The town of Bheketha lay in tatters. A trail of ransacked villas and more modest homes littered the town while the occasional fire burned unquenched and unattended. The gladiator-slave revolt of Prythia had reached a fever-pitch. All across southern Prythia slave and gladiator alike had risen up against the Imperium upper caste. Now, Anaria Kaelon, daughter of one of the wealthiest Imperium families in Bheketha, found herself at the mercy of one of the rebel leaders. Gorlann had his hand clasped around hers, pulling her down the marble staircase which led from the second to the main floor of her family's once immaculate villa. In his other fist he held a draw-string pouch containing all of Anaria's mother's jewelry and precious gemstones. Anaria had agreed to show Gorlann where her mother hid her valuables in hopes that her cooperation would ensure that her parents' lives would at least be spared.
"Hurry, Imperium cunt, the sun wanes and dusk approaches," the gladiator said brusquely.
As they neared the bottom of the steps, which widened into the villa's banquet hall, both Anaria and the grizzled gladiator heard the sounds of grunts and moaning. Anaria's gaze darted in the direction of her father's study. Even now she knew that her father was still tied up in front of the villa to one of the trees in the manicured parkway, naked and helpless. The male grunts coming from her father's study, whoever they belonged to, were not his.
Equally as curious as she, Gorlann pulled her along toward the study. They walked in to find a gladiator hard at work. He stood naked, his most arresting feature being a vicious, angry-looking scar that sliced from his left bicep all the way down to his forearm. He had a naked girl bent over Lord Kaelon's marble-top desk. The serving girl had golden pigtails which streamed down both sides of her back. The gladiator had bound the girl's wrists behind her back with a length of torn drapery. Judging from the golden braids and pale skin, the serving girl hailed from the northern kingdom of Tercania. The Tercanians were a dutiful, submissive people, often shipped from the outlying provinces to Prythian markets to serve as household staff to the Imperium well-to-do. But this Tercanian serving girl was no mere foreigner to Anaria, and she abruptly found herself recognizing that face.
The girl's name was Latya. She served the house of Berlune. The Berlune family owned the villa just north of the Kaelon estate. The two families were rivals, competitors, and so Anaria only remembered a few brief visitations between the two families. She remembered, only vaguely, a few times when Latya had served her picturesquely arranged rows of delectable meats, cheeses, and figs on a silver platter amid evening candlelight and murmured conversation. How quaint and far off that world now seemed in this new and savage reality.
"Uhhh!!!! Ahhhh!!" Latya's moans carried through the villa like a song.
Meanwhile, Anaria winced as she saw Latya's breasts pressed against the cold, hard marble countertop of the desk. The nameless gladiator had one hand pressed to the side of the girl's face, pressing her cheek roughly against that same hard marble surface as he fucked her roughly from behind. His deep thrusts created a tiny echo each time his body smacked into hers. The girl's eyes were closed, her body rocking to the force of his ruthless fucks. How unreal it seemed to Anaria, seeing a girl being raped over the very same desk she was used to seeing her father sit at while poring over his scrolls and documents; it seemed almost impossible to reconcile the two images, one mundane, one horrific, now imprinted on her mind like opposite sides of the same coin. The nameless gladiator looked up with surprise at Gorlann and his girl-companion, though he did not for a moment slow down the pace of his rape.
"UH!!! UH! General, look at this dainty treat I found hiding next door. She has a fine pussy. It's a ball-milking paradise." Saying this, the man -- Anaria had already named him 'Scar-Arm' in her head -- continued to pummel the poor serving girl, thrusting so deep until only his swinging testicles showed where his body joined with his victim's.
"AHH!!! Please! Slower! Ahhhh!" the girl squeaked, but Scar-Arm ignored her. With a loud SMACK, he swatted each of her ass cheeks in turn, continuing to rail her slender body with his savage fucks. It was no wonder that the blonde captive's butt cheeks already sported bright red handprints. Meanwhile, Scar-Arm growled at her, "Keep moaning, bitch. I know you like taking cock. Be content with what I give you. Or do you want me to gut you like your former owners?"
That seemed to dissolve whatever protests remained as the girl simply whimpered.
"No, Sir, please fuck me. I'll behave." Her moans resumed, and his thrusts picked up tempo, though that was barely possible.
At the same time, Anaria noticed with interest how Gorlann didn't seem offended by Scar-Arm's overly familiar attitude. As leader of a war-band, Gorlann was unlike any man she had read about in the annals of Imperium war-tales or heard about in the battle-songs. Whereas the Imperium valued hierarchy, order, and formal obedience above all else, these gladiators were an egalitarian lot at ease with chaos; even Gorlann, Anaria marveled, acted like just one warrior among many, spoken to as casually as one brother might address another. Despite loathing the sight of the rape before her, she couldn't help but be fascinated by the gladiators' unusual ways -- like night to the Imperium's day.
