Bad, Bad Company

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.

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Faibhar

Bad, Bad Company

Ringing the top of the arena wall ran a sculptured stone barrier builders designed for more than mere cosmetics. The barrier prevented wayward spectators from falling down from atop the wall. Three ruffians ran to a portion atop the wall they knew to be in disrepair.

The shabby figure making a tortuous round of the arena floor hardly prompted the youthful haste. Instead, theirs was a project to further loosen stone atop the wall before the beam-bearing condemned arrived underneath. Keeping an eye on her approach, the teens feverishly kicked away at the barrier until a large section broke free. All hefted the piece just as their intended target passed below. Their swift actions proved timely.

Tsunacius cursed the servants, the gods, his company – anyone in earshot. Obviously clear by their boos and cat-calls, the need for instant gratification for this crowd was boisterously announcing itself. The demand to see female flesh displayed overwhelmed all else. Who among them considered that his men were at this moment shredding away and that very soon their lustful appetite was to be fulfilled? But nooo, they demanded it now and not later.

Swearing his toga kept tangling, Tsunacius frustratingly broke free. Standing and weaving around to placate the horde, he gestured for patience. The complaints continued. For a moment, Tsunacius doubted his own magisterial visage, wondered if the spectators did not obey because the muggy weather had made his makeup run showing the scratches on his cheek and the developing bruise, and somehow all this diminished his authority.

Where the nearest retreat with the most dignity became more and more relevant as his further exhortations went ignored when suddenly, the boos changed to cheers. Tsunacius spun around. He could not fool even himself into thinking that the cheers were for him. Tsunacius steadied himself and looked back just in time to see the remaining remnants of Cyyerha's rags cut free.

It was she and not he they were cheering! Crowd control concerned no longer. His jaw dropped. A stunned Tsunacius sat back down.

Yes the darkening overcast blended the contours, contrast was nil. Sky or no sky, Tsunacius vividly recalled each and every curve. Only he perceived each valley, slope, ridge of her. All of the others could not possibly see what he saw. The nude below had succumbed to him. He was her first. Too bad the creature could not be saved…How lovely she had looked in his bedroom. How exquisite she felt. A pity all of that beauty must be so cruelly lost. And his men! Tsunacius knew well that those brutes knew nothing of tenderness. Signs of their relentless abuse proved that much.

The jagged stone dropped and hit. Cyyerha fell forward, sprawling under the rough-cut beam, face half-buried in the sand. The defacto stone masons above scattered. Luckily for her, the rock had struck just slightly off its intended mark. The unfinished wood absorbed most of the blow. Two guards bent and lifted her up by the ends of the cross-beam. She spat out sand, tried to blink her eyes free of its grit. Bark smashed by the stone scattered around where the three struggled to reassemble.

Cyyerha bent under the weight of the log despite aid in regaining her feet. Her arms remained extended out and behind the wood. The carpenter who prepared the beam planed only the side pressing against her neck and into her shoulders. The rest of the bark remained, except for where the falling stone had hit. The coarse garb she wore, fashioned of the same material usually used for hauling supplies, proved to be nothing more than a rectangle, a slash in the middle for her head. A short length of rope pinched her waist. Uneven sides flapped apart. Rounded profiles immodestly flashed. Tops of thighs began where rag ended. Helped to her feet, she resumed staggering the outer perimeter in and under strain. One of the guards mercilessly prodded with the swing of leather as with a common pack animal.

Despite all, shouts for more filled the stadium.

Fighting in the center resumed the clank of swords and armor barely heard above the crowd noise. The lone female, however, distracted most. Special delight reigned when she struggled just beneath a particular section in the stadium. Stains in browns and grays darkened the crude apparel. The unruly hair atop her head no longer held the color of sunlight. With arms and legs she fought for balance. Skin that did show flexed dully under the overcast skies. Stumbling and falling, she was helped by the men away from the wall toward the center of the arena where a longer timber lay.

Soldiers untied arms and lifted off the cumbersome weight. Tufts of sand kicked out as bare knees and hands tried to brace the fall. A failed attempt. She sprawled on the ground.

Cyyerha mentally challenged image of the encroaching cave. She was not prepared to be devoured by its perceived menace. The blinding pain as nails pierced her arms and feet and nailed her to the wood were distant memories. How long it had been, she did not know. All that mattered was not to be swallowed by the cavern's abyss. To live she would once more try to allow air into her lungs. To do so meant relying on already impossibly strained arms and legs. The pressure she knew. She must repeat the process. In order to sip life-giving air she must raise her body up. Muscles woodenly shook and ached in protest. The agony of shifting weight from her wrists to the nails in her feet was too unbearable to contemplate. Cyyerha screamed again. The abyss came closer. Its black interior beckoned. Cyyerha's body slumped. Her chin slumped to her chest. Limbs loosened their determination. Eyes closed in a weary invitation to eternity.

A cool plop slid off the top of one breast. Another her head. More fell. Cyyerha stirred. Weary eyelids parted. Rain hit everywhere. The shower drenched the arena, her body and the bemused gladiators. Water! Renewed life infused Cyyerha. She needed drink. Tilting her head back, the rain wet her face, but the back of her head knocked against wood. The upright prevented rain from falling directly between her parched lips. Angling her neck to the side, the back of her head slid. Ignoring the smear of hair matted to her cheek Cyyerha gulped as the fresh rain poured in.

The cross shuddered. Peering between glistening breasts and thighs, Cyyerha saw a fallen gladiator, his animal pelt soaked as she. He hit the cross's base, shaking the wood. His fall splashed sand and mud up her shins. Hygiene represented the least of her worries at present, but…she could not feel the coolness on her legs. They were numb.

Feelings in her limbs or no feelings at all, the need to take another quick breath urgently made itself apparent. This time, Cyyerha gritted her moistened teeth, tightly clenched her jaw, and poised her leadened muscles to help her make the shift upward. Perhaps because of the renewed energy, Cyyerha wailed louder than before. She raised herself up and stayed up longer. She took three, not one, fast gasps for air before sliding back down.

Refreshed, the threatening “cave” with its gaping maw now seemed smaller, and less inviting. Pleased, Cyyerha turned skyward and let the falling rain wash away much.

Later that same afternoon, the downpour departed as soon as it arrived. A rainbow appeared in the distance. Sultry winds gusted. The circular cover high above the top tier provided shade for those in the stands but for years weathered an increasing amount of leaks. Barely a third of the spectators milled about. They fortunately had not sat where rain had dripped down, but since arena fighting ceased because of wet conditions, they too were exiting.