An intense thread on the Sexual Role Playing Boards of Literotica inspired this story. Special thanks to my co conspirator rhev, for helping me develop this random thought into something worth typing. In my word processor this story occupies 37 pages, and the story does not have a clear cut happy ending. Enjoy, but for now I consider these characters to have told their story.
Gladiator
Bastion hated being in his cold dark cell, he could not understand anything the scrawny ones said and they treated him poorly. He lashed out at everyone around him and it was not long before he was sent to the Gladiatorial pits. At least there his massive size and strength served him well. Eventually he had the privilege of a private cell, which was kept clean in order to maintain his good health. He still struggled with their strange language and unusual customs. A while ago about seven days ago, a thin blonde female had been tossed into his cell, she had been rather weak and he had broken her ribs accidentally when she pathetically tried to mate with him. Bastion hated being alone and now he wished he had treated the blonde thing a little more carefully.
Margaret hated being a slave; it had all started with a fire, which had taken her family, her home, and her freedom. Slavers had found her covered in ashes and frozen in shock. They had tried to clean her up but when anyone tried to touch her she lashed out. She was strong for a girl, as she had worked hard her entire life. She had been so numb that somehow they chained her up even as she severely injured any man who dared touch her. After breaking a man's wrist she had been whipped and her clothing removed. Margaret had a square compact build and things only got worse when her clothing was removed and her surprisingly full breasts were revealed. The whippings grew more frequent as she scratched, bite, and injured any of the slavers who tried to touch her. Which had led to numerous welts across her back and legs. Her long dark brown hair was a tangled mess and she heard them complaining that she would not fetch a good price at auction.
"Even with those breasts, her thighs are too muscular, and she is filthy. If we are lucky and can get her cleaned up she might fetch a good price as a cow."
Margaret's hearing was excellent and she listened to every word, her eyes closed tightly to keep from crying. She was surprised the next day when one of the female slaves approached her when they stopped for the night, with a washing basin and a comb. She had received a severe lashing during the day and her body was covered in red throbbing welts. Even the slave woman seemed scared as she moved closer. Margaret's hands had been tied up but she managed to undo the best knots and pretended her hands were still bound as the woman approached.
The slave spoke softly and pleaded, "Please do not give them reason to hurt me." Margaret stood still as the woman tended to her wounds and then to her hair.
Eventually her dark brown locks were confined in a series of fine braids, she rather liked it as when she shook her head the braids lashed out like tiny whips. The slavers would arrive in town tomorrow and agreed that she would fetch a fine price for a cow.
She had never heard the term cow applied to a human and could only guess at its meaning. The rest was a blur and eventually she was taken to a dark cell and shoved in. It was early morning by her reckoning, and she was restless despite having been awake for the last thirty some hours. She had already endured the appraising stares all day and they had spoken so she could not hear what they said. She had not eaten in days and shivered in the cold cell. She could hear someone else breathing heavily, probably asleep she figured. She finally sat down in a corner, pulled her legs up, and prayed.
Bastion had been having the most wonderful dream. He had been back in his homeland, long before the invaders had taken him as a slave. Working his land alongside his brothers, the sweat on his body and soreness in his muscles were offered up as a sacrifice to the gods in exchange for a good crop. His honest work would allow him and his family to eat well, and have leftover crops for market. Perhaps after his older brother was married, the matchmaker would go about finding him a wife. One who would not mind his brutish size, a woman who would see what a hard worker he was, and who could bear him many sons to take care of him in his old age. It had been a pleasant dream, a memory of his shattered past, one that he did not have very often. Lately all he dreamed of was the act of killing. The feeling of hot blood spraying across his face as he wounded another man, the feeling of bone and sinew stretching under his grip filled his mind at night. All he was good for to these invaders was the spectacle of fighting. He was a massive giant compared to them and they loved to see him hurt people. Sadly it was something that he excelled at. His old life was dead, his old dreams nothing more than ashes. So why not hurt others? Why not give back a bit of the pain that he had experienced?
His favorite fights were when they sent their own people against him. Bastion guessed that some were crowd favorites, professional fighters; the crowd always went wild for those types. Oh how he loved to smash their faces in, make them hurt, make them bleed, make the fighter feel his rage for the entire country. Their cries in their devil tongue as they lay there on the ground clutching broken noses, arms, or deep wounds were like a balm. They eased his pain, if only for a short while.
Some of his opponents were probably criminals or slaves, and he knew some of them were captured thralls like him. It did not matter, as long as he kept winning, or at least pleasing the crowd, they kept treating him better. He would never be going home, so he may as well earn a nicer cell, better and more food, and the occasional diversion.
Yet, he had been having the dream of home, something that had not happened in a long time. It softened his heart, made him remember that he was not an animal no matter how much they tried to make him into one. Despite what he did to that woman in a fit of passion and rage, he was still a man.
The noise that awoke him was not the door of his cell being opened. He had long ago given up hope of trying to escape. He had tuned out most of the noises of the compound that was his jail, including other slaves exchanging his slop pail and bringing him his meals. They knew not to disturb him; they knew to leave the food on the floor near the door. The morning meal was never anything that held his interest anyways, some bread, water, maybe a few figs or olives. A step up from the slop they used to serve him, but no meat, no cheese, and certainly no ale. No, meat and cheese were for the evening meal perhaps, but never breakfast.
No, the cell door opening barely even registered in his slumbering mind. What woke him from his slumber, from his dreams of home, was the gasp. He had heard and on some level understood that someone was being pushed into the cell with him. His warrior instinct took him from deep sleep to full alertness in a heartbeat. Maintaining his deception, he cracked one eye open and watched the scene unfold before him. A woman was being roughly shoved into his cell. The small window high on his cell provided ample light for him to make out her face. She was not a gorgeous creature by most people's standards, but had a beauty that seemed to be hidden. Despite a nose that looked like it may have been broken a long time in the past and fading bruises on her face, she had an inner beauty. Her eyes shone in the reflected light, moist with perhaps unshed tears. Her form was strong and muscular, one used to working long hard days. Her legs especially, she looked like she could take on Athena in a foot race if she needed too. Her solid shoulders seemed rippled with muscles, as if she had spent a life carrying water up hills. Her breasts were large and full, with pert dark nipples capping them proudly. Nestled between her legs was a dark thatch of brown hair that matched her tight braids. To him, she looked beautiful, almost angelic. As if someone had granted his secret desire for a woman with substance. Certainly she was much more then the wisp of a thing they had sent to him a few days ago. Summoning up his willpower, he decided not to move immediately. Despite his stirring erection he was determined not to jump at this woman. He would treat her better and take his time with her, he would not ruin his chance to savor her. As he watched her, he noticed her apprehension. She could not see him sleeping on his pallet of hay in the darkened corner of the cell. Her eyes had probably not adjusted to the dim light. He kept his breathing low and slow, as to not alert her that he was watching her every move. She glanced around the cell, and shivered, wrapping her arms around her bare body. Hunkering down in the corner near the door she pulled her legs in tightly around her and began whispering softly under her breath.
Praying, he thought, the woman was praying. After looking at her for a few moments, he was able to get past his initial lustful reaction. He noticed more about her than the taut muscles of her stomach and the soft curve of her neck. He noticed the still red, healing welts on her body. He noticed the fading bruises and the gooseflesh on her arms. Finally he noticed the curve of her abdomen and the faint outline of her ribs.
His rage grew again against his captors. Here was a beauty worthy of tales and she had been beaten, whipped, and starved. Then, finally tossed in here for him to have his way with. They probably thought that he would rape her and be done with her, and if she were to be broken, then it would be no great loss. Well, if they thought that frail blonde girl was a beauty, and then he would pass on these strange people's idea of beauty.
Deciding it was time to finally make some sort of contact with the woman he allowed a yawn and sat up on his hay pallet. He gazed at her intently, but without any stern facial expression, not wanting to scare her. He stretched and stood up from the pallet, his muscles rippling over one another, his semi hard erection pointing down towards the floor. After another deep yawn, he pulled the single blanket off the hay pallet and wrapped it around himself to hide his nakedness. Then showing what he meant, he took it off and held it out to the woman, as his other hand extended to help her stand if she wanted.
'Her pride will come first, that is the one thing they took from me which I miss the most,' he thought as he held out the blanket to her to cover her nudity.
