Gladiator

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.

She huddled in the corner, praying it was all a dream. She closed her eyes and rocked, feeling the cold from the wall slowly invade her body, numbing the pain slightly. It was all too true and she blinked away tears and sighed softly, now she knew what a cow was. She was to provide enjoyment and hopefully many children for this gladiator, and undoubtedly many others if she allowed her spirit to be broken.

She had not noticed all the sore spots on her body now, defending herself and moving around had forced her to ignore the pain. Now in the quiet of the cell her body ached and she longed for a hot bath or to swim in one of the secluded ponds of her home. Her senses were on hyper alert so when the man finally moved she focused intently on him.

He was big, far taller than any man she had met; she could easily see what made him a good fighter. Her eyes stopped between his legs and she bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. She had been throw in with a beast of a man, one who would not stop if she bite him or scratched him. She watched him looming over her and she felt despair for the first time.

Then strangely enough he took the blanket from his bed wrapped it around himself and then offered it to her. She hesitated for a moment, then stood slowly stretching her body out and shivered slightly. He had not spoken to her and she wondered if he was mute, had his tongue cut, or considering his size and coloring simply did not speak the local tongue.

"Thank you," she whispered softly and reached out her callused hand to touch his briefly. She hoped the gesture would carry her meaning even if the words had not. She covered herself because she was cold; her modesty had long ago been trashed. Margaret looked around noticing the little things, the presence of a cot, the fresh hay that did not smell like a barn.

The last thought made her miss her home so much that she very nearly lost hold of everything that had been bundled inside and wept. She did not want to show any sign that could be considered weakness in front of the man who appeared to be studying her. Then again she was the probably the most interesting thing in the place.

The blanket slipped off a shoulder as she took her hand and placed it over her heart and whispered. "I was called Margaret," she doubted he understood but felt it was important to try and introduce herself.

Her words sounded strange in his ears but her voice told him much. She was afraid, afraid of him, her surroundings, he did not know for sure which. He smiled slightly, trying not to make it look like a leer as she stood, giving him another look at her body. His lust stirred again, causing his cock to twitch slightly. Fighting back his primal urge to take her, he was glad when she took the blanket. Placing her hand over her heart she spoke to him in her language. He guessed at the meaning of her words. Margaret her name was? It sounded odd on his tongue and he tried to say it back to her. "Mahr-gah-ret?" he asked.

He thumped a fist on his chest and told her, "Bastion." Repeating it again so she would know who he was, "Bastion, my name is Bastion."

He glanced over at his large food dish; he supposed he could skip breakfast for this woman. Knowing that she would not understand his words, he spoke anyways, hoping that the act of conversing would keep his animal lust for this woman down. "Are you hungry Mahr-gah-ret? I have food here." He walked to the plate and picked it up, popping an olive into his mouth. He also picked up the jug of water and went over to her, moving close enough to catch her scent. She smelled freshly bathed, and not scented like some of the women he had seen around here. Again his passion stirred at her nearness. "You may eat something if you are hungry. Sit on my pallet if you like," Bastion said gesturing to his hay-covered pallet. With both hands filled, one with the food plate, the other with the water jug, held out to her in offering, he hoped that he appeared less intimidating.

His voice was rough and his speech guttural and it made him seem that much more primitive and intimidating. Her eyes kept trailing down his body stopped by what stirred between his legs. She listened as he repeated her name and strove to say his in the same growling manner, "Basschun." She nodded and watched him as he moved about as if he were trying to make her feel at home. Home, she blinked away tears and reminded herself that she no longer had a home.

She had not noticed the food until he pointed it out and for a moment she was stunned by the volume and then considered that as a fighter, he would need it. She took the smallest heel of bread and dipped it in what passed for some sort of soup. She shivered still feeling cold as she ate. She gave up being neat or polite as the blanket fell from her body as she ate the crumbs and drops of soup ended up on her breasts. It was only when the bread was finished that she once again noticed his eyes upon her. Her breasts were one of the few areas left undamaged, and she suddenly felt shy. "You can call me Maggie if you would like," she almost added that everyone else did and fought back tears. She felt as if she was balanced on a very thin ledge and at any moment she would burst into tears and topple over. She was suddenly aware of the masculine scent of the pallet, sweat, blood, perhaps other things mingling together to create an aroma that was not entirely unpleasant.

Bastion was not the world's smartest man. He knew that, his brother had always been quicker to understand things. His friends had always teased him for being the big lumbering ox, but he was not stupid. He watched with delight as Mahr-gah-ret wolfed down the food that he offered. It was obvious that she was very hungry. The blanket slipped from her body and pooled around the floor as she ate ravenously. He set the jug of water down near her feet and collected the blanket, smoothing it back out on the pallet.

She paused in between bites and said something more to him in a soft voice. He supposed she was thanking him. He walked over to her, and pulled the tray from her gently, and moved over to the pallet and sat on it. Then he pointed at her, and the pallet next to him. He then patted the soft hay covered by the blanket and smiled in what he hoped was the least disturbing way. He was afraid that he might still scare her, and that was not what he wanted.

"Please," he said, "Mahr-gah-ret, come sit with me and eat, it would be much more comfortable then standing." He then picked up some of the bread off the tray, broke it in half and began eating one half, while holding the other out to her. He knew that the small piece of bread she had eaten would not be enough. She looked like she could easily eat most of the food on the tray, even despite her slight size. Sitting on the bed his mostly turgid cock lay along his muscled thigh, twitching occasionally at the sight of her.

His mind whirled with thoughts of what he would like to do with her, no, to her. He pushed those thoughts down and tried to remember that once he had been a civilized man. The longer he looked at her, the more the animal instinct in him cried out. Cried out to take her, to ravish he, to suck on her pert nipples and bite at her neck. He wanted to feed his lengthy manhood slowly into her, inch by inch. Feeling her envelop his stiff cock in her warm wetness.

These thoughts made his cock jump again, and he tried to ignore it, instead patting again the pallet and indicating that he wanted her to sit down. He hoped that she understood his more noble intentions as he ate the half of bread he held.

When he pulled the blanket away she realized how exposed she was, and she shivered slightly and watched him carefully as he spread out the blanket and invited her to sit next to him and eat. She felt more afraid than when she had been dealing with the fire. She doubted he was as primitive as he looked; after all he did possess some language skills and was not trying to maul her. The fact that animals only mated for procreation purposes aside, as she had lost track of her cycle and had figured the stress and malnourishment were messing with her natural cycle at the moment anyway.

She was not sure she wanted to be so close to him, but she was cold and the food looked so very good. She probably could have eaten it all, but she did not wanted to seem ungrateful. Margaret knew that he could do what he wanted to her and she fervently hoped it would not hurt, especially considering the current size of his partially engorged dick. She sat next to him, close but not touching as she took the piece of bread. She took smaller bites trying to make the food last. She took a slow drink of water, knowing that if she ate too much it would make her sick. For some reason her eyes kept drifting down between his legs, it was a clear reminder of her new role in life and she wondered when he would begin demanding more of her. The slavers had wanted a passive woman and when she fought back they lost interest. She doubted it would be the same here, as she was perhaps his only available partner.

She mumbled, "Thanks," as she tried not to shiver and realized that it was like a cellar, mostly below ground and far cooler than the upper floors. The stone sapped what little heat there was and she unconsciously moved closer to him as his large body radiated heat.