more fully on my fingers, and writhes on my hand. She meets every thrust with one of her own. Soon, she comes with a long, low, keening scream that goes on for lingering moments as I feel her inner muscles spasm around my fingers.
Drack! My cock is drooling, desperate to get into the action. After I remove my fingers, I snap my cock hard enough to kill my erection, lie down facing away from her, and close my eyes. I could stay up all night cursing myself for my insanity, but that would defeat the purpose.
“Beast.” She’s still panting, drifting down from her release. “Sorry.”
I can tell she wants to say something else. I don’t think I want to hear it.
“Thank you,” she says. “Get some sleep.”
Aerie
What just happened? My mind is blown. This entire day has been beyond belief. Who am I kidding? I left the realm of normal a couple weeks ago when I was stolen from my home and thrown into a stasis pod.
I’ve been attracted to Beast since the moment we wound up in that bunk together on the slave shi
p. Him calling out his girlfriend’s name did little to dampen my desire.
That dance I just witnessed? Chalk that up to the hottest freaking thing I’ve ever seen. Bar none. And this? Having a gladiator barbarian practically make me come using nothing other than my panties? That should probably be in the Guinness Book of World Records.
All of a sudden my brain catches up with my endorphins. I remember that twenty-four hours from now I’ll be on the Fool’s Errand and he’ll be lying dead in a morgue on planet Galgon.
More than a buzz kill.
I think I’ve developed feelings for him. So. Not. Good.
His breathing is slow and even. He’s probably gotten to sleep. Good. He needs to be at his best tomorrow afternoon when he fights six males for his life.
Feeling like Scarlett O’Hara, I decide to worry about this another day.
Chapter Five
Aerie
My assessment of Galgon as a shithole still stands. No, let me double down on that. What’s worse than a shithole? ‘Cause that’s what Galgon is.
I eventually got to sleep last night, but it wasn’t easy, even in the afterglow of that sexy orgasm Beast gave me.
Visions of Beast dying in every conceivable way peppered my thoughts until I finally passed out in the wee hours of the morning.
Now here I am in this huge stadium. It reminds me of pictures of Earth’s Colosseum I’ve seen on Google. Only here on Galgon they didn’t stop the barbaric practice of gladiatorial fights two thousand years ago. Here, they’ve doubled down and are selling cold brewed beverages up and down the aisles as if we’re about to watch the Mets versus the Cards.
Everything is beige. I do mean everything. From the sand to the stands to the benches. Also the people. If they didn’t enter the facility wearing beige, they’re wearing it now from the relentless blowing sand.
Captain Zar consulted with my gladiator protection detail and agreed that Willa and WarDog could leave the ship and keep me company. This is good, because I’ll need someone with me when, I mean if, Beast gets hacked to bits out there on the buff-colored sand.
Willa bought something resembling a hot dog and is feeding it to her pet. I wouldn’t feed it to my worst enemy. I mean, really, you don’t know what’s in those things on Earth. Times that by a thousand and you can imagine what alien hot dogs are made of.
WarDog and his two-inch teeth don’t seem to mind. He doesn’t chew anyway, he just swallows.
“You like him, don’t you?” Willa asks when I glance at the empty arena for the thousandth time.
I consider pulling a ‘who, Beast?’ for half a second, then decide to cop to the truth.
“Yeah. He got to me.” The corners of my mouth turn down.
She grabs my hand in a far less creepy way than Tsing did last night.
Growing up the way I did, bouncing from foster home to foster home, didn’t give me a lot of opportunity to make friends. Add to that the relentless abuse I experienced, and I think my ability to trust is permanently broken.
Willa, though, is calm and sweet and easy to like. I’ve decided to open myself to the possibility that maybe we could become friends. Down the road. I must admit, having her next to me, even with her scary companion, is helping my nerves.
~.~
This day has been interminable. Beast is a Pinnacle fighter and this match is supposed to be the highlight of the games. They’re saving the best for last. I’ve watched eight different fights already. Every match has ramped up my anxiety higher than the last.
I’ve hidden my head in my hands more times than I can count over the last four hours. I’ve actually pulled my hair, which, until today, I thought was just an overly-dramatic figure of speech. I’ve bitten my fingernails as low as I can go without taking chunks of skin. Once I went to the john and wept.
It didn’t fool Willa. I guess you can’t hide red, bloodshot eyes in the hot suns. Yeah. Planet shithole has three freaking suns that could bake a cake without benefit of an oven.
My protection detail is here, too. Dax is behind us, Shadow is to my left, and Stryker is to Willa’s right. Not to mention WarDog at our feet. I think if anyone menaced us he’d kill them with one well-placed snap of his vice-like jaws. He’s docile as a lamb when Willa pets him, though, which is one hundred percent of the time.
“Females and males,” Tsing’s voice booms over the loudspeakers. “The moment you have all been waiting for. It’s not every day that a Pinnacle fighter graces our fair city with his presence. Add to that the fact that it is the Beast of Tramachor in our midst, and you would be in for a treat of epic proportions.
“But what we have arranged for you exceeds all expectations. Mark my words, you will never see a back-to-back bout with this level of excitement for the rest of your lives.” She pauses, waiting for the crowd to go wild. They oblige.
“In the first bout, we have . . .”
My mind spaces out. I simply can’t pay attention to one more word she utters. As she describes each opponent, I put my fingers in my ears, not able to bear hearing her heap accolades onto them and all their past triumphs.
I simply label them Asshole One, Two, and Three. They’re huge, at least as big as Beast. They’re three different species, each fiercer than the last. One has boar’s tusks protruding from his lower jaw and looks at least seven feet tall. Two is reptilian with a crocodilian tail that’s all muscle and could be a lethal weapon in and of itself. Three is a shaggy blue guy that would remind me of Cookie Monster if he didn’t have a faceful of teeth longer and sharper than WarDog’s.
The original match was supposed to pit Beast against a fully-armed male with a spear and sword and shield. Somewhere in the negotiations, after we’d upped the ante to two matches with three opponents each, we agreed upon one sword and one shield per participant.
Beast seemed pleased with the contract. He admitted he’s most successful when fighting like that.
“Willa,” I turn my head and whisper in her ear, “if he . . .” Come on, Aerie, spit it out. “If he dies today . . .” I suck in a deep breath. “I’ll need your help.”
She nods, then hugs me. “I get it, sweetie. I’m here for you. Whatever you need, I’ll do. If you want me to sleep in your room, keep you company. Whatever. This is going to be torture. I understand.”
The fight hasn’t even started yet and I’m crying. Which is just as well. I won’t be able to see clearly with tears in my eyes.
Even the three gladiators surrounding us are shifting in their seats. We all know the odds are terrible.
“Place your bets?” calls a male walking up and down the aisles.
“What are the odds?” Stryker asks.
“20:1,” he replies.
All three males look grim, although I can tell they’re trying to keep their expressions on lockdown.
I didn’t understand odds until I got my job at the firm. Sports is our business so I had to learn the math. 20:1 is the worst I’ve ever heard of. Although this doesn’t surprise me, it makes my chest tight anyway. It’s one thing to think he’ll never come out of this alive, quite another to have it confirmed by the bookmakers.
“And now, the male you’ve all come to see, the male who struck down the mighty Gawag of Numa, the male who killed Altheus in his prime. Born Boone of Hyperion, now known as the one, the only, the Beast of Tramachor!”
And yes, the crowd goes wild.
Beast emerges from the underground catacombs where the fighting stock is housed. I hope the blazing suns don’t blind him as his eyes adjust from the cool, dark cave-like rooms under there.
He enters the arena slowly, possibly to give himself a moment to adjust. With arms held high, he stalks the periphery of the sand to the endless cheers of the crowd. No one in our little group makes a peep. It would cheapen everything.
Shadow leans closer and explains, “See those things on his shoulders? Shoulder spaulders that help deflect his opponents’ weapons strikes. The leather that covers knees to ankles? Greaves to gi
ve extra protection. The golden metal belt with the long ribbons of metal hanging to his knees, that’s a balteus to divert sword strikes.”
Shadow’s tone is calming. I know he’s trying to help.
“I’ve sparred with him the past few days, Aerie. He’s a gifted fighter, and I don’t praise others easily. If anyone can do this, it’s him.”
Glancing over, though, I see his pinched mouth and furrowed brow. Beast may be a gifted fighter, but by the look on Shadow’s face, he’ll need a miracle to win these two matches.