Gladiators

Julie pistoned her hips vigorously against the boy beneath her. Her cries grew shriller and more frenzied, and the boy sensed her nearing climax. He had already cum three times, once with his dick in Julie’s hands, once in her mouth, and once in her ass, but he needed to exert all his effort to stave off his fourth ejaculation. He wanted to return the favor at least once.

He tried to think of baseball. He had heard that works. It wasn’t working. He was about to cum. He tried to think of playing darts in the bar. The Algebra test he failed last week. Anything other than the insanely sexy girl enveloping his cock with her snatch and grunting in ecstasy. It wasn’t working. He was about to cum for the fourth time that night. He shouted out a warning.

“I’m gonna cum!”

Again, Julie thought. She let herself go, letting memories of her kills and of the sexy, shirtless gladiators she’d seen slaughtering their opponents flood her mind. This was her last chance to orgasm before her fight the next day, and she’d be damned if she was going to waste it. She focused on the mounting pleasure in her loins, nourishing it, cultivating it, feeling it blossom into an overwhelming flood of sensations.

Just as she was about to feel it explode into an eruption of ecstasy, the boy beneath her groaned and sighed in ultimate contentment, and his throbbing shaft of meat began to soften. No! No no no no! Julie thought in frustration. She was so close. She tried to capture the dissipating payoff, but it eluded her. All that build up of delectation vanished like a ghost.

Sorely disappointed, Julie tossed her hair back and climbed off the boy, then flung herself on her back next to him. He looked at her as if she was an angel. He touched a lock of her soft chocolate hair framing her otherworldly visage and stared into her bewitching blue eyes. “I don’t suppose you could go one more round?” Julie asked, her eyebrows raised hopefully.

“I think I’m spent,” the boy said. His hands went to her soft, flat stomach and traced the scar tissue there. Her skin was smooth and pale and unblemished, except where she had suffered three wounds - two nearly parallel to her navel, and the third higher up, near her ribs. “Tell me about these.”

“My third match,” Julie told him. “A girl. Almost my age. A little older maybe. She had won four matches already. I was going to be her last. One way or the other.” Julie flashed a dark smile. “The bow was her weapon. A risky choice if you ask me. If they matched her with a heavily armored opponent, she wouldn’t have stood much of a chance. I’m not sure about her previous four opponents, but I fight in nothing but a loin cloth. I need my movement and speed to win.”

“That’s fuckin’ sexy,” the boy said. He was imagining this bold, willful girl facing down large, armor clad men with her perky breasts bare and her tender belly exposed. “I can’t wait to watch you tomorrow.”

Other girls might have disagreed with him, but Julie also found the violence of the arena oddly stimulating. “When I saw her wield that bow, I knew it would be tough. I ran straight at her until she nocked her first arrow, then I darted left, and she missed. I was nearly halfway across the arena, weaving back and forth, when she got my timing down and her second arrow met me just as I turned back towards her.” Julie took the boy’s hand and moved it to the scar on the right side of her belly.

“It fucking hurt, let me tell you, but I couldn’t let that stop me. I knew if I stopped I was dead, so I kept running as if nothing had happened. Fucking bitch nailed me with her third arrow.” Julie moved the boy’s hand to the left side of her belly now.

“Were you scared?” the boy asked.

“I took the pain and the fear and I turned it into rage. I closed in even faster, wasting less time with the winding route and instead running right at her. I think she saw that, and she even backed up against the wall before taking her final shot. She must’ve known she needed to take me down with that one, and I was probably giving her an easy target, but if she meant to stop my heart her aim was too low.” Julie moved the boy’s fingers to the scar on her upper abdomen.

“Her expression as I ran my sword through her chest… the look in her eyes. She had already put three arrows in me. She was so close to finishing me and winning the prize. She was almost out. If her last arrow had only been a few inches higher.” Julie moved the boy’s hand up to her left breast, where her heart beat fiercely. “To be that close and lose it all. Fuck I can’t even imagine.”

“Aren’t you afraid of dying?” the boy asked, in awe.

“Of course I’m afraid of dying. That’s why I’m doing this. I love being alive. It’s a fucking hoot. I win tomorrow, my fifth match, and I’m done. I’ll be rich enough to join the elite immortals. Never age another day and just enjoy the fuck outta life.”

“How do you know you’ll win?”

Julie looked offended. “How can I not?”

“Well the person you’re fighting could win, couldn’t they?”

“I wouldn’t be fighting if I believed that. I’ve been training since I was six. Ever since I learned about the arena and the prize money and The Procedure. People used to search their entire lives for a fountain of youth. A chance to never grow old. All I gotta do is kill five people in one on one combat.”

“The person you’re fighting feels the same way, I bet.”

“Well they’re not me.” Julie really believed she would win on account of her being her - Julie Huerta, the one and only. “My first match, I was given thirty to one odds. My opponent had won his first three matches so easily, everybody thought he was unbeatable. I was just a fifteen-year-old girl in her first fight. He was nearly twice my size, covered in chain mail and carrying a shield as tall as me and a sword I could probably barely even lift.

“I baited him into a swing and he bit off more than he could chew. I side stepped him, found a weakness in his armor and slit his throat. The fight was over in less than thirty seconds. He was down and bleeding to death.”

“That’s badass,” the boy told her.

“I’m kind of a badass,” Julie agreed with a shrug. “I don’t care how strong you are, it doesn’t matter if you can’t hit me. I don’t care how quick you are, I’m quicker. I don’t care how skilled you are, I’m better. I don’t care how bad you want it, I want it more.”

“Well after you win tomorrow, you think you’ll want a boyfriend?”

Julie giggled and mussed the boy’s hair. “I’m not really looking for a boyfriend. I just wanted a good dicking tonight. Take all this pre-fight anxiety and jitters and turn it into sexual anguish and just explode. There’s nothing quite like it. Only thing better is after the fight, after you walked out there knowing it’s either you or the person across from you, and you’re the one that walked away… the orgasms after that are just fucking… incredible.”

“Maybe I could give you that dicking tomorrow night?”

“Well you haven’t even made me cum tonight.”

“I think I might be ready to try again.”

Julie reached down and felt the boy’s cock, stiff as a rock. She smiled and climbed on top of him. “Let’s give it another shot, then.” It occurred to her that she didn’t even know his name.
The crowd roared with excitement as Julie stepped into the arena. They loved her. They adored her. She was well aware she made quite the spectacle. Her loin cloth was made of deer hide and it scarcely covered her twat and the crack of her ass. The only other article of clothing she wore were her sandals - thin leather things strapped tightly to her ankles.

The rest of her sixteen-year-old body was on full display. Her pert 34 C breasts free and perking, defying gravity. Her delectably rounded ass cheeks bare and shimmering in the sun. Her hair was pulled back in a half pony, clearly revealing her strong, squared jawline and her high, shapely cheek bones. Her radiant smile full of perfect teeth beamed, outlined by sultry lips beneath a button nose. Her greatest feature, her sparkling blue eyes, flitted about with youthful sanguinity, taking it all in.

I’m going to miss this, she thought. She held up her short sword, her weapon of choice, and waved to the adulating fans.

Across the arena her opponent entered. His reception was not as warm. He was unremarkable in all aspects. Late twenties perhaps, five foot ten, one hundred seventy pounds, with black hair and dark brown eyes and a forgettable face. Clad in boiled leather that matched the color of the earth and armed with a plain longsword. He had won his first match by a narrow margin, Julie was told. Wounded six different ways, he had only prevailed when his opponent made a miscalculation and gave him a fortuitous opening. Julie would give him no such openings today.

The horn blasted and the fight began. Julie trotted forward, eager to spill blood but maintaining a healthy dose of caution. Brown Eyes moved to meet her, an uneasiness about him. Is he afraid? Julie wondered. Once she was within striking distance she poked and prodded, testing the man’s defense. He parried but made no attempt to counter. He meant to force her into an offensive strategy.

A lunge to Brown Eyes’ right flank was blocked, and a slash at his left was dodged. Still he did not attack. After a couple more beats at his left, Julie detected a weakness. His footwork was sloppy. He preferred to dance away from her blade when she went left, and she would use that to take him down. Launching a remise, Julie got the man in motion and then suddenly broke off the attack, dropping into a crouch and sweeping him off his feet with a jiu jitsu move.

Flat on his back, the man was vulnerable. Julie didn’t rush, but her movement was fluid. She rose back up and stepped on the man’s longsword before he could raise it in defense. Meaning to severe his sword arm and claim victory, Julie swung her blade ferociously. It connected with leather and a bit of flesh, but the man abandoned his weapon and rolled away, minimizing the impact.

As he tried to scramble to his feet, his back to his opponent, Julie lunged at him and pierced his right thigh on her blade. The man screamed in pain, and bellowed when Julie withdrew her weapon. Flopping onto his butt, unarmed and badly wounded, he was as helpless as a bug beneath a boot. Julie gave him no quarter.

Towering over him, she moved forward faster than he could scurry backwards and raised her arming sword above her head, preparing to deliver the final blow. The crowd trumpeted hysterically, and for the briefest of moments Julie glanced at them. Their lust for violence was equal to hers, and they were fawning over her. Surveying the audation on so many unfamiliar faces, Julie paused ever so slightly to bask in their reverence. Here she was, on the cusp of seizing immortality and glory and riches beyond her dreams, and she wanted to savor the occasion. Five times she had stepped into this arena to face someone who wanted her dead. Five times she had triumphed. How many could make that boast?

Is the boy from last night watching? Julie wondered.

Lowering her eyes back to the man who had fallen victim to her unmatched prowess, Julie felt pity but no remorse. He was here willingly, and the match was fair. But something was wrong. The man had no play, but his hand was a flux of movement. Too late, Julie realized he had pulled a dirk from his boot and before she could drive her sword down into his body he plunged the blade into her outstretched belly.

The split second distraction she had allowed herself was the opening her opponent needed. The opening she had sworn she wouldn't give him. He had a dirk in his boot! How did I not see he had a dirk in his boot?! Julie scolded herself. Her eyes wide with pain and incredulity, Julie tried to come to grips with the ten inches of cold steel buried in her guts so she could continue her attack. Her left hand wrapped around the man's right, which he had used to stab her, and her right hand still held her sword over her head.

The man rose up to meet her, catching her right wrist and easily stopping her from ending him, while simultaneously carving her up. His dirk slid sideways through her abdominal wall, opening her belly like a coin purse. Loops of pink entrails began to bulge through the gash. Lacking the strength to force her sword down or push the man away, Julie instead thrust the crown of her head into the bastard's nose. It had the desired effect, as the man released her and backed away.

Julie swiped at him, but lacking any of her usual gusto and precision, the man easily skirted the attack. The blade in her bowels made movement cumbersome and excruciating, so Julie's focus shifted to extracting the weapon from her midriff. With a shriek born of rage, exasperation, shame, and agony, she yanked the steel from her body, and more of her plumbing came out with it. Ropy guts dangled all the way down to the dusty arena floor, but at least now she could fight.

Taking full advantage of his brief reprieve, the man had hobbled over to his longsword and scooped it up. Julie no longer had the upper hand. I can still win this, she thought doggedly. Circling her opponent, she attempted another lunge at Brown Eyes' left flank, but her quickness was gone and she telegraphed her move. This time the man deflected the blow and countered, slashing the teen girl's right side.

Julie backed away, rethinking her strategy. Perhaps offense was not the best approach anymore. In concert with this thought, the man now lunged at her. Encumbered by injuries and naturally clumsy, his attack was not much more effective than Julie's. His sword met resistance, its trajectory was diverted, and yet it still found flesh, stabbing into Julie's left shoulder.

Ignoring the wound, Julie took the opportunity to launch a counter attack of her own. She hacked at the man's exposed left abdomen, but his leather cuirass and her lack of strength took most of the sting out of the blow, and she hardly managed to draw blood. Remembering the dirk still clutched in her left hand, Julie pushed forward, letting the longsword slide through her shoulder and bore its way out her back, and she jabbed at the man, meaning to poke a hole in his ribs.

Again her inuries had sapped too much of her strength and dexterity, and the man stopped her attack, twisted her wrist and forced the dagger back into her belly. Her earlier wound stretched from several inches right of her navel to just below her belly button. This time the dagger pierced the left side of her abdomen, and her opponent drew the blade downward through her midriff. Julie pulled away, the sword sliding out of her shoulder with a disquieting squelch, and the dirk leaving her further eviscerated.

She pressed her left hand against the fresh incision in her breadbasket, hoping to hold at least some of her intestines in place, and did her best to resume a fighting stance. She expected the man to come for her now and put an end to this match, but he hung back. Perhaps he meant to let her gushing gut and mounting blood loss run its course. It was a sound strategy.

Julie knew every second this fight continued the advantage shifted in her opponent’s favor. Dizzy and weak, she desperately needed to turn the tide. Taking what she knew and what she’d learned, she feinted to the man’s right, then lunged at his left and waited for the counter move. As expected, the man dodged to his right and came at her with his longsword.

Julie was prepared and meant to parry and riposte, but her feet got tangled in her guts and she stumbled. The man caught her before she fell, and she immediately knew something was terribly wrong. There was a warm pressure spreading through her chest, and when she looked down she thought she saw a sword handle growing from the left side of her ribs. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think the entire length of the man’s longsword had just passed horizontally through her torso.

To her horror, as the man lifted her back to her feet and pulled away, she saw the steel dripping with her blood slowly recede from her body. She had just been skewered from the left side of her chest to the right side of her back, and dark red blood bubbled from her lips as the man removed his blade from its human sheath.

I’m done for, Julie realized, dumbfounded. I’ve lost. It was embarrassing. She had allowed an inferior opponent to butcher her like a pig in front of a huge crowd. All her self confidence and egotistical impudence was gone. Vanquished by a hidden dagger. She recalled her conversation with the boy from the previous night. The boy who had tried again and again to make her cum but had ultimately failed. That final orgasm had been denied her, and now she’d never get another chance to feel that preeminent pleasure. Was that boy watching now, as she died? Was he remembering her cocksure comments about how she could not lose, as she was?

Lacking the strength to stand, she dropped to her knees. I don’t believe it. I was supposed to win. I had him beat! Julie looked up at the man with terror in her wide, blue eyes, her chin quivering and her mostly naked body trembling. The man returned her gaze, and his eyes were sorrowful and apologetic.

He won’t win another fight, Julie thought. I’m dying for nothing. It would have made no difference for him if he died today or in his next battle, but if he died today at least I’d have my reward. He should have let me finish him. The man leveled his sword at her, gently pressing the tip against the inside of her breast just left of her sternum, and then shoved it inward. Julie watched, decimated, as the blade entered her chest cavity, cut through her left ventricle, and ran her completely through.

“Ayyyyuuuuuhhhhh,” Julie grunted. The pain was worse than she thought it could be. Her ruined heart continued to beat, frantically trying to keep her alive, but it felt like it was tearing itself apart. The man placed his boot on her right breast and pulled his sword free of her meat and muscle and sinew, and Julie collapsed on her back.

Breathing was akin to inhaling broken glass. Even worse was the humiliation and horror she endured. The arena had transformed from a dream into a nightmare. As she lie dying, the crowd clamored their approval, cascading cheers and shouts of elation upon her. She had thought they loved her, but they were indifferent to who emerged victorious. They only wanted to see blood spilled, and she had slaked their thirst.

She tried to blink back her tears but she couldn’t stop them. Her heart was split in two, both figuratively and literally. Her thoughts kept returning to how differently things would have turned out if she had just ignored the bloodthirsty crowd and finished off her opponent. That split second of revelry had cost her everything. Instead of wealth and eternal youth she was dealt a brutal, painful, horrible death just weeks before her seventeenth birthday.

In her attempt to grasp her own mortality, Julie's mind spiraled downward into deep, dark chasms, where only madness could be found. This was the end of it all. The end of experience, the end of thought, the end of the world. She just couldn't accept it. I have to get up. I can't die, she thought crazily.

She reached for the boot that had been pressed against her breast not a minute ago. "Please." I don't wanna die, she tried to say, but couldn't quite manage. Then it began to sink in all over again. The damage to her body was irreparable. The man couldn’t take back what he had done to her, even if he wanted to. It was over.

Gasping for every last breath, Julie began to make some fantastically interesting noises as she flopped about in the dust, panting and wheezing like a panicked animal. She felt the world fading and pounded her fist into the earth. Her surroundings seemed to clarify around her, as if she has somehow willed herself back from the grave.

No, she thought. Not yet.

But then her body began to convulse, her feet digging into the ground, her hands clawing futilely at the soft soil, her back arching upward, and Julie's world went dark. Her last thought was, I wonder if the boy from last night is watching, and then it was over. Her lungs no longer drew air, her eyes stared sightlessly up at the sky, and her lips were still and parted.

Julie Huerta was gone, and only a beautiful, bloody corpse remained.