I carefully cleaned the wounds on my husband's back. I was still reeling from this series of events-Aedinius' death in battle, my newfound love for Jareth, my dead husband's return, his story of survival and capture. I listened as he continued with his tale.
Aedinius spent his days training for the gladitorial games, and spent his nights plotting his escape. When he tried to leave the arena, he doubled over in pain. As long as the witch carried his seed in her belly he could not leave without risking death.
His first fight was nothing like he expected. He was to face off against a large aboriginal man. Both men were given shields and swords, but nothing else. Before they were ushered into the stadium, their clothes were removed and their bodies oiled down. Aedinius assumed they would be given costumes, but they were both still bare as they were pushed out to the arena.
While Aedinius was not ashamed of his body-and why should he be?-he was startled to be standing in front of thousands of spectators wearing nothing at all. This moment of confusion was all the dark warrior needed to get the advantage. He rushed Aedinius, sword held high overhead, and brought it down swiftly towards his heart. Aedinius came to quickly and parried with his shield, keeping the blow from connecting with his body.
The two warriors danced in combat for what seemed like eons, their oiled bodies glistening in the sun. When one would go on the offensive, the other would defend with such grace that the entire battle seemed choreographed. They were evenly matched in skill despite the contrast in their body sizes. Aedinius realized this and used his size to his advantage, hacking at the warrior's legs high enough that he could not jump over the swings yet low enough he couldn't parry. He sliced the man's tendon just above his left knee, crippling the man and bringing him to the ground.
Aedinius looked up at the crowd, looking at all the people cheering him on, waiting for the death blow. He saw that woman with the tattoos standing in her own private box. She waited anxiously for him to kill the man, looking aroused at the thought of it. But he was not a killer. He raised his chin and walked to the warrior who was still clutching his leg. He held out his hand and helped him up, letting him lean on him as he led him out of the arena. The crowd was a mix of cheers and boos and hisses. The woman with the tattoo looked as if she were left without climaxing.
After the evening's fights were over, she came to Aedinius. Her tattoos covered her body, making her appear clothed from a distance though she wore nothing at all. She slapped him hard across the face.
"How dare you show mercy!" she cried. Aedinius took the hit but stood proud. He was a warrior, but he was not a cold-blooded killer. The woman grabbed him by the hair and kissed him hard on the mouth. Then she dragged him out of the arena by his hair, with him still naked, her guards following close behind. They reached her lair and she threw him down on her bed.
She had her guards hold him face down on her bed, securing his arms and legs so he was spread wide. Then he felt the weapon make contact. She held a long, flexible stick in her hand with a small whip with many tails on the end. She was grinning, and Aedinius could see the light glistening off the moisture on her pussy.
"If you do not kill, I will make you wish that you had, every single time!" She let loose on his back again to emphasize her point. And again. And again. Soon his back was a bloody pulp, but the more pain she inflicted on him the more excited she got, until finally she was howling in ecstasy, her juices running down her tattooed thighs.
