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This FICTIONAL story is intended for personal, ADULT use only, and only where local community standards permit. If you are personally offended by extreme themes of violence, do not read any further.
This work is intended for your personal use only. Please do not attempt to repost, sell, etc. without first getting the author's express permission.
Thank you.
Faibhar
Bad, Bad Company
Perspective from close to the center gave an improved sense of dimension. The arena was not massive. From the high wall circumventing the floor climbed tiers crowded with raucous spectators, maybe around three-hundred and shaded by a sort of circular awning. Clearly those in the stands were protected, and those on the arena floor exposed.
Panting near exhaustion, Cyyerha eyed her surroundings. Resting on her knees actually provided relief. The beam on her back so heavy and awkward at first now seemed a part of her. Protest was out of the question as hands eased her and the attached wood to the ground.
Shadowy shapes loomed partially blocking the slate-colored sky above. Cyyerha inhaled deeply. The sack scratched with the rise and fall of her wetness. Hair and head in sand mattered little – it simply felt good to lay back for a moment's rest. Half-way along her outstretched right arm ran the tattered weave. Hands from one of the shadows untied the rope around her wrist. The pale wrist and palm were turned upward. Horns and cheers in the distance blared.
A dark shape swiftly arced overhead. Explosion shot the length of her arm, shattering an almost restful universe. Cyyerha's head jerked in the direction of the upturned wrist. Many other hands pressed her down as she fought to react.
Another scream choked her throat with the second blow. She wanted to twist away, legs thrashed, the teeth smashing fire in her right arm begged for freedom and yet she was stuck. Cyyerha gulped for air. Instinct forced her to see what she already knew too well. A spike rose from her upturned wrist, its gnarled iron shaft pinning her to the wood. Tributaries of blood bubbled and flooded at its base.
Earlier…
The escort of guards from Tsunacius's place made room between the collected others. Uniforms and armor rattled as bodies impatiently rustled. The original four securing his bedroom had swollen to at least twenty. Masculine noises murmured approvals at her entrance. Knives sliced through straps attached to her sandals. Cyyerha tried to stand calmly, nude and surrounded as she was.
The spit and crackle of the fiery coals were unmistakable and yet the room had changed. The gloom had grown in size. More were present, too. Torches added flickering light that danced amongst rocky walls and threatening enemy. Smells of pitch mingled with sweat and worn uniforms.
“Release her.”
“Here….allow me.” Tsunacius took the lead rope leading from one corner ceiling, fondled her left breast and then tied a noose snugly between its softness and the boniness of her ribs. He did the same with the other. “Now you may take the rope, and let us see just how mighty your really are.”
Cyyerha gasped. Instinctively, she grabbed the angled ropes. She lifted. Only her toes touched the floor. She grappled more rope to lessen the massive pressure. Inching upwards, Cyyerha clutched for more. Her feet sought in vain any purchase with the floor.
Legs kicked out, then merely hung. Knuckles whitened, muscles strained. Already pink aureolae disappeared into the clouding hue of ballooning surrounding tissue. Veins seemed to pop. Teeth clenched. Once admired facial features contorted. Sweat rained down from her hairline.
“Pretty good,” he said. “so far…” She grunted in reply. Her audience grew more restless. Circulation virtually cut off, her chest turned an unhealthy shade. Nipples, once pink, now jutted as two black points. Flat seas of deep purple surrounded them. Reddish-purple balloons seemed to burst as they thrust upward. Cyyerha's sweaty face and neck roared with the effort. Biceps shook as they, too, seemed ready to explode.
“However, let's see how you do with this…” Tsunacius swung the snaking leather whip. Cyyerha recoiled and cried out. Her tight-grip slipped. Thick coils already darkened by too much sweat, shook over her shoulders. A welt reddened across her stretched mid-section. Sweating hands desperately shifted for grip. Trickles of blood seeped from between clenched fingers.
Another lash encircled her hips. The second strike caused Cyyerha to cry out, and again slip on what had become two lifelines. Her breasts pointed impossibly upward. Beads of moisture merged and coursed down curves and ridges forming sparkling rivers and streams.
Tsunacius stepped behind the hanging figure. He aimed for the shiny vertebrae at the small of her back. The whip hit, and again Cyyerha's hands slid. This time, her head remained lowered, rocking from side to side, trying to shake away the inevitable and concentrate all energy to her supporting arms. Upper shoulder muscles vertically shifted beneath taut skin.
They attracted Tsunacius's interest, but he aimed his next blow at the softer backs of her thighs. All present heard more of a yell than the previous cries. This time arms so courageous, conceded. Too heavily taxed, they draped helplessly alongside Cyyerha's burned hips.
Tsunacius returned to face the limply hanging princess. Her face now downcast, shrouded by soaked hair, head barely moving. Large breasts pointed still higher, now uniformly black globes. Glistening crimson rose and fell over sweat. “Take her down. Over to the table…And let there be no doubt just who is to be first.”
”Or is it ‘whom'..? I can never seem to remember.”
Wrists manacled behind her and chained to the wooden legs below, Cyyerha's head hung over one end her bent neck dividing pinioned arms. Hips proffered themselves at the opposite end. Tsunacius parted the long thighs, grazed fingertips over the shaven lips, and then, plunged his erect cock into the slit, forging through the tight canal, rupturing Nature's barrier. Cyyerha spat screams, rattled in her bondage, and tried to fight away what was not to be denied.
Tsunacius plunged deeper, raping Cyyerha of her virginity. He dipped the tip of an index finger in the spatter of blood issuing from between the thighs. Using the same finger, he swiped it across mumbling lips. With the same hand, he then patted the churning mid-riff, gazed briefly at mottled breasts gradually returning more to their natural color and said, “You have now been deflowered my princess.” Tsunacius glanced around at the men energetically crowding and said, “Just a taste of what is yet to come…”
“Make sure she gets at least a few hours rest,” Tsunacius said mockingly as he left the chamber. “She'll need every bit tomorrow.”
Grogginess brought on by shock eased. Detail gradually returned as Cyyerha hung from the cross. Gladiators resumed what they were doing before. Draped in animal pelts they scurried about in armed combat. Metal clanged. Cyyerha's head had never before ached or felt so heavy. On slightly raising her chin she saw Tsunacius cheering with others. Below soldiers used staffs to rip off what little she still wore. Cyyerha hung naked, clothed in little more than pain, concentrating on the simple act of breathing, in itself, so laborious. Any panic of being nailed to the cross became history.
But Before…
As their superior exited several worked without hesitation on Cyyerha's restrained head. A pipe end of a funnel was inserted between lips and into her mouth. One pinched her nose. Several began to masturbate into the wide round opening leading into her gullet.
At the other end of the table, Cyyerha's long legs were elevated, calves held on the shoulders of the second in command. Despite advanced age most there approved of his muscled virility. His stout piston vigorously pumped into Cyyerha.
One of the first with the funnel began to ejaculate. Sperm flew into the opening and down the shaft. Other white streams followed. Cyyerha made unintelligible noises of protest, attempting to free herself from the lodged pipe and its awful contents. The gargled protests went unheeded.
Her throat slid up and down as Cyyerha was forced to swallow.
Later Cyyerha was moved. Her position changed. She remained on the table, but no longer on her back. Sickened by previous tortures weakened. She offered little resistance and repeatedly taken from behind. Eventually, there no longer became any need for restraints. Cyyerha docilely allowed herself to be man-handled throughout the night.
To Be Continued
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