Krax

by A. Phallus Si

  KRAX

  By A. Phallus Si

  Text copyright © 2016 A. Phallus Si

  All Rights Reserved

  To my believers and friends

  Blurb:

  Crater Base Delta 54 a premier destination for gladiatorial slave combat. While death is rare, pain is guaranteed. Frax Stables holds the papers for top tier combatants, including the arena favorite and their champion—Krax.

  Krax has been here for more sols than he can remember, but he’s one fight away from paying off his debt price. That’s a problem, and there are several parties looking to make sure he stays. Can he outsmart instead of outfighting his way to freedom?

  Background on the world setup and species for this short story as well as other stories set in it see: https://spv7z218.wordpress.com/

  Cultural Logs – Species index

  Bauman: Arboroid. Bipedal species of tree shifters, massive in scale. Origins unknown. All contacts have been with mature entities since seedlings don’t leave their base tree. Upon maturity some males choose to wander the universe, reasons unknown. Prized as prisoners of war for their strength and as objects of phallic worship.

  Caurentian: Caninoid. Hierarchical species with prestige and honor based on trading, wealth, and allegiances. Origin: Sirius System. Observance of strict protocols is critical in successful negotiations. Aka. Golden Jackals

  Cirrinia: Cephaloid species that frequently presents in its octopedal form. Origin: Volans System. Often either shy or overly aggressive. Use ink as a defense mechanism or to express excitement. NOTE: Subspecies Haplo’s ink is lethally toxic to all humanoid species.

  Feldoonae: Felinoid species that reproduce solely via artificial means. Origin: Regulus System. Most form prides and genetically design their offspring when mature, selecting for litter strength and diversity of skills.

  Fraxian: Humanoid shipbound species. Nomadic traders willing to handle any and all deals for a price. Flexible morals. Origin of the species unknown. Homeworld destroyed when their sun went supernova; the Fraxians have been nomadic ever since. Lead ship of the fleet, Taraxicum.

  Freed: Data incomplete. See Hetaerae.

  Hetaerae: Humanoid. Little is known of this mysterious race other than they are prized as genetically desirable and seemingly of unending sexual appetites. Never observed outside of brothel or harem settings. Addendum: Race name is in question due to events on SPV7Z-218, per the Galactic Commerce Commission. Please refer to the species as Freed until further notice.

  Human: Species originating from the planet Earth. Coloring and attitudes vary significantly by colony. No set hierarchy or belief structure, political and social stability is an issue with less diverse colonies.

  Phos: Entry needed. Species name recorded, but details not known.

  Thlyacine: Caninoid. Bi-gestational species, both male and females reproduce. Polyamorous by nature, group bonding is the norm. Highly social, and often boisterous. Origin: Gamma Crucis System.

  Chapter 1

  Krax stepped out of the thermobath chamber, steam billowing out in a dense cloud before the panel closed. Naked, he strolled towards his cubicle grunting acknowledgment at his fellow fighters’ congratulations. He had almost made it.

  “Krax!” bellowed a voice from the dormitory entrance. Malichai. The owner grinned as he grasped Krax’s shoulder, squeezing overhard from the thrill of victory, the profit Krax had brought him, and, undoubtedly, too many shots of spirits.

  Krax controlled his breathing. The hyperknit might have repaired the damage with its Xcellerants, but the nerves were still recoding the pain pathways. Krax’s brain still thought it was severed. Malichai knew it didn’t physically damage Krax, likewise, he knew it was excruciating. The sadistic bastard liked to chase the shadow pains of his gladiators’ injuries.

  “Master,” Krax’s toneless acknowledgment the only thing he gave. He watched Malichai’s mood turn darker, the fingers digging deeper into Krax’s deltoid, and when that failed to get a response, he let go, turning away in disgust.

  “Excellent fight. You are the gem of Frax Stables.”

  Not for long, thought Krax. Just one more fight and he’d earn enough to pay his debt price. To leave this crater, this barren asteroid swirling amidst Penthesilea’s Girdle, and go anywhere else. Find a life. A life beyond the blood.

  “Just one more win, right?” Malichai asked as if he were unsure. “And you’ll have earned freedom again.”

  Krax had been expecting a ploy to extend his stay at Crater Base Delta54 and enjoy more of Frax Stable’s hospitality for a while; he was only surprised it was so late in coming. Malichai must be pretty confident that his scheme would succeed. Krax had spent all these years honing his skills to win when he needed it most. This would be it.

  “A great fighter deserves a great fight to leave by.”

  While there weren’t many, there were rules. If the Gambling Board refused to place odds on a fight, often because they believed it wouldn’t extend past the minimum time limits, then Krax was at least ensured a reasonable match. Clearly, Malichai wanted a splashy event, offering maximum sponsors, and credit exchanges.

  Krax inclined his head in agreement. “It would be a great honor.”

  “Excellent.” Malichai grinned in a manner that sent more shadows across his shoulder. “I’ve scheduled an arena fight, so all your fans could attend.”

  Arena fight? Krax rarely fought with others. In all the years he’d been here he’d only paired up thrice. In every instance, he’d lost his partner. While death was uncommon, it did happen. The Gambling Board fined deaths heavily, and stables were careful to avoid them. The fines paid off the deceased fighter’s debt price, and any surplus was sent to listed beneficiaries.

  This was not the way to pay off a debt price.

  Malichai’s smile grew wide. “In fact, I purchased a new fighter just to liven up the crowd.”

  A slight figure stumbled out from between two of the owner’s goons. The man ignored the indignity of being pushed. He waved his arms, and the magnetic bracelets snicked as they disengaged. The man’s huff of annoyed breath nearly covered the sound.

  He was too pretty to be a fighter, all long limbs and luscious unmarred skin. Every gladiator in the stable stared at the newcomer. Whispers grew around Krax as his stablemates speculated on the man’s skills both in and out of the cage.

  Malichai grabbed a handful of hair, so black it glinted blue. He yanked, bringing the newcomer’s face out from its curtain of hair. “This is Pherral.”

  Graul coughed. The others weren’t quite so polite.

  “Feral? Like a kitten?”

  “He’s no pussy, Triton. Not with a piece of meat like that.”

  “He can bite and scratch me as much as he wants.”

  The jokes and laughs continued as everyone tried to gauge their new companion. Pherral seemed detached and absolutely unperturbed as he slowly turned full circle, exhibiting himself to a room full of battle-hardened fighters. When he finished his rotation, he faced Krax again.

  “Meet your new partner, Krax.”

  Malichai’s plan was becoming clearer. Still, someone this attractive could be an asset in the right moment. More subterfuge and less brute force.

  “Who are our opponents?” asked Krax without any preamble.

  Malichai ignored the insolence of Krax’s question, obviously reveling in finally getting an emotional response. “Seq and Yuc.”

  Malichai was setting him and this scrawny newbie up with two Baumen? Two of them? He’d seen pairs go up against a single Bauman and fail. Skilled, team-trained partners often failed to take down one. The Gambling Board couldn’t possibly greenlight the match. It was almost was if Malichai could see his mind spinning, wondering.

  “And the match has already been approved
for the next apogee.”

  Three weeks.

  Chapter 2

  “How did he get approval?” Krax mumbled to himself as he checked his armor. He needed new arm guards. Sol’s Bright! He needed plate, not leather or chain. His fingers tugged the stitching loose.

  He barely noticed Pherral by the bars. The lithe form ran across and swung down four levels to the sand. He was even prettier in motion.

  “The match is handicapped,” Pherral said, strolling across the training ring toward Krax.

  Krax grunted. “Would have to be, wouldn’t it.” Pherral didn’t rise to his jibe. “How much?”

  “The maximum,” he said lounging on the bench across from Krax. “There might have been additional under the table promises, but I’m unfamiliar with this system.”

  Made sense. Nonetheless, even if Malichai was in league with the Gambling Board, there was no way Seq and Yuc’s stable wanted to pay fines. Maybe it was just humiliation Malichai was after, for all the times Krax failed to bend to him. Either way, if he didn’t win he didn’t go free. That looked more and more likely.

  “So what can you do?” Krax didn’t care how brusque he sounded. He needed a win, and this kid had to bring something to the fight.

  Pherral grinned. “I was wondering when we’d get to this point. You’re more adaptable than I expected.” Krax snorted and watched as Pherral leapt back up. “Let’s spar.”

  They both grabbed optiblades from the weapons rack. Krax verified the training mode was engaged and walked into the ring where Pherral waited.

  Their blades whirred open. Krax admired his opponent’s choice. A stiletto, half his arm in length with a cruciform blade made of unbreakable margarium. Sleek and swift, it suited Pherral’s fighting style. Krax selected a krakentor and Pherral raised his brow. Krax grinned. Curved, lightweight, and double the reach of the stiletto, the krakentor leveled the weapon advantage. It would come down to the fighters’ skill.

  They circled, the crunch of sand the only sound in the ring. Whispers of feet on the periphery meant they had an audience. The entire stable was eager to see the new fighter in action. The oil-slicked skin on display made for a pleasant diversion from their own regimens.

  Krax blinked at the clank of a dropped weight. It was all the distraction Pherral needed. He lunged. Krax blocked, pushing the stiletto wide. Pherral ducked under his arm, spinning his blade loose and around. Pivoting, he barely had time to repel the slice aimed at his back.

  “You’re fast,” Krax said with admiration, swinging the krakentor low.

  “You have no idea,” Pherral grinned, jumped over the blade and whirled away.

  Pherral catapulted off a ricochet sphere onto stacked cubes, then regrouped. Krax watched Pherral’s mind tick over. He utilized a strategy of evasion and ambush, using the space efficiently to nullify Krax’s superior strength. Krax had to admit, the newcomer’s tactics impressed him. He was never going to beat Pherral this way. Watching him scale the wall, Krax lay in wait.

  He didn’t need to bide his time for long. Still wearing a cocky grin, Pherral leapt onto the frames and ran across the thin pipes towards him. Flipping, he dove off the edge, blade swinging. Krax met him head-on.

  Rather than parrying, Krax turned into the blade. Driving it through his chest, into the void between bone and heart. Damn. No matter how many times he did it, it still hurt. Impaled, he grabbed hold of Pherral.

  Or tried to.

  Krax’s hand slid against Pherral’s oiled skin. As Krax tried in vain to pull Pherral close, Pherral slithered up Krax’s body using the stiletto as leverage to pull free. Krax grunted as the pain reverberated from the wound. He ripped the weapon out. Blood merely trickled down his chest. A reminder that it was only training.

  “That’s not a strategy I see often,” said Pherral, his chest heaving in gulps of air.

  Tossing aside the krakentor, Krax dove and tackled Pherral to the sand. Pherral scrambled out from beneath him. Krax growled in frustration as he tried to grab hold of him, but Pherral kicked at Krax’s weakened left arm and crawled away across the ring.

  Krax yanked on the retreating ankle, dragging him back. Pherral’s hands scrabbled at the grains of sands in desperation, his other foot kicking.

  “Winner takes all?” Krax asked as he crawled to his knees, entrapping the writhing form.

  “Of course.”

  “The others are watching.”

  “Good, I like fans. I’m always a crowd favorite.”

  “I bet you are.”

  Pherral twisted sharply, dislodging Krax, and scrambled for freedom.

  Slippery opponent. Krax scrabbled to his feet and hauled Pherral back by his hair. “How much oil did you use?” He was tired of this game.

  “Enough to get away from you multiple times, and if we’d been serious, I’d have killed time and again.” Pherral fought to free himself.

  “That so?” Krax twisted his fingers more tightly in the damp strands of Pherral’s hair. An advantage Krax never afforded other fighters.

  “Most definitely.” Pherral jerked his skull backwards; Krax dodged the blow. He tightened his grip until Pherral stopped struggling. Pherral lay on his belly in the sand, panting as he fought to catch his breath

  “Well, it makes this easier.” Krax pinned Pherral to the ground with an arm across the back of his neck. He yanked the loosened loincloth, pushing Pherral’s thighs wider, and revealing Pherral’s delectable ass.

  “You gonna fuck me, or just look,” Pherral demanded, spitting out sand.

  “I’m gonna look and then fuck you.”

  Whistles broke out around the ring as more and more fighters eagerly watched.

  “You like people to look. Should I tell them to come and have a look before or after I ravage this hole?” Krax ran his thumb along the groove of Pherral’s spine, slicking it up with oil. He rubbed his thumb up and down over Pherral’s hole, coaxing Pherral’s body to open for him. “Or both?”

  “You want some help?”

  Krax was so taken by the ease with which Pherral yielded, his body wanting, that he had no idea who said it. Krax hardened at Pherral’s moans and sway of his hips as he tried to push back against Krax’s thumb, every movement urging Krax deeper.

  “No,” he growled at their audience.

  Mesmerized, he played some more. “But they’re going to watch you,” he whispered leaning over.

  “Yes,” Pherral said with an eager thrust backwards as their bodies slid together.

  Krax rubbed his cock in the crease of Pherral’s ass, coating it in the oils that had dripped down the crack. Soon it was slick, the thick head glistening as it pressed in, straining, pushing until the ring yielded and he slid in with a pop.

  Sol’s Bright! They both moaned as Krax pushed deeper, watching his cock disappear, the pink furl stretching smooth around him. Silky heat enveloped him, squeezing his length. He wasn’t going to last long, not with Pherral’s eager acceptance. Or was it just another ruse? The strong grip as Krax pulled back, Pherral’s body begging Krax’s cock not to leave; was it truth, or just another escape tactic?

  Pherral wasn’t getting loose, not now.

  “You gonna behave, and take your reaming? Or do I need to keep you pinned?” Krax grunted as he slammed all the way in.

  “I’ll behave,” Pherral panted as he braced for each thrust. He spread his legs further, face smacking into his forearms. Krax tightened his grip, the skin hot and slick with perspiration.

  “You’re a good loser.” He released his hold and sat up, pulling Pherral back onto his dick as he thrust. So hot, silky smooth, and suction like a Sanguine leech. He tightened his hold to speed up.

  He could hear the men around them stripping their own dicks as they watched. Grunts echoed through the training room. It sounded perfect. Every session should end like this, a frenzy of fucking.

  He pulled Pherral up onto his lap, gravity letting him sink even farther into that tight hole. He wrapped his arms around Pherral
’s chest and held him firm by the shoulders, thrusting deep and fast.

  Each punch of his hips pushed a grunt from Pherral’s lips. The wispy hair tickled Krax’s ear as Pherral’s head lolled against Krax’s shoulder. Pherral’s lips parted with a soft moan with each thrust, like Krax controlled his breath by fucking him.

  “Dick him deep, Krax.”

  Pherral whimpered in agreement. His eyes rolled up, as if to beg Krax.

  “Fuck that pretty hole,” another gladiator shouted.

  Pherral tightened around Krax as the commentary continued.

  “Each one of them is imagining being me,” Krax whispered. He blew the hair away from his mouth and grunted as he slid deep, rotating his hips. He reveled in the whimper his thrust elicited. “They have no idea what a perfectly—” he pulled out and slammed in again, bouncing Pherral on his cock, “—trained cock slut you are.”

  “Give him more!” an agitated voice on the sidelines growled.

  Krax snorted. “Was that part of your training?” He thrust again, punctuating each word. “Because I’ve never had anyone milk my cock like this. Was it?” he demanded.

  “Yes!” Pherral screamed as Krax worked him over.

  The groans of their audience and the first smell of jizz on the sand accelerated Krax’s efforts.

  “That’s it. Milk my cock, you hungry cock slut.” Pherral’s gentle cries of more as he worked himself up and down on Krax’s cock brought him over the edge. He pushed hard and held Pherral down as he began unloading, coming deep inside him. He slid one hand down, wrapped it around Pherral’s taut flesh. It only took a couple of strokes before come spurted out onto the sand, drops coating Krax’s hand. He kept stroking, that tight ass grasping with each pull.

  “That’s it. Milk me dry.”

  Chapter 3

  Krax shoveled another bite of protein gruel down. His body was still recovering from the last fight, and he needed all the nutrients for his training, which was surprisingly fierce when paired with Pherral. They’d worked out each other’s strengths and weakness and were devising attacks. Pherral had a mind for choreographing katas and swipes. If anything, working with Pherral was harder than training solo.