Village Girl to Gladiatrix

Six months ago, Arla knew only what it was like to have a loving family, three adequate meals every day, and nice, comfortable, clothes. Then her village was pillaged by the army of a hostile kingdom to the north, in need of food, supplies, and women, to aid in their assault against the Fortress of Sotil to the east. The villagers made the foolish mistake of putting up resistance, and the Royal Army in turn slaughtered all but a tenth of the population. Arla, terrified and helpless, watched as they hung her father and mother at the gallows, and then slit her older sister’s throat. She only survived because she hid in a thicket of bushes behind their house.

The army left, the town stripped bare of anything valuable. That didn’t stop a gang of outlaws from sweeping through the place to see what remained. Arla, having passed out in her hiding spot, woke to find a group of rugged men and women roaming around her family’s backyard. She sat up, memories of what occurred earlier slowly coming back to her, and alerted the strange folks by rustling the bushes. A strong burley arm grabbed the scuff of her dress and pulled her out, holding her flailing figure at eye level.

“Hey, captain! Looks like we got someone! What shall we do with her?”

A rough woman, wild red hair to her pelvis, but draped in shinier army than the rest of the group of thugs, looked at Arla, examining her with a bored expression on her face. “Not much for physical labor,” she lifted Arla’s dress and inserted a finger into the girl’s cunny, which was quite moist; most likely from pissing herself rather than arousal, the captain was certain. “Hymen’s intact. I’d bet some pervert would pay a high price for her. We’ll have to keep some of our perverts off her…,” Arla kicked towards the redhead, nearly striking her in the jaw, missing only by the woman’s fast reflexes, “Do that again and you will regret it, you fucking bitch! How about we just slice open your belly and leave you here to die?”

Her captor slammed his fist into the back of her head, knocking Arla out cold.

“Just take her with us and we’ll find something to do with her.”

In the coming months, Arla spent most of her time chained to a wagon as the gang of outlaws roamed the country. Her loving home was replaced by constant abuse, both physical and mental, and hard manual labor. Their red haired leader made it clear that she was off limits to rapists, lest they ruin her value by taking her virginity; the only part of the ordeal Arla was terribly grateful for. That didn’t, however, prevent them from making her dance around at night with risque moves, as guys jeered and jerked themselves to the erotic rhythm of her nubile ten-year-old body. The dress, purple with puffed shoulders, was replaced with a tiny piece of loincloth hanging over her genitals, barely covering her meaty little mound, and exposing her ass to anyone lucky enough to stand behind her. Her meals only consisted of stale bread, and occasionally leftover fat from much tastier meals.

A month ago, her fortunes changed when her captors decided to toughen her up, after discovering that doing so could be quite profitable for them. When Miriam, the redhead they called captain, thrust a dagger into her right hand and ordered her to slit the throat of a dog they held captive, Arla was at first confused and dismayed.

“Prove that you can be of use to us, and I will reward you,” she said while dangling a thick piece of ham in front of her now-widening eyes.

Arla licked her lips, whilst her eyes swelled up with tears. She looked at the dog, a small, whimpering, brown puppy, tied to a tree with a muscle of a man holding it down with his oversized fist. Arla only ever killed once in her life, and it was mere bug; she cried the entire evening, falling asleep in her mother’s arms.

“What if I don’t,” she muttered, then clasped her mouth when she realized what she had said.

“I’ll beat you senseless. You’ll either go a whole week without so much as a crumb to eat, or we’ll kill the dog ourselves and give you the rotting carcass to eat on. Might even rethink my policy about leaving your virginity intact.”

Arla swallowed hard, tightening her grip on the knife. Her stomach rumbled, which Arla interpreted as a little devil standing on her shoulder, urging her onward. Without anything acting as an angel on the other shoulder, Arla reached out and grabbed the dog’s snout. Crying, she jammed the blade into the helpless animal’s throat; blood sprayed everywhere as the beast’s short life quickly faded.

Miriam threw the piece of ham to Arla; she caught it and scarfed it down, sobbing after swallowing each chunk of meat.

Miriam laughed, as did a few of her thugs, and pulled two more pieces of meat from her pouch. “Just because I didn’t think you had it in you.” Miriam tossed Arla the meat, and the latter greedily ate each one.

This became a daily routine, where Arla slaughtered live animals for increasingly large morsels of meat. The killings became more brutal, with Miriam ordering the little psychopath-in-training to give her victims increasingly more agonizing deaths.

Her first human victims came three weeks after she killed the dog for a piece of ham.

The bandits raided a small farm, isolated from any major settlements by days of travel, and from the nearest other residence by hours. The house was occupied by a middle aged couple and their three daughters. The couple were gagged and tied to a tree, while their two oldest girls, twins with long dark hair, only two years older than Arla, were stripped naked and tied to the wall of their farmhouse.

Arla, the girl who once cried herself to sleep because she stepped on a fly, approached the twins with a dagger in her hand, and a scowl on her face. With an order from her captain, she sliced off each twin’s budding breasts, tossing the bloody remains of their blossoming womanhood to the dirt as their screams pierced the countryside. Their mother sobbed hysterically into her gag, while their dad pulled uselessly against his restraints. Arla continued to brutally mutilate the twins, cutting deep gashes across their arms and torsos in a frantic flurry, stabbing their mounds, and gouging out their eyes. It wasn’t until she opened their bellies, letting their guts tumble out, that Miriam ordered her to cease. Men gathered around, and fucked every orifice as the twins died in their restraints.

While they expired, several Miriam brought her to their younger daughter, a small thing of six, with a long, dark, ponytail. She was stripped and held down, like the dog Arla killed what seemed like an eternity ago. She needed no command; Arla grabbed the girl’s ponytail and pulled her head back, and opened a deep gash, slicing through her arteries and windpipe, and watched as the poor child’s life faded into a crimson spray along their yard.

That night, Miriam’s gang helped themselves to a feast, courtesy of the food and livestock kept by their unwilling guests. They gang even cleaned up and roasted the six-year-old Arla slaughtered, serving her alongside seven smoked chickens, three stuffed hams, with sides of fried and mashed potatoes, corn, roasted green beans, steamed carrots, and fruit pies for desert. Arla sat with them for, enjoying the best meal of her life; even helping herself to some of the little girl, much to the dismay of her distraught parents; who could only helplessly watch as they ate next to them.

The next morning, the couple was relocated to a bed inside their house, along with the remains of their daughters. There they remained, until they expired days later from dehydration. Meanwhile, Miriam deemed Arla’s training complete, and rode forth to profit from their labors.

Two days after giving Arla her first taste of human flesh, Miriam and Harold, her most trusted henchman, arrived in the City of Tead with Arla; claiming to be the girl’s parents, as they enrolled her in the Young Gladiator Tournament at the local arena. Offering her a lifetime of membership, as an equal, in her gang, Miriam instructed the girl to win. The prize was enough wealth that her and her gang could live in luxury for the rest of their lives. As battles were to the death, Miriam needed to offer no punishment for failure this time.

Miriam and Arla would both quickly learn, however, that killing restrained and defenseless victims did not constitute adequate training for actual combat.

Arla entered the battlefield, only a dagger her hand and the thin loincloth around her pelvis, approached by a teenaged boy. While clad in an equally skimpy piece of cloth, his left hand held a bronze shield, and a leather belt strapped across his waist held not only a dagger, but dozens of small throwing knives. He drew one of the knives, as Arla charged, screaming and clutching the dagger with both hands, and threw it. The blade struck her upper thigh, sinking deep into her tender flesh, and Arla staggered to the ground. She let out an ear-splitting scream, as blood gushed from the wound.

“This isn’t fair,” she screeched. “I don’t even want…,”

Her words were cut off as another thrown knife sliced her left cheek as it flew past her. Another struck her left breast, slicing her mosquito bite nipple in half as it pierced her lung.

The boy grabbed her by the are and pulled her up, before pushing her onto her belly, eliciting another shrill scream as she landed on the knives, and shoved them further inward.

The crowd roared, some cheering, others booing, and quite a few, mostly men, whistling and catcalling, as he spread her legs. He shoved his erect cock, already pushing through the thin piece of cloth over it, into her tight preteen pussy. She screamed, blood trickled from her hole, coating his member, as he broke through her hymen. In the crowd, Miriam and other gang members groaned in agony as their property dropped in value instantly.

The boy withdrew his dagger. Arla shut her eyes in anticipation as he brought the blade to her throat, then a sharp, raspy, gasp escaped her lips as the blade dug into the soft flesh, opening her wind pipe and spraying her blood everywhere. She gurgled and spat blood, as her short ten years of life quickly faded. In her last moments, Arla found solace in the fact that she no longer had to face a life time as one of Miriam’s thugs, running around robbing and killing innocent people and animals. She wouldn’t even have to continue this barbaric tournament, or ever kill another person. She would be reunited with her loving family in the hereafter. As her vision faded, Arla silently prayed for the gods and her family to forgive everything she had done since they last met.

Her opponent continued to pound her cunt as she expired. Just before she faded from conscience, he climaxed, ensuring that the last sensation she would ever experience would be his sticky cum filling her dying pussy. Even the stench of piss and shit, as her body relinquished the last of her life and self-control to death’s grip. He pulled out after squeezing the last few ounces of his seed into her deceased womb.

With his dagger firmly clutched, the boy sawed through her neck until her head pulled away. He stood, drenched with sweat and blood, holding her head triumphantly.