by Evans, Casey
Exhausted from a day and a night of training, Petronia turned her attentions to her bath. She stood in a wooden makeshift tub of clean water and began to strip off her tunic. As she did so, she was completely unaware of a two pairs of eyes that were following her every move. As she undid the shoulder clasp and let fall her filthy tunic and audible gasp went up from the two slaves watching her. The men stared at her perfect breasts, tanned beautifully under the hot Roman sun, and her darkened nipples. Their eyes lovingly traced the curve of her belly as it gave way to the delicate wisps of black hair that defined her sex. When Petronia bent over to retrieve a cloth from the water, the watching slaves lost all control and burst into her cell.
Petronia spun around and stood up in one fluid motion; dagger in hand. She had long since learned the value of always having a weapon within reach, even when she was taking her bath. The dagger she now clutched in her hand had been lying at the bottom of the shallow basin that was her makeshift tub.
The sight of the dagger and murder in the eyes of the Gladiatrix was too much for the slaves who dropped the missive on the floor and fled her cell. Petronia dried off her hands and retrieved the note. It was a summons to go to the Lanista immediately.
Idiots, she thought to herself. How much time had they wasted watching her instead of delivering her the summons? How many lashes would her tardiness cost her? She vowed to track down the two house slaves at a later time and extract her revenge.
* * *
An Unnatural Encounter
* * *
Petronia was exhausted from nearly twenty hours on non-stop training in the Ludis. The only thing she wanted to do was sleep, but she knew from experience that she should eat first. Going back to training on an empty stomach would be a disaster. She was in desperate need of the energy the simple gruel would provide. Without it she would find it nearly impossible to concentrate as was bound to make mistakes that would end with her blood being spilled on the sands of their training grounds. But what could she do.
When she reached the Dominus’ chambers she found them strangely empty. Knowing it was a bad idea, she walked in and began to look around. There were very few creature comforts there, in fact it didn’t looked lived in. What she thought odd was the silver and black hairs that covered the silks on the bed. She knew the Dominus’ servants weren’t careless or inattentive, so why all the hair? On further inspection she noticed a bowl partially hidden beneath the bed. Bending down for a closer look, she saw something that chilled her to the bone. There were bones in the dish. Completely picked clean bones, and the worse thing was, they did not look like animal bones. In fact, she was no physician but she could have sworn that she was looking at the remains of a very small child. Without thinking, she picked up one of the bones. It looked like a partial skeleton of a hand; a very small hand.
She smelled him first. She had thought she was alone, yet while she was looking at the bones she became aware of some feral smell seeping into the chambers. Even before she heard the growl, she know she was no longer alone.
Petronia froze, bone in hand. She didn’t know what to do. There was nothing she could say to make it okay for her to be there picking through bones on some creatures dinner plate. Whatever was about to happen to her could be done just as easily from behind as from her face, and she really did not want to see whatever it was that had consumed that child; if it was a child.
More low guttural growls. It was moving. She could hear its canine nails clicking on the stone floor as it walked. She just stood there quaking in fear. When she heard another growl the beast was so close she could feel its hot, putrid breath on the back of her neck. Whatever was standing behind her could not have been a dog. There wasn’t a single dog in the Villa that she could remember. Besides, from the sound of this creature it had to be much larger than any breed she’d ever encountered or heard about.
While she was standing there shaking uncontrollably, seized with fear, she felt something pressing up against her buttocks, something hot and fleshy pushing against the crack of her ass. As she trembled it just kept increasing the pressure until it began to be painful. When she could bear no more she decided to make it easy for the creature to do its business. She reached around and hiked up her tunic before spreading her legs and bending over the hair covered bed. She fully expected to be split open in fiery agony as the creature had its way with her but she was surprised when she felt its warm breath tingling her the skin from the base of her tailbone, its breath caressed her skin all the way to the opening of her anus, where it lingered sending chills up and down her spine. She couldn’t help but squirm a little, the pleasure was so intense. When she felt a moist tongue at the opening she even cried out with surprise. It was such a delicate pleasure, quite unlike anything she’d ever experienced before.
She began to squirm, thrusting her buttocks up to meet the things tongue, wishing for something more substantial, harder. Then she began to feel pressure in place of the thing’s tongue. The more pressure she felt the more she wanted, and thrust her hips up to meet increase the sensation.
When she felt the tip of its…member slip inside, even just a fraction of an inch, the feeling was almost too much to bear. She pushed back, and it pushed in. She sighed with pleasure and it growled with satisfaction. She felt it go deeper and deeper inside her until she thought she couldn’t take any more. Funny thing was, with every thrust, her sex would weep and throb, doubling the sensation rocketing through her body. And it hit her, how could this creature be fucking her in the same place she used to…to…well it just couldn’t be happening, but it was.
She was dimly aware of her body bouncing off the bed as the weight of it crushed her with each delicious thrust from its cock. Finally she could stand no more and screamed as loud as she was capable. At the same time she was aware of a burning liquid splashing across her back and onto the bed beside her. The creature had stopped thrusting now and she was vaguely aware it was no longer on top of her, but she couldn’t get up. She was too week from the experience. With the heady scent of cum filling her nostrils, and the ache of ecstasy shivering through her body she fell asleep.
* * * * *
CHAPTER FOUR:
Blood Sport
Diogias
* * * * *
The two Gladiatrix circled each other wearily, keenly aware of the significance of this battle. The raucous crowd, drunk from blood lust and wine were eager for more spectacle. Unlike their male counterparts, these Gladiatrix are not allowed to wear any kind of helmet or protective clothing. Their bodies are on display here as much as their fighting prowess.
The Gladiatrix from Thrace Diogias wore a small round metal shield attached to her left forearm, and she carried a gladius as her primary weapon in right hand. It wasn’t a long weapon, the blade being about 40 centimeters. To a male Gladiator it would have been considered a mere toy, but to her it was a sword. On her left hip she wore a simple pugio (dagger), should she decide to fight with two blades at once. She was small for a fighting woman, and had far more experience in the arena than Petronia did. As she strode out into the middle of the arena to meet her opponent, all eyes were on her tanned pendulous breasts, swaying with the movement of her hips as she slutted up her stride. Sweat was already adding a glistening sheen to her skin. She was all too aware of the effect of her semi- nude body had on the gathered crowd. She purposely elected to wear a small leather bikini rather than a skirt, to accentuate her shapely behind. She loved the moments before a fight. She was not so caught up in blood lust that she could not feel the yearning between her shapely legs. The only thing keeping her fingers from slipping between her silky lips was the fact that someone was about to try to take her head off at the shoulders; her pussy would have to wait.
As she got closer she began to size up her opponent. The Floretian slave certainly was pretty. Not a lot of woman curves on that one, but she was young yet. She looked over the girl’s body as they circled one another; looking for the presence of scars, anythin
g that would suggest vulnerability. The girl was yet unmarked, save for the fading traces of a whipping on her slender back. She must have taken a beating about a week ago or so. That meant the girl was rebellious; not yet broken to her master’s will. No matter, she would break the girl with her blades. She smiled wickedly and saw the girl mimic her expression, no doubt wondering what was going through her mind.
Rivulets of sweat were trickling down the girl’s chest. She had those high, defiant breasts and puffy nipples, suggestive of further growth to come. Her skin was naturally dark, even without the years she undoubtedly had spent baking under the sun in her master’s Ludis. She studied the girl’s near black, erect nipples, wishing she could stick her tongue there and catch the sweat as it dripped off. She imagined the sweet salty taste of the girl, right before her teeth would clamp down drawing blood and a scream of pain. Sadly, she must kill the girl instead.
* * *
Petronia
* * *
As she drew within a meter and a half the woman cracked a smile, and not knowing quite how to react, mirrored the other’s expression. Men she could read. No surprise there, she spent countless hours in her master’s Ludis training with them. Women on the other hand, were a different animal, and this one, stranger still. She was vaguely aware of the other sizing her up, looking for a weakness, which was exactly what she was doing now. She saw that the woman was equipped with a buckler, a small round shield worn on the forearm. On her left hip was a pugio and in her right hand a gladius, nearly identical to the one she herself had drawn.
She searched the girl’s body for scars from previous battles in the arena or training scars from the Ludis. She had quite a few on her arms, probably from a whip and not a blade, but she did have a wicked looking scar running from her left armpit and almost all the way down to her hip. Surviving a wound like that showed a certain toughness and commitment to life; this woman would not be taken down easily. She watched the other’s eyes roam her body and knew instinctively that she wasn’t just thinking of battle. She felt her eyes linger on her own breasts; they began to tingle despite her distractions. The Thracian woman was pretty herself. She must have been ten years her senior, but years of training and battle did not permit a gladiator to go soft. Years of going without support in the heat of the sun had done nothing to harm the form of her sizeable breasts. The sheen of sweat already collecting on them made them shine invitingly; in another time and another place…
She leapt forward, closing the distance between the two. Somewhere she was aware of a distant crowd, appreciative of her show of athleticism. Few gladiators, male or female could match her leap, both for distance or height. She chose her moment carefully. The instant she was at the peak of her leap, the sun was at its highest, shining down over her shoulder and right into the face of her opponent. It was a deceptive move, because for a moment she was blocking the sun, making her opponent do nothing to protect her eyes from the blinding midday sun. In a split second, the moment Petronia’s blade would be descending, the other woman would be blinded from the sun suddenly in her eyes.
Before her feet hit the hot sand she felt the bite of her blade hitting…the woman’s buckler. She shifted her hips counter clockwise to bring her blade around to meet the others horizontal slash. Suddenly her blade was stuck fast in the woman’s buckler and her blade was about to give her a nasty slash to the upper on her left side. She did the only thing she could do. She let go of her gladius, ducking her head and shoulders, she performed a perfect summersault, but not before her outstretched right hand snatched the Thracian’s dagger off her hip. She came up to her feet behind her opponent’s right side and shoulder. What she did not see was a six inch lock of her glossy black hair fall to the ground; that would teach her to let her hair flow free during combat. Next time she would bind it closely to her head. That haircut was testament to just how close the other’s blade came to taking her head off. But now she was behind the woman and she would have to take a step away and turn before she could bring her weapon to bear on her. Even as the woman stepped and turned, she stepped forward not wanting to be out there in the arc of the gladius. The woman would have to use her dagger if she wanted to do any harm to Petronia. She did a quick jab at her stomach fully expecting to draw blood on her slower opponent, but the woman was faster than she looked. She easily blocked the thrust with her left hand, then she made the mistake Petronia was looking for. The woman had still not realized she had taken away her pugio. She had dropped her gladius so she could fight Petronia up close, and reached for the dagger that was no longer there. That was enough time for Petronia to draw her own dagger with her left hand. She just reached across to her right hip and grabbed it. In one fluid motion she swept it out of the sheath and slashed the woman’s flat stomach as she brought here dagger from her right hip to her left side. She was rewarded with a spray of hot blood splattering her own bare midriff. Now Petronia had a dagger in each hand and a wounded opponent staggering back away from her. Petronia permitted herself a moment to bask in the adulation of the crowd; a moment that might cost her dearly.
* * *
Diogias
* * *
Diogias staggered back in shock! How was it that the girl had both her pugio and her own? The kid was fast, ungodly fast! She experienced a moment of panic as she felt the warm liquid spreading down over her waist and down her thighs. She glanced down fully expecting to see her innards looping out of her stomach but the blade had struck higher, just under her ribcage. It was going to be a nasty would to recover from. She felt something under her sandal. It was the girl’s gladius. Foolish girl, she was just standing there drinking in the applause and letting her opponent rearm herself. A mistake she herself would not make when she disemboweled the kid. She lunged forward, hoping to catch the girl off guard, but a sudden change in the crowd alerted her and she was able to easily parry her sword thrust. Diogias was bigger, stronger, and more experienced than the Floretian, and she would use that to her advantage. It didn’t matter that her strikes were blocked easily enough. The kid would tire soon enough and make a mistake. As long as she kept up her attack, the girl wouldn’t be able to counter with either dagger; she was just too busy blocking. She looked at the young girls beautiful skin, glistening in the sun; it would be a shame to mark it. And those breasts, she would far rather be suckling in them then trying to cut one off. What a strange cruel life this was.
Suddenly the kid made a mistake. In an attempt to parry one of her sweeping diagonal cuts, she took far too much of it on the narrow ridge that separates the dagger’s blade from the hilt. It shattered, along with the girls forearm. As the short blade skittered along the sandy arena floor. The injured Gladiatrix hopped back in a defensive position, creating some distance between the two of them. It was an obvious attempt to give herself time to regroup before Diogias was all over her.
* * *
Petronia
* * *
Disgusting! Absolutely disgusting! How could she have allowed herself to be disarmed like a damned beginner, and to make matters infinitely worse, she had lost her gladius to her opponent and she had broken arm. If she lived through this Doctore was certain to make her wish she hadn’t. Leaping back away from the spinning blade of her own sword she had a sudden inspiration. Clearly she was a crowd favorite. Perhaps she could work that to her advantage. As the Thracian woman pushed her advance, Petronia continued to maneuver them both towards the edge of the arena where the faithful were practically falling out of their seats, leaning over the low retaining wall. If she could get close enough, her fans might actually grab the other woman long enough for her to press her attack and finish the fight. And that’s what she did. In fact, she did such a good job of it, the other woman wasn’t even aware of the danger she was in until it was too late. Some man had reached out and grabbed her opponents sword arm, yanking it backwards in a move that probably would dislocate the woman’s shoulder if she tried to hang on to her gladius.
The man who gr
abbed the older Gladiatrix sword arm had help almost instantly. Someone had taken a thick scarf and wrapped in around the warriors neck and a man and a woman were pulling it back over the retaining wall. Her face was turning red, then purple as she struggled to breathe and break free from her captors. She’d almost gotten her sword arm free when she felt the bite of a dagger on the inside of her arm. Blood fountained out bathing her and her captors in the hot liquid. Petronia almost laughed. She could probably walk away right there and do nothing and the delirious crowd would do everything for her. But gladiator tenant would not let her to that so she lunged forward with her dagger, and slid it between the second and third rib on her left side. Her heart inside her chest literally exploded inside her chest wall. The woman’s eyes went wide with shock, then the light went out and she was dead. The crowd, arriving at the same conclusion, let the dead warrior fall to the sand and began celebrate with wild abandoned. With a flourish, Petronia, using her leg swept the woman’s legs out from under her limp frame and spilling the woman on the sandy floor. Just then, and enterprising young man took the opportunity to relieve himself on the fallen Gladiatrix.
Petronia surprised herself by turning away in disgust; what did she care, the woman was dead now. Still, she had this picture of the same thing happening to her one day when someone got the drop on her. No, the woman should still die with dignity. Angrily she shooed the man away, along with the others, who inspired by the young man, were preparing to do the same thing. Petronia bent over, retrieved her gladius and waived it dangerously close to several of the most raucous of the crowd; that did the trick.