The Death of Ced

by

Gladlover



Ced had achieved great fame in the arena. He had been a slave since he had been captured by the Romans as a child and a gladiator by his eighteenth summer, he took easily to killing, and rose in popularity with the crowds with each kill. Eventually, after he had killed scores of men in the arena, he was considered the champion by all of Rome. The other gladiators knew it was a death sentence to be paired against him.

It was no surprise when Adrailius drew him into his plot to assassinate the emperor's proconsul. He promised Ced his freedom and his own stable of gladiators if he would use his sword to kill the proconsul, as he had all of those other men. Adrailius was betrayed by his own loose tongue and his stable boy, who, under torture, gave the names of the conspirators, including that of Ced.

The emperor ordered the conspirators to be taken alive. Many of the others killed themselves before they were captured, others meekly surrendered. All would be tortured before execution. Ced had only been the killer; he did not understand the politics involved. When the soldiers came for him, he decided to fight. He killed three of them before they caught him in a weighted net and wrestled his sword away.

Ced was taken into the city. The soldiers beat him senseless, as revenge for the death of their comrades. Two held him up by the arms as a third pounded his belly, screaming at him the whole while.

"You fool! You're lucky the emperor wants to alive, or we'd have cut your guts out and fed them to you by now."

Ced fought for enough air to speak. "If you weren't such a coward … you'd give me a sword and we'd see who gets gutted."

Ced tightened his abs as the soldier slammed his fist into him again and again. He mustered enough strength to kick the soldier in the crotch. Ced laughed as he fell to the ground screaming, hand clutched against the pain between his legs. A bright flash of light shot through his head, accompanied by a quick blast of pain. The light faded and only darkness remained, and the pain became a dull, almost distant throb.

He awoke hours later, naked, in a filthy cell. He lay still for a long time, not sure if he was dead or alive. His guts ached, his head throbbed. Slowly he rose and looked around the cell. There was no bed; just four walls and no windows. What little light he had came through a slit in the door. He staggered to his feet and stumbled to a corner. He began to urinate, and cried out in pain. He was sure that he was passing blood, but it was too dark to see. He leaned against the wall until he finished. He walked across the cell and sat against the wall, drifting off to unconsciousness again.

Ced jerked up as the door crashed open. A noose went over his head and around his neck. It tightened as the soldier who held the pole it was attached to twisted it, jerking him to his feet, and into the hall. He was drug a large room and thrown to his knees in front of the emperor's inquisitor. The soldier pulled him up to face him.

"Cedus of Genua, he droned, "you are a lucky man. Your popularity with the citizenry and the respect of your fellow gladiators requires us to take a different approach with you. If we publicly crucified or hung you, the people would be deprived of the entertainment provided by your skills in the arena, and they would be in a state of distress with his majesty. If we tortured you to death, your fellow gladiators might become … mmm … shall we say restless."

"So what is to become of me?" asked Ced.

"Adrailius promised you a string of gladiators, and so you will get your string. You will face three of his best fighters in the arena tomorrow."

"And what will become of me after I've killed them," Ced asked, confident of his skill.

The inquisitor laughed and looked about the room. "Cedus is certainly sure of how this battle will end." The others in the room nervously joined in the laughter. They knew Ced wasn't joking. "You'll be killed in the arena by the guards should you survive the combat. You fight …" he paused and thought momentarily, "Die tomorrow. The arena will be filled. I understand that all of the talk about the city is the final fight of Cedus of Genua." He motioned to the guards, "Take him away."

The guard twisted the noose as the others tied his hands and legs. They carried him up a stairway, and to a cart. He was thrown in and taken to the coliseum, where he was thrown into a holding cell, still tied up. He moaned and struggled against his bonds. Suddenly he felt someone roll him on his stomach. He instinctively began to struggle.

"Hold still," a voice spoke as hands began to work on his bonds. It was Damaus, his slave. "I'm to prepare you for the fight as usual." He freed Ced and gave him a cup of water. Ced drank and crawled toward the cot. Damaus helped wrestle the heavy gladiator on his back and began to wash his wounds. Ced was asleep in no time. Damaus looked over the familiar body of his master. His smooth, strong chest rose and dropped gently with his breathing. His tight abs, bruised from the beatings, rippled as he shifted about and his manhood lay heavy against his thigh. Damaus thought about how many times that manhood had been filled him, before and after his matches. He went to the corner of the cell and watched Ced as he slept. Soon, he too fell asleep.

The door slammed open, shocking both Ced and his slave into wakefulness. One guard put the point of a spear into Ced's chest, keeping him down on the bed. The other jerked the diminutive Damaus to his feet.

"Prepare your master for the arena."

Damaus nodded as the guards stood back. He helped Ced to his feet and led him through the door and to the baths. The guards followed them, keeping a watchful eye on Ced and his slave. Damaus lowered Ced into the warm waters. Ced immersed himself, loosening his stiff and bruised body. Damaus removed his robe and joined him, washing Ced's body as he had done dozens of times before. Ced enjoyed this ritual. It relaxed him for the coming fight. Normally he focused his thought on battle to come, but today he would be killed. His thoughts drifted back to all of the men he had killed, and how they had died. Some had died as warriors, and some had died as cowards. He knew that he would die as a warrior. The men that had died as warriors had fought bravely and savagely; some of them fought on even though they were mortally wounded. That would be how he would die. With luck, he would take some of the legionnaires with him.

He liked killing; it was all he had ever known. What surprised him greatly was that the thought of his own death excited him just as much. He felt his manhood stiffen. He had always relieved himself before his matches with Damaus. Today would be no different. He rose from the bath and led the young slave to a nearby bench. Damaus knew what his masters needs were, and what to do next. Ced was fond of Damaus. It was unusual for a gladiator to have his own personal slave, but most died before they had gained the status that Ced had. Ced had started just as Damaus had, as a slave preparing gladiators for their appearance in the arena. He understood how the young men felt who serviced those who were about to die. Damaus lay on the bench, lifting his legs and spreading his buttocks to expose himself for his master. He felt himself spread open as Ced entered him. Damaus thought he felt especially large today. Damaus knew that this would be his masters last time, as well as his own. All thought of what was to come was obscured by the pleasure of Ced's manhood as it was thrust deeply inside of him. Damaus stroked his now erect cock as his master pleasured himself. Damaus loved the sight of Ced's muscular chest and belly as he pleasured himself. It thrilled him to know that he could give him this kind of pleasure.

Ced thrust deeply and quickly, knowing that this would be his last purely sexual pleasure. Ced thrust harder as his balls began to tighten. He groaned loudly as he shot his load deeply into the young slave. His muscles flexed tight as the pleasure spread through him. The sight of this pushed Damaus over the edge and he too shot his load on his belly. It thrilled Ced to watched as the white globs splashed on his slave's belly. Ced pulled his manhood from the slave and returned to the bath, where he would clean the residue of their pleasure from his body. Damaus joined him. He knew not to expect affection from Ced now, as he was focused on the fight to come.

"Whom will you go with after I'm dead?" Ced asked.

Damaus looked at his master. "I'm to be killed today."

Ced was shocked at the admission. "What for?" he asked angrily, "You weren't part of the plot! I'll speak to the emperor."

"It will do no good, you and your history are being wiped away," the slave replied. "I'm just another part of your life that will be ending today."

"I'm sorry."

"It's all right," Damaus smiled at him. He was proud that he was the slave of Ced. It had implied a certain status amongst the arena slaves. It would be an honor to die with him. "Come now. You need to get ready," he told his master. Damaus knew his status in the empire. Even if he wasn't to die today, he would have eventually entered the arena as Ced had. Most likely, he would have died there.

Damaus helped Ced into his loincloth. "They've not given you any armor, nor a belt."

"I'm to die," Ced replied, "Armor is for those who have a chance of survival."

The door opened again, and more soldiers entered. The last one through the door was an officer of the guard. He shouted orders out to the rest of the men.

"Seize the slave!" Two soldiers grabbed Damaus under the arms and jerked him toward the door. The other soldiers placed a spear point in Ced's chest. "Let's go." Ced was resigned to his death. He certainly wasn't going to let some legionnaire kill him in the bowels of the coliseum. He went along calmly. He stopped and looked at the officer.

"What will happen to him?" he asked, as he nodded toward Damaus.

"He'll be your first opponent today." The guards laughed as Ced was shoved down the hall to the arena.

"But he's just a boy! He hasn't trained with a sword!"

The soldiers laughed again. "He'll die just fine."

The soldiers led him into the arena. The crowd shouted their approval as he stepped into the bright sunlight. He looked around at those who would watch him die. "They'll cheer anything, as long as a man dies," he thought. In the middle of the arena lay a buckler and a shortsword. The guards backed away as he picked them up. The walls of the arena floor were guarded by legionnaires with bows and spears at the ready.

Ced looked up at the emperor. He would not offer the usual salutations today. The emperor hadn't expected him to do so. Such insolence was usually rewarded with death; and so it would be today. His majesty turned and signaled for the contests to begin. Trumpets blared as the gate opened across the arena. Ced turned to face his first adversary. There stood Damaus, bare-chested, with a sword and buckler like his own. He walked to the center of the arena and waited for Damaus to join him there.

They both went into a fighting stance. Ced first, and Damaus following his lead. They began to circle each other. "I will finish you quickly," Ced told him.

"I want a warriors death," replied the young man.

Ced had impressed his young slave with his philosophy of honorable death. In reality Ced found it difficult to kill a boy in such a brutal manner. "It is an agonizing way to die. Let me kill you fast; one stroke and it will be over."

"Let me die a warrior."

Damaus rushed him, slashing across the small shield. Ced jabbed his sword into the slave's buckler. Almost instinctively, Damaus pushed the blade out of the way, as Ced backed off.

"Why didn't you kill me?" Damaus smiled as he asked. "You had your chance."

"Your better than you think you are." Actually Ced had anticipated every move. He could have killed the slave easily, but he wanted him to have his warrior's death.

Damaus smiled, and he rushed Ced again. Ced used his shield to push the slaves sword aside. He turned into the attack, getting his sword arm behind his opponent's buckler. The slave was no match for the powerful gladiator. Ced forced his shield arm back, exposing his belly. Damaus was off balance and didn't know how to stop the attack. Ced pulled his sword back and plunged the sword went straight into Damaus' belly, just above his navel. His blade quickly slid deep inside the slave, and just as quickly he pulled it free, not twisting it as he usually did.

Ced stepped back and Damaus dropped his weapon and shield, his hands went to the tear in his belly. He dropped to his knees, the pain spreading through his entire being, blood pouring over his hands as it flowed from him. Damaus looked to his master and smiled. Suddenly his body shook in a spasm and he doubled over, face down in the sand.

Ced dropped his shield and went to his side, laying his sword close to his free hand; he lifted him up so he could say something to him before he died. "You are a warrior, my friend."

Damaus smiled. The crowd screamed in delight, but Ced could hear none of it. He could see the bulge form under his slave's blood soaked loincloth as he had seen many times before, but his own manhood didn't seem to take the usual pleasure in the young mans death.

Ced slipped the sword into his hand again. With luck, Damaus would be dead before he knew that Ced had stabbed him. "Goodbye my friend," he spoke, He looked into his eyes as he thrust into Damaus' chest, just beneath the sternum. Damaus gasped loudly as the sword sliced his heart in two. He opened his mouth to cry out but death took him before he could cry out. He slumped in Ced's arms, a trickle of blood falling from his mouth. Ced lay him down gently and pulled the sword from his chest. The crowd kept up their cheers, but Ced did not acknowledge the praise. Of all the men he had killed, this was the first one that he regretted. A charon ran to the arena. He lifted Damaus' head and lifted his hammer to apply the killing blow. Ced grabbed his arm and threw him aside.

"He's already dead! Leave him be!" he screamed. The charon grabbed the corpse by the arm and drug it from the arena. Ced knew that his slave would be stripped and thrown in to the mass grave with the corpses of the other dead gladiators and animals who had died there.

Again the horns sounded. Ced turned to the gates as they swung open. A young man walked toward him. Not as young as Damaus, but not a lot older. He was very tall and wiry, with long muscular arms and tight muscular abs. He reminded Ced of himself when he had first entered the arena. So thin that his ribs showed across his tight chest muscles. A few months of daily training with the sword would give him a thick muscular chest like Ced's; if he had a few months to build himself up "Too bad," Ced thought out loud, "he'll be dead in a few minutes." The gladiator had long blonde hair, pulled into a ponytail that surrounded an almost angelic face. As he got closer, Ced could see into his deep blue eyes, clear and focused on the battle at hand. Ced recognized him as a former attendant from the arena. He was prepared as was any gladiator. His body was bathed and oiled, and he wore the same loincloth as Ced, with an identical buckler and sword.

The gladiators moved around each other, first one way, then the other, sword and buckler at the ready. Crouched low, they both looked to find an advantage. The blonde struck first, using his long arms and greater height to slash down toward Ced's head. Ced drew his buckler up and blocked the blow, the crowd howling as the fight began in earnest. Ced thrust at the exposed belly of his opponent, but the blonde's long arms allowed him to easily dodge the blow. The blonde slashed again, this time catching the edge of Ced's buckler, and knocking it aside. Ced spun quickly away as the sword barely missed his shoulder. Ced slashed again, but his blow glanced harmlessly off the blonde's buckler.

Now that they had felt each other out, they both aggressively attacked. Blades clanged as each man took turns trying to get inside the others defenses. The blonde's longer arms kept Ced too far away for an effective strike. Ced began to quickly back away. The blonde moved in, sensing wrongly that his opponent was tiring. Both men were sweating freely under the hot midday sun. Ced's body glistened as he moved. The blonde's skin gleamed too. Ced thought him quite beautiful.

The blonde rushed Ced with his buckler in front of him, hoping to knock the gladiator off balance. The shields clashed loudly and the blonde thrust his blade toward Ced's pecs. Ced turned slightly and lowered his sword, letting the blonde go by, and impale himself on Ced's blade.

The blonde tried to spin away, but he wasn't fast enough, as the blade entered his belly just to the right of his navel. He cried out and spun away from Ced. It wasn't a deep wound, but the blade tore him open as he fell away. He managed to stay on his feet, and swung wildly at Ced. Blood rushed from the tear in his belly. Ced wasted no time in attacking again, slashing with all of his strength. The blonde was trying to stop the bleeding with his shield arm and still hold onto the only protection he had. He used only his sword to parry Ced's blows. Each move sent a painful reminder of his wound. Ced pressed the attack, slashing back and forth, eventually catching his blade on the hilt of the blonde's sword, and knocking it across the arena. Ced then struck the side of the buckler and moved it aside, knocking it to the sand. The blonde fell back, desperately backing away. He wasn't fast enough. Ced's blade plunged straight into his belly, just above the navel. The blonde froze in agony, throwing his head back and screaming. He grabbed the blade that was now inside him, tearing his guts. Ced kept thrusting, the blade slashed the blonde's hands as it quickly slid deep inside his belly. He fell back, groaning deeply as the reality of his death set in. Ced pulled the blade out quickly, twisting this time. The blonde cried out and arched as he grabbed his wounds, collapsing sandy floor of the arena. He squirmed as his life flowed from between his fingers. He stared up at his killer.

There was no doubt about the pleasure that Ced felt at killing this man. His manhood was stiff and proud underneath his loincloth, and he could see from the bulge in the blonde's loincloth that he was as excited as Ced was. Both men knew what was expected of them. Ced kneeled next to the man, placing the point of his sword in the space between the ribs that were so prominent on his chest. He gasped slightly as the point pricked him slightly. His chest heaved from exertion, the pain, and the anticipation of the deathblow. He raised his head to expose his neck to the sword, as was the tradition. Ced did not like to cut a man's throat. He thought that was how you killed a goat or a coward. Ced thrust the blade deep inside his chest. He could hear bones crack as the thick blade split them apart. The blonde shouted loudly and threw his shoulders back and expanding his chest, accepting the thrust like he would have accepted the thrust of a lover. He fought to draw his last breath. Foamy blood bubbled from his mouth. Ced jerked the sword to the side and pulled it from his body. A geyser of blood shot from his chest as he convulsed. His hands dropped to his side, as his body relaxed in death.

The crowd cheered as the Charons came to the arena and smashed the blonde in the skull, as though there were some question whether or not he was dead. They took a large hook, with a rope attached, and stuck it through the wound in his chest, and drug his corpse away.

The trumpets sounded again, and another man entered. This time, a Nubian. Tall and muscular, with huge shoulders and pecs, he seemed a perfect fit to become a prominent warrior in the arena, but the Roman prejudice against his kind would prevent that. He was armed with a trident and net, and again, there was no armor. Ced wondered what the Romans had told these gladiators about him. The Nubian glanced at the bloody stain where the blonde had been killed. He took a deep breath as he prepared to kill, or be killed.

The Nubian swung the net over his head as he moved toward Ced. The trident would keep Ced back while the Nubian could get close enough to ensnare and finish him while he fought to free himself. Ced stayed away. He thought it odd that they would have a Retarius fight against him. Normally only heavily armored gladiators fought the net bearers. No matter though. He would still have to kill this man.

The Nubian rushed toward Ced, throwing the net. Ced stepped back, using his buckler to try to knock the net aside. The weights wrapped around the small shield, and Ced found it caught in the net. The Nubian jerked hard, pulling Ced off balance, and aiming the trident towards Ced's belly. Ced released the grip on the buckler and it dropped to the sand. The Nubian yanked the net, and the buckler flew across the arena, as Ced lost his balance. The Nubian thrust and one of the tines of the trident struck Ced in the shoulder, and he yelled as the tearing in his shoulder turned to a burning sensation that he felt throughout his body.

The crowd rose to their feet in anticipation of the final blow. Ced scrambled away. The Nubian held the trident, now decorated with Ced's blood, in front of him and charged. Ced put his hand to his shoulder as he backed away. It ached greatly, but he could still fight. The buckler was too far away. It would be easier to fight without it, he thought.

The Nubian kept coming toward him. He lifted the trident above his shoulder, as though her were going to throw it. Ced stepped back again as the Nubian swung the net toward Ced's feet. The weights spun around Ced's ankles, and he fell as the Nubian pulled his feet out from under him.

The fall knocked the wind from him, and a fresh shock of pain went through his shoulder, but he managed to hold onto his sword. He looked up to see the Nubian hurrying toward him, with the trident ready to strike. As he thrust, Ced turned away. The trident struck the soil where he had laid an instant ago. Ced turned back, thrusting his sword upward into the Nubian's navel. It only went in a few inches, but he was off balance and fell forward, the blade cutting through him as he fell. He kept falling until he landed on Ced. The sword now completely through him, bloody steel showing out the back.

Ced let go of his sword and pushed the sweaty, mortally wounded gladiator off of him. The Nubian rolled on his side, and using both hands he began to pull the offending blade from his belly. Ced could see the agony that the man was going through. He pulled the trident from the soil and walked to him. The Nubian was in a world of his own, full of agony and fear of death. Sweat covered his body and mixed with what little blood flowed from his wound. Ced watched him for a moment, marveling at the intensity of the man. The Nubian had pulled the blade a few inches from his belly, and moved his hands to the blade, slicing his fingers. He had to be delirious with pain Ced thought. Ced reached down and grabbed the handle and pulled it from his body in one motion. The Nubian curled up into a ball as the sword shredded his insides even more on the way out, and blood streamed from both wounds.

Ced stuck the sword in the stand. He picked up the trident and kicked the Nubian onto his back, and placed the tines against the Nubians chest. His eyes were gripped tightly shut, and he grimaced as his guts shifted inside of him. Ced pulled the trident over his head and drove the tines squarely into his chest, the middle tine between his pecs and the others through them. There was a loud pop, and the Nubian's eyes and mouth opened wide. The thick points tearing deep inside his chest. A spray of blood burst from his mouth as his lungs filled. He convulsed momentarily, made a loud sigh, and slipped into death. Ced left the trident in his chest.

The attendants come out again as Ced accepted the exaltation of the crowd. One put his foot on the Nubians ribcage and pulled the weapon from him, and the other took the hook and drove it into the chest of the corpse. They dragged the body from the arena. "One man to go," Ced told himself, "then you'll feel the hook." He pulled his sword from the sand and moved to retrieve the buckler. His shoulder ached; he tried to ignore it. It would end shortly. Blood flowed down his arm.

The trumpets sounded again, and the next gladiator entered the arena. Ced thought him to be Roman, probably a slave or a soldier from a disgraced legion. The man had a broad chest, covered with a thick black hair that went down across his thick abs and around his navel. Heavily bearded, with coal black eyes, he seemed to look right through Ced. A soldier Ced thought. A worthy opponent.

Ced grabbed his buckler. Almost as quickly, it fell from his hand. He tried to lift it again. It did no good. He would have to fight without it.

The soldier looked him over. There would be great reward in the afterlife for having killed the great Ced. There would be great honor if one was killed by Ced, but only if the fight itself were honorable. The soldier threw his buckler aside.

Ced nodded to his adversary. They would fight with no protection. Such fights didn't last long. One of them would be dead very quickly.

They moved to the center of the arena and quickly slashed towards each other. Both men swung furiously, both as an attack and to keep the others blade from killing them. Ced kept his wounded arm close to his body. The soldier could more freely shift his weight to try to break Ced's defenses. The fight continued for what seemed to the two warriors like an eternity. Ced was tiring rapidly. More often than not the soldiers blade drove him back toward the arena walls. The legionnaires scattered when it looked like Ced would run into them. Ced managed to sidestep and move out toward the center of the arena. He wondered if he was only prolonging the inevitable.

The soldier kept moving in. Sweat soaked his body. What he had heard about Ced was true. He had given it everything he had and had yet to even touch him.

Ced kept moving away. He knew if he were to kill this man, he would have to be the aggressor. As the soldier moved in again, Ced quickly mustered the last of his strength and slashed from above. The soldier quickly pulled his blade across to block the blow, and his knees buckled at its force. Ced quickly thrust. Catching the soldier in the pec.

The soldier stumbled back, blood flowing through his hairy chest. The wound wasn't deep. He couldn't taste any blood, so he figured that his lung hadn't been pierced. He swung again, but Ced blocked his blow.

Ced moved in for the kill. He continued to swing wildly, not having the strength left to pick his targets. The soldier lunged toward him again. Ced caught the bottom side of his blade and drove it back into the mans face, cutting him above the eye. The shock froze the soldier. An instant later he felt Ced's blade slice into his gut. He dropped his sword and cried out to the heavens, as Ced pulled his sword free and thrust again into his belly. The soldier fell forward into the sand. He pushed himself onto one hand, the other grasping his wounds, and tried to crawl to his sword. Ced let him reach it. This man was a warrior; he should die with a sword in his hand.

The soldier fought to his knees and raised his sword toward Ced. Ced blocked the sword aside and grabbed his wrist. He raised his weapon and thrust it downward into the mans pectoral. There was the familiar tearing and popping sounds as the sword drove through his chest. Ced released his wrist, and the soldier's corpse slumped in to the soil.

His three opponents now dead, he turned to the emperor and looked at him with contempt. Any of those men were twice the emperor was. If only he was close enough to kill him. He knew that wasn't to be. It was now his time to die.

The legionnaires began to march toward him, spears at the ready. Ced thought about fighting, but knew he couldn't last. His wounds and the hot sun had taken its toll on him. He moved toward the center of the arena, near the body of the soldier, and swung wildly. Some of the legionnaires slowed down and others stepped back. Their officers shouted for them to advance. But it would be too late.

"To hell with you all!" Ced screamed. With that he lifted his sword, and turned it toward himself. With all of his might, he thrust it into his belly. Now he knew why men were erect when they died on his sword. The exquisite agony of the blade tearing through his gut excited him as never before. He dropped to his knees and savored the feeling, he pushed again and the blade, lubricated with the blood of the others, slid easily through his gut. He felt it pass out his back. Suddenly he felt cold, and the agony was replaced by the spasms of his manhood inside his loincloth. He fell on his face as death took him to the afterlife. Both hands still on the pommel of the sword.

The crowd cheered of course. As much as they liked Ced as a gladiator, most of them could not wait until he was dead. The emperor wasn't happy that his legionnaires hadn't killed him. They will suffer the cross for their cowardice.

The charons came to get Ced's body. A quick swing of the hammer and the back of his skull was crushed. Turned on his side, they pulled the blade from his body. They took a large hook and jammed it underneath his sternum. It took both of them to drag his body to the mortuary underneath the stands.

They threw his sword into a box used for collecting these things. The weapons from the earlier bouts were already there. They stripped him of his loincloth, and he lay naked in death. The attendants noted the residue of his orgasm on his legs and manhood. They knew that he's sent plenty of others to hell, and he was going the same way. They drug his body to the pit outside of the coliseum, and threw it on the pile. Here he would lay naked in the sun, with Damaus, the blonde, the Nubian, and the soldier for all eternity

Christano stepped into the sunlight, raising his arms to the crowd as they chanted his name. In one hand he held his helmet and his curved sword in the other, another handsome young man, his second, carried his small round shield. He hadn't been a gladiator long, but he had had quick success, and was a crowd favorite. He was a beautiful young man of Greek descent, tall and athletic with long flowing black hair; one could see the out line of every muscle in his body. Both Gladiators had been wiped down with oil, and his skin glistened in the late afternoon sun. He fought as his people would have, as a Thracian. He had fought 6 times; always victorious with three kills to his credit. He now thought of himself as invincible. He was no longer a fighter, bound by the code of honor, but a stone killer.

 Next to him, Razid stood waiting, watching out of one corner of his eye the show that Christano was putting on. He too had been wiped down with oil, mixed with his sweat, the thick black hair on his chest shimmered. He was a smaller man; muscular but sinewy. He was nimble and agile, characteristics that served him well as a Retiarius. Razid was a prisoner of war who had been relegated to the Arena rather than common labor. He was a good fighter, and his killing technique provided great entertainment for the spectators. His net hung over his shoulder as he held his weapon aloft for the crowd to see. His Trident had barbed tines on each side of the head and a long center spike, sharpened to a fine point, his net was weighted and was loosely attached to his wrist.

 The two Gladiators approached the podium of the arena. They raised their weapons in honor to the sponsor and editor, and saluted them, acknowledging the chance, even the likelihood of death. As they turned, Christano turned to Razid and spoke to him under his breath; "prepare to die," As he reached the center of the arena He turned to his second and looked into his eyes: "we'll be together soon," he told him. This excited the young man as Christano was especially aroused after a victory, and doubly so after a kill. He put his helmet on. He didn't buckle the chin strap because he figured it wouldn't be long before he would be victorious. His second handed him his shield and gazed at him in awe and desire, dreaming of tonight's carousal, his manhood begin to stiffen. He turned and ran to the Porta Sanavivra (Gate of Life), as he believed, as his lover, in the quick victory, and the quick kill.

 Razid said nothing, as he had heard the premonition of his death from many of his previous opponents: many of them dead themselves. He watched as the young gladiator swaggered to the center of the arena, mocking him with his pompous display of bravado. Razid understood that life is short for a gladiator; he decided that he could have no mercy, as this man saw him as another easy kill.

 The signal was given and the two gladiators went into their fighting crouch and began to circle each other. Razid moved more quickly, continually jabbing toward his opponent to keep him back, and snapped the net back and forth, looking for an opening. Christano suddenly lunged forward and slashed from over his head and downward, hoping to hit his opponent's unprotected head. Razid had been caught off balance, and the Thracian was too close to counter attack. He spun clumsily out of the way, and the curved sword struck his Galerus. Christano followed through and cut a nasty tear on his opponents arm

 He grunted loudly as he pulled back. The wound wasn't deep enough to cripple the arm, but blood gushed from the wound and soaked him. He showed no pain, as he backed away to regain his footing. Christano kept on the attack and quickly turned to pursue the Retiarius, slashing quickly and forcing him back. Razid used his trident to parry, and quickly stepped to one side as Christano charged. He threw the net, and it landed squarely on the Thracian. Still attached to his wrist, he pulled the Christano toward him, and thrust hard with the Trident. Christano pulled back to avoid the spikes, and had almost broken free from the net, when he felt a spike sink deeply into his thigh. He jerked back and the barb tore his leg open further.
 Razid now had the advantage. The running and constant charging would tire Christano, and the bleeding from his leg was heavy, and would impair his performance even more. "Now I've got him," he thought
 Christano stepped back to gather himself, and take a deep breath. The wound hurt, but he was unaware of the severity. He could feel the blood flowing from the wound, but thought it unimportant. He was angry now; he had yet to be wounded this badly, and would have his revenge.

 Christano kept up the pursuit, slowed but still aggressive. Razid threw the net again and Christano managed to clumsily dodge away. Each step was agony for the young fighter and made the bleeding worse. He pressed on; attacking with his sword. Razid continued to parry the blade with his trident. He threw the net again and caught the Thracians shield. Both gladiators pulled against the other. Christano stumbled as his wounded leg gave out, and his shield went flying. "I won't need it," he thought. Razid had placed himself between the shield and Christano. The Thracian kept on the attack; sweat poured from his body; mixing with the oil it dripped into his eyes. He began to grow cold as a result of the bleeding.
 The young Thracian was growing more and more frustrated. The Retiarius would thrust his trident, drawing him out, and then throw the net, or try to trip him with it. He knew that if he could just fight the Retiarius straight up, he would kill him quickly, but Razid would have none of that. He knew that his light armor and his speed was his advantage in the fight, and he used it well. The Thracian charged and slashed furiously. He stumbled slightly and Christano knew it was time to move in for the kill. He jabbed over and over again; first high and then low, forcing his opponent back. Without a shield Christano had no choice but to retreat. Christano had lost his bearings and did not know where he was. Razid used the net as a whip and it wrapped around the curved sword of his opponent.
 Christano tried to pull away as his only means of defense was wrapped in the net. Razid released the net, and Christano fell back expecting to fall to the sand, and was startled when he crashed backwards into the wall of the arena. His helmet flew from his head and he was stunned. His arms fell to his side, the net and his sword fell free, and his head spun around, blinded by the sun. He became aware of the screaming of the crowd; he had heard it before, as he was about to kill.

 Just then the razor sharp center spike of the trident reached his muscular flat belly just below his navel and tore inside him. The barbed spikes entered a second later. Razid didn't stop until he felt the spike hit Christano's backbone.

 He threw his head back and shrieked …Aiiiieeeee. He reached  forward and he grabbed the shaft of  the weapon in a futile attempt to pull it free. Razid pressed harder. Christano's intestines wrapped around the spikes buried deeply inside him. Razid pulled the weapon back slightly and thrust forward several times. Christano gasped each time the spikes tore him further. He grimaced in agony.

 Razid dropped the shaft of his weapon, and watched as Christano leaned against the wall, holding the shaft, fighting against the torment, he pulled the spikes from his body, doing even more damage and causing greater pain. The shouting of the crowd drowned out his screams of agony. He grabbed his belly with both hands, desperately trying to seal the wounds, but blood flowed freely soaking his crotch. He staggered forward, holding his guts in as he moved aimlessly toward the center of the arena. Razid stood back and let him go. He wanted him to suffer, and wanted to give the spectators a good show when he finished him. He picked up his 

 Christano finally dropped to his knees. He fell over and he supported himself with one hand, as blood dripped from his belly onto the sand below. Razid stepped forward and kicked him over on his back. Christano writhed in the sand groaning, arching his back in hopes of relief.

 He looked at the sky and breathed deeply and quickly, knowing that this would be his last taste of air. His cock began to stiffen, just as it had when he had killed others, the pleasure tempered the pain. He squirmed in pleasure as much as agony. He would savor his final orgasm.

 Razid enjoyed watching his agonizing spasms, but he didn't want him to die without his help. He wanted to finish him with a killing below. Christano had a smooth muscular chest, strained to it's limits his exaggerated breathing. Razid thought it to be quite beautiful. He placed the long middle point right in the middle of his victim's chest. Christano slowed his breathing when he felt the point prick his skin. He looked to his killer, knowing that his time had come. His cock stiffened even harder.

 Razid looked to the editor, and received permission to finish Christano. He leaned on his weapon, driving it straight down. His sternum popped as Christano drew a large breath and flexed upward, throwing his arms to his side, almost welcoming the spikes into his chest. The other spikes tore his nipples and broke ribs as well. He couldn't exhale and squirmed deeper into the sand as his cock began to come. He fought for air, and got only the taste of blood in his mouth, as it pored over and flowed down his cheek. The final pleasure subsided as he slumped back to the sand, arms and legs splayed out. His eyes widened and stayed open as his head rolled to the side. Razid began to cum as he savored Christano's death throes. He leaned harder against the weapon, the spikes a metaphor of his cock penetrating a man, like a lover. He too breathed deeply as the waves of pleasure overwhelmed him. They began to subside when he pulled the tines from the young mans chest. When the barbed tines caught on Christano's ribs, Razid jerked, raising his chest. Christano's chest was expanded and was hanging on the trident. It was a beautiful sight in Razid's eyes, a perfect way for his orgasm to end.

 Razid held his weapon over his head, with Christanos blood and viscera dripping from the tines and drew in the adulation of the crowd. He began to slowly walk toward the gate of life, acknowledging the cheers as he left the field of battle, cum flowing down his thighs.

 Arena attendants, one dressed as Charon hurried to the corpse; Charon would not have to use his hammer, as there was no doubt that that this man was dead. The others tied a rope around Christano's ankles, and drug him toward the Gate of Death (Porta Libitnensis). His arms dragged behind his head. What blood was left in his body smeared the sand, and other slaves raked it under. When he arrives at the spoilarium, he will be stripped naked of his armor and what little clothing he had on. He had no colleagues to claim his body and no money provided for his funeral; his body would go into the mass grave filled with the dead naked gladiators who had died as he had.

 Razid walked through the Gate of Life. To the side, he saw his opponent's second, eyes full of tears. "What shall I do now," he asked? Razid looked him up and down; "You belong to me." He wrapped his arm around the young man. They walked away together.

In honor of the magistrates birthday, Atticus and ninety-nine other gladiators would fight to the death. Only fifty would survive. It was a great birthday celebration.

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The Fighting Chessmen of Rome


The arena had been divided into a line of four squares which resembled part of a chess or dominoes board. In the middle of each square stood a naked gladiator, primed to fight to the death. This was one of Caesar's new brainwaves for amusing a bored populace. They had tired traditional gladiator duels. They demanded novelty.


Lines of black sand had been meticulously laid down to divide the Arena into the line of four squares. Caesar had ordained that each fight should be to the death as if they were duelling chess pieces. Once a man set foot in his opponent's death-square, the two men had to fight to the death for possession of the square. One man had to die.


Gar, the Champion of Rome, would fight each of the four gladiators one by one, working his way down the line of four squares until he reached the Portal of Life. Each contest would be fought with different weapons. If Gar was defeated in any of the contests, his conqueror would take his place and would go on to challenge for the remaining squares.


Gar was strong and handsome. Naked, he stood, a magnificent specimen. He had short brown hair curling into Roman ringlets, tanned skin, a fine Roman nose and piercing blue eyes. His chest was well formed, his stomach slim and firm, his genitals well developed. Gar had muscular thighs, strong carves and strong, long feet. The crowd roared with admiration as this impressive hunk of manhood flashed a seductive smile and raised his bulging biceps above his head with bravado. He was not only Rome's gladiatorial champion but also Rome's gladiatorial sex symbol - a great favourite with the ladies, and with quite a few men as well.


"Hail Gar, Champion of Rome! Rome's only undefeated champion!" shouted the Master of Ceremonies.


THE FIRST FIGHT TO THE DEATH


The first fight, explained the Master of Ceremonies, would be unarmed. Gar would wrestle to the death against Crescens.


Crescens was a young hunk of German extraction. His face and jaw were squarer than Gar's, his muscles more pronounced, his hair, worn very short, was blond. His cock, like Gar's was erect with the thrill of the fight to come.


Gar strode up to the boundary of Crescens' square. The two men, pacing up and down the boundary like caged tigers waiting for the order to kill, menaced each other, each trying to demoralise the other man before the death-duel began.


"Now Gar you must die. The law of nature! The older man must die at the feet of the younger man!"


"You are wrong, Crescens", sneered Gar, "You will never be a champion. You will die at MY feet instead!"


The crowd were betting on which man would survive. . Most of the guests had bet on Gar, for he was famed for the wily and skillful fighting that had made his reign as Champion a long one. Some, however, bet on Crescens, for he was the more youthful and muscular protagonist.


Gar lept into Crescens' death-square. His bare feet landed softly on the hot sand. The massive crowd cheered. Now one of the men had to die.


The fighting was pitiless. The two naked gladiators were hot with perspiration. Only one man could live. Only the stronger man could survive. The struggle went on for minutes but it seemed like hours.


Then Gar managed to tighten his grip round his rival's neck. He started to strangle Crescens. At first Crescens smiled smugly. He knew he could easily break away, by throwing the full force of his body onto the sand below.


But swiftly the quick-thinking Gar planted both his feet on Crescens's feet, to stop his younger opponent from escaping death. Crescens tried to free his feet, but he could not. Gar's feet were strong and somehow the champion's killer instinct made Gar's grip on Crescens' feet stronger still. The two men's erect cocks met like lances, each trying to out-man the other.


Gasping, Crescens desperately tried to free his neck from Gar's merciless grip, but it was no use. He was already weakened from lack of air. Crescens' face was getting redder and redder as Gar deprived him of the life-giving oxygen. There was no escape from the killer male. He tried to weaken Gar's grasp, but it was too strong. He began to lose consciousness.


Gar grinned brutally as he felt Crescens's life fading away. He could feel Crescens' defeated cock start to go flaccid whilst his remained hard and virile.


"You fool, Crescens. I have outsmarted you. Now you will pay for your stupidity with your life, you witless lump of dying man-meat!"


The strangulation took several minutes. Gar was in no mood to release Crescens prematurely, before his life was fully extinguished. Finally releasing his grip, the victor allowed Crescens to crumple to the ground. The crowd cheered.


Gar felt the pulse in Crescens's neck. He was overjoyed to find that there was no pulse. Death had occurred; he had ended Crescens's life. Gar raised his arms in victory. Ring attendants grabbed both Crescens's feet and dragged the lifeless carcass of the defeated male out of the square and out of the Arena, to massive applause.


THE SECOND FIGHT TO THE DEATH


The next death-square was occupied by Drusus, the champion of Britannia. He had sent many men to their deaths in the British arena in order to reach this contest. At the boundary of Drusus's square lay Gar's weapon for the fight, a sword. For in this contest Gar would fight as a secutor, Drusus as a retiarius.


Drusus was very good-looking. Younger than Gar, he had black, shoulder-length hair tied in a pony-tail. Swarthy and ill-shaven, his broad chest was very hairy and so were his legs. His handsome features and macho animal magnetism had won him many admirers. Ravenous for victory, he swung his trident with a deadly nimble grace. Would he be the man who would knock that great cock Gar off his perch?


Gar looked at Drusus and lusted for his death. He had killed so many retiarii and was always attracted by their vulnerability, the inadequacy of their tridents and nets. He expected Drusus to be easy meat like the others.


Once again Gar lept into his foe's square and the crowd cheered. The two men swaggered up to each other so that their erect cocks touched like swords.


"Prepare to die, Drusus", growled Gar.


"No, Gar, the only corpse today will be yours" retorted the Briton.


Once again Gar lept into the death square, the crowd once again cheering as his feet landed on the sand. The death match had begun.


At first Gar's swordsmanship served him well. He advanced as Drusus retreated, fighting defensively with his trident. Gar's sword nicked Drusus's shoulder.


"First blood to me, Drusus. Death is near!" mocked the champion.


Then Drusus managed to get Gar's sword stuck between two of the prongs of his trident. He twisted the trident and prized the sword out of Gar's hand! It sprung across the arena to fall softly in the sand.


But Gar was not beaten yet. He used his shield to fend off the blows from Drusus's trident. He knew he could deflect Drusus's blows until he regained his sword. He might even use his shield as a weapon of attack; for he had once finished off a retiarius with a rabbit-blow from his shield. Slowly but surely he advanced towards the spot where his sword was lying.


Drusus was desperate not to throw away his advantage. He stabbed away with his trident but his blows to Gar's stomach and chest were always met by Gar's speedy shield. However much Drusus tried, swift shieldwork saved Gar's bacon.


Then Drusus thought he heard someone from the crowd say "go for his feet". Whilst pretending to maintain his attacks on Gar's torso, the Briton aimed a blow at his foe's right foot. Gar had not expected that. The trident skewered his foot completely! Gar's face creased in agony. The spectators gasped.


Drusus was not one to leave his work half done. Removing the bloodied trident deftly from Gar's right foot, he plunged it into Gar's remaining foot! Again the scream of pain. Again the gasp of the spectators.


Drusus removed the bloodied trident from Gar's foot. The Champion, his face lined with the lines of pain, tottered pathetically on his wounded feet, the blood pouring out of them. Feebly he dropped his sword. All Drusus had to do was to deliver a superficial thrust to Gar's chest to send the vaunted champion to the ground. Gar lay there, wriggling about in the sand, his feet skewered and bloodied, his chest bearing the three wounds that meant defeat.


"Now I will wound you some more, `Champion'" sneered the victorious Drusus.


He aimed his trident at his foeman's belly-button. With a howl, Gar saw the trident pierce his belly-button, and the other two spears enter his stomach. Yet again Gar's handsome face was contorted in agony.


"Now, Gar, your cock will be mine!" cried the vicious Briton.


The pitiless Drusus aimed at the erect cock of the erstwhile Champion, and skewered his penis along with one of his testicles. Gar's mighty thighs got the brunt of the trident's remaining two spears.


"Beg for death, Gar, if you do not want more wounds. Beg for death!"


True enough, in this arena today there could be no begging for mercy, only begging for death. Normally a champion of Gar's standing would have survived such a defeat. He would have been sent missus out of the Arena - humbled, conquered - but living to fight another day. But today Gar would have to forfeit his life - and supplicate for the privilege!


In any case, Rome was fickle in her love of her champions. Already the spectators were shouting "Hail Drusus!", "Death to Gar!", "Finish him!", and making it clear from their thumbs that the time had come for Gar to die.


Gar knew how to die like a gladiator. Raising himself up on his arms, he turned to his handsome vanquisher, who was beaming and raising his arms in the victory pose. He kissed both of Drusus's bare feet - the unbloodied feet of his conqueror. Then, raising himself further up, hanging on to his conqueror's muscled hairy thighs, he kissed Drusus's erect cock.


"Drusus, I beg you for death. You have ended my reign; now I beg you to relieve me of my impotent life."


"Granted, Gar! You were a great champion, but today Rome has witnessed your defeat at the hands of a greater champion!"


Then it was the time for the death blow. The ring attendant offered Drusus Gar's sword. Dropping his bloodied trident he took the savage sword. Then taking a step away from his victim he sliced Gar's throat. Gar raised his feeble hand uselessly to his throat as the blood gushed out. Then Gar collapsed, falling forward on his face at Drusus's feet. A pool of blood soon collected under his throat as he suffered the last death-throe twitches of his defeated manhood.


Drusus raised his arms in victory and then turned to his opponent in the next death-square. The King was dead, but how long would the new King reign?


THE THIRD FIGHT TO THE DEATH


In the next death-square stood Tor, a big blond Goth wielding a mace and a shield. Tor had been captured during the war against the German tribes only after caving in the skulls of numerous legionaries with this, his favourite weapon. In the Arena too the mace had become his specialism, the cracked skull his trademark. The sharp points of Tor's mace had been responsible for many a brain-damage induced death on the part of lesser gladiators.


Tor was taller and more muscular than Drusus. His centre-parted blond hair was plaited into two pleated pigtails. His ruggedly handsome face and nose were broad, his eyes blue. His expansive chest was smooth. His pubic hair was also blond and his manhood impressive. He gave the Briton a sadistic smile.


"Thank you for disposing of Gar. I would far rather face you in the Arena. You will be easy to defeat compared to him!"


Drusus looked contemptuously at the German while he picked up his own weapons, a savagely-sharp axe and a shield, from the sand at the boundary of Tor's death-square.


"Wrong, Tor!" mocked the Briton "YOU will feel the force of my axe on your naked flesh! Pray that your death will be swift!"


Drusus leapt into the death-square. As his feet touched the sand, the vicious German approached, a sadistic smile on his face.


Lusting to cave in Drusus's skull with the mace, Tor swung it time and again at his foeman's head. But Drusus skillfully warded off Tor's blows with his shield.


Then Tor swung his mace behind Drusus, and managed to hit Drusus in the buttocks! The Briton gasped with pain, his face contorted in agony, as blood ran down his strong thighs.


"First blood to me, Drusus! Prepare for death!"


But Drusus was in no mood to accept defeat. The Briton tried to strike Tor's masculine frame with the axe. But Tor was quick witted, fast on his feet, and smart with his shield. Time and again he managed to resist the axe's blows. It was not easy to penetrate the defence of Tor's shield, especially as Drusus needed to avoid Tor's savage mace.


Drusus -garnering all his strength - launched one last mighty assault on the German. Again the shield went up. But Drusus' blow with the axe was so powerful that it had the German staggering on his feet! As Tor tottered, he momentarily left his manly chest unguarded. Drusus sharply took advantage of this split-second opportunity. He projected his axe straight ahead at Tor's manly chest. A devastating blow! Tor looked down at his chest in abject horror as blood spurted from the magnificent torso, running down his penis, down his legs... The crowd cheered wildly. With a low groan the big man fell to his knees.


Realising he had been defeated, Tor planted his hands on Drusus's bare feet, and kissed his conqueror's erect cock, to acknowledge the victor's superior manhood. Then he presented his throat for the death blow. Drusus swung his axe and carved into Tor's throat.


Tor collapsed in the sand at Drusus's feet. Maybe the blow to the throat had not been deep enough. Somehow he was still alive, lungs gasping, throat bleeding, dying but not dead.


The pitiless crowd chanted "Death, Death, Death!" Drusus came over to his prostrate victim and raised the axe over Tor's neck.


"Now Tor, since you are so disinclined to die, prepare to lose your head!"


Drusus struck, once, twice, three times. To the crowd's delight he had decapitated Tor! Grasping the dead man's two pigtails in each hand, he held up the head up to the cheers of the crowd. The eyes were closed; blood streamed from the neck and trickled from the mouth, which even in death bore an expression of aghast surprise. The head swung wildly as Drusus held it up by the pigtails.


"Here is Tor, who though he could crack open my skull, and now he has lost his own skull to me, Drusus, the more virile gladiator!". Then he showily catapulted the head to the side of the arena, where it knocked against the wall and fell into the sand.


The crowd's applause for their young hero was rapturous. Ring attendants came with a stretcher to take the head along with the rest of Tor's naked carcass out to the Arena through the Portal of Death.


THE FOURTH FIGHT TO THE DEATH


The final fight was between Drusus and Gaius. The day's entertainment would end as it had begun: with an unarmed fight to the death.


Gaius was an old hand who had secured his freedom in the Arena several years ago following numerous victories. Since then his lust for the fight had drawn him back into the Arena where he had won several more victories, but at his last fight he had been defeated by a young secutor, Gar, and only the support of the crowd had saved him from death; he had been granted mercy and allowed to leave the arena missus. Gaius had been lucky to escape with his life. It was Gar's defeat of Gaius which had firmly established Gar as Champion of Rome. After a year's retirement, however, Gaius had once again started lusting for the thrill of combat.


Gaius's hair was closely-cropped, grey, and thin on top; only his pubic hair, surrounding his large and erect cock, remained dark brown. His brow was creased with the lines of age. Yet his body was firm and agile, his chest expansive and well defined, his thighs muscular.


The two gladiators swaggered up to the boundary of Gaius's square. This final fight to the death was to be a contest between youth and experience. The young gladiator bounced cockily from foot to foot to emphasise his youthful vigour, his ponytail bouncing behind his handsome head.


"Prepare to die, old timer!" sneered Drusus, "the crowd may have taken pity on you last time, and saved your ageing throat from Gar's blade, but today expect no mercy!"


Drusus looked into Gaius' eyes. Gaius was more rugged than handsome, his eyes slitty, his nose Roman, his mouth thin. His square chin was cleft. His thin lips erupted into a contemptuous smile. He could hear the quiet panting of a body not quite recovered from the tasks of defeating Gar and Tor. He had the wounds of those fights which were still fresh. He could smell the sweat of Drusus' previous battles, and he was smiling because to him it was the smell of defeat for Drusus. For what use was youth if the young man was exhausted?


"No, Drusus, you will be the one who is begging fruitlessly for mercy today!"


Young Drusus lept into Gaius' square. Once again his feet hit the hot sand with a gentle thud. Immediately the young Champion tried to secure a grip on the older man's neck. Gaius resisted, and the fight turned into a contest of strength of each man's arms, as Drusus wrestled for a strangle-hold on Gaius' neck. But his older adversary's muscular biceps overpowered the young buck. He subdued Drusus' grip, and having done so, secured his arms around Drusus' frame in a body-crushing bear-hug.


The bear-hug was Gaius' trademark move. The veteran gladiator had crushed many a man's ribs with his deadly embrace! Once caught in it, Drusus would need to do his utmost to escape, for if he failed his defeat was guaranteed. Ensnared, Drusus desperately attacked Gaius' face with his hands, stomped on Gaius' feet - but none of these efforts could induce the rock-hard Gaius to let him out of his lethal embrace. As Gaius' muscular arms squeezed the breath out of him, the young stud realised too late that he was no match for the veteran death machine. Already the crowd was predicting the young hero's defeat, and baying for his death.


Then one final killer hug; Gaius lifted Drusus off his feet by several inchees, the crowd could see Drusus' feet wriggling impotently in the air. And the crowd could hear the snap of several of Drusus' ribs. Gaius leapt off, and Drusus teetered on his toes, gasping in unbelieving pain before finally collapsing at Gaius' feet, ribs smashed, writhing in agony. As Gaius raised his arms in victory the crowd went wild at witnessing the defeat of young Drusus at the hands of a great champion - Gaius!


Defeat, however, was not enough. The crowd wanted death. They were roaring "finish him!" The game demanded death! Drusus was now on his back, panting, frightened. The victor smiled as he first crouched beside his conquest.


"Now, Drusus, prepare to die! I will break your neck between my thighs!"


"No, no!" whimpered the incredulous youth.


"Silence, loser!" scowled his conqueror, kicking him in the head to render him groggy.


Gaius then positioned his thighs either side of Drusus's neck. The crowd went quiet as Gaius applied pressure. They could see Drusus' face distort into agony. And then "SNAP!". Drusus' face relaxed in death, whilst Gaius' face erupted into a broad grin.


Gaius swaggered out of the Arena, raising his arms in the victory pose. Ring attendants entered the arena to secure Drusus' feet with ropes and haul his youthful wasted carcass out of the Arena. From hero to zero! Drusus had reigned as Champion of Rome for less than an hour, before this veteran cock had brutally knocked the young pretender off his perch. The young Champion had sold his life cheaply, to become just another notch on the mighty Gaius' Death Belt.


The End

I love this story.  One of the hottest I've ever read!

Caestus Fight: Davos vs. Romulus

The Warriors:

Davos:  A captive from the Helvetian tribe in the Alps. This tall, sandy-haired, ruggedly handsome fightstud stands 6’2” tall with a 47-inch chest and 34-inch waist. His blue eyes penetrate with an icy stare as he surveys the Arena and seeks his sixth kill. His scarred chest has a brush of light pec fur across his slab-like pecs, but he is otherwise smooth.  Aside from his caesti, he wears only a loincloth slung low under his navel. It barely conceals a thick and veiny 8-inch cut cock, low-hanging balls, and a smooth muscular ass.

Romulus: A tanned, smooth, muscled stud from the fierce Lombard tribe. He sports a 195-pound frame, brown hair, and green eyes. Romulus stands 5’11” tall, with a 46-inch chest, 32-inch waist, and 8.5 inch uncut cock. He is pumped and well defined. He has killed four men in the Arena and is eager for his fifth victory. In addition to the spiked gloves that he wears for this fight to the finish, Romulus has a small loin cloth hanging over a white jock pouch that inadequately conceals his large cock. The warrior’s sexmeat stirs and bulges in his jock. His loin cloth tents as he flexes his muscles, displaying his lightly oiled and glistening body in the hot sun.

Here are the thoughts and experiences of each of the two men as they are pitted against each other with caesti:
 
Davos:

I enter the opposite side of the Arena from my opponent. My big gladiator dick is only partially sated by the brutal last-minute rape of the slave who was charged with strapping my spiked caesti fighting gloves onto my hands. After I fucked him, he wrapped my loins in the simple cloth that hangs over my cock and balls and muscled ass, barely concealing them. I am oiled, tanned, and my still half-hard cock tentpoles my scant attire as I stride proudly into the sun and CRASH my caesti together so hard the metallic clang reverberates in the bleachers. The spikes lock with each other and make a scraping sound as I disengage them, then I slam them together again so hard that sparks may be seen flying from my wrapped hands. I grind the spikes against each other to create a chilling sound and grin with malicious cockiness at my opponent as I stride to the center of the Arena. With my fist work I am signaling him “These are the spikes that will tear the flesh from your handsome face, Romulus! These are the spikes that will rip muscle from your athletic body, tear out your throat, break your jaw, skull, ribs and collar bones. I have killed men your equal and intend to kill you. My chest, belly, arms, and thighs bear the scars of previous caesti, sword, and trident combat. I am no stranger to struggle and pain, and I am no stranger to the kill. Prepare to die!”
 
I take my position beside Romulus on the flat white stone that marks the site of gladiatorial salute. We stand together side by side in the sun, our muscled chests heaving, two prime specimens of the finest manhood brought to Rome for spectacle. We know exactly what to do, and we are determined to follow through. In perfect unison we hoist our right fists, the spikes of our gloves cutting the air, as we intone with deep-chested sincerity:  “WE WHO ARE ABOUT TO DIE SALUTE YOU!” The Emperor acknowledges our tribute and signals us to begin the deathfight. I turn to my muscled foe, crouch slightly, my eyes fixed on his deadly gloves, as I move mine up to cover my face, bringing my elbows together in front of my belly so that my forearms shield my chest.

Romulus: 
 
I watch intently as my opponent enters the Arena. I have seen him in action several times and I know he is a tough competitor. The scars on that tanned muscular body is testimony to that. I have less experience than he, yet I have impressed many in my last few contests.  The taste of victory has whetted my appetite for more, and I and long for it to continue.
 
We stand side by side, knowing this will be a brutal fight to the death. My 8.5 inch cock is barely contained in the tight white jockpouch I have chosen to wear under my even more flimsy loin cloth. I am UP for this contest in every sense of the word.
 
After saluting the Emperor and seeing Davos grind his spiked gloves a couple of times, I crouch in the starting position. Davos protects his face with the gloves. I see his elbows drawn in, protecting his now heaving gut.
 
I am quietly confident I can take down this more experienced gladiator. I circle and crouch, then I feign a gloved fist to my opponent’s midriff and as he lowers his gloves for protection...WHAMMM....I am lightning quick, throwing  a BIG blow to his rugged face.  My spiked glove digs deep into his right cheekbone.
 
I draw back quickly seeing blood running from the wound I have opened up. First blow to Romulus! My engorged cock leaks some precum.

Davos:
 
I reel backwards from the brutal impact of metal spikes pummeling into my cheekbone. Even so, my opponent sees me grin as the flesh is mangled on the side of my ruggedly handsome face, and he understands from the angry grunt his blow elicits from deep down in my gut, that I am more angered than intimidated by his good fortune in drawing first blood. The spectators cheer my wound, encouraging Romulus to see the fight through to the finish. I feign right and then execute a superb upper cut with my left caestus, exposing my gut only for a second as my left arm swoops swiftly upward. My spiked glove scrapes the flesh and muscle off the underside of the stud’s right forearm, rendering it into a raw and bloody mess with exposed muscles and tendons. My caestus is clotted with his mangled skin and tissue. My left fist continues upward, connecting with his jaw. The crack of metal spikes against hard bone is audible even in the spectators' bleachers. The connection between my lethal fist and his vulnerable jaw makes my cock lurch to more intense hardness. I feel precum oozing from my slit under my loin cloth. We have now both drawn blood. There is no turning back.

Romulus:
 
I am encouraged by drawing the first blood in what promises to be a very brutal gladiator battle, but my smile is short-lived as I see the damage I have inflicted. Before I know it I feel my elbow and arm attacked by Davos’
spiked caestus. It sinks in deep, exposing the muscled sinews and tendons. I let out a loud scream as I try to fend the fucker off.
 
I feel the pain and see the blood leaking from the large wound.  The crowd, eager to see this fierce battle, roar their approval. My hard cock leaks some precum and strains my jockstrap. I now move back, knowing I am mutilated.
 
I can’t help but notice that Davos’ skimpy loin cloth is bulging, and a damp spot has appeared.
 
Now it’s my turn to strike back, and I try to defend myself by lashing out my right caestus, aiming it at my opponent’s midsection just above the loin cloth. I want badly to see his guts spilled. I feel my fist sink in, despite the fighter’s efforts to fend it off. I force it in, feel it pushing deeper and deeper, and see Davos stagger back in surprise! 

Davos: 
 
UUNNGGGHHH!  It was a foolish mistake to leave my belly exposed. Romulus’ lightning-fast blow with the right caestus punctures my hard gut wall. The spikes penetrate my tough muscle, allowing the fighter’s wicked glove to fist my guts. Before he extracts the infernal glove from my body, the bastard twists it slightly, tearing an even larger hole in my gut, ripping away flesh, tearing out part of my insides, and sending shock waves of pain through my entire frame. I scream from deep down inside me, the manly howl of a wounded animal. The pain is like none I have experienced in any arena fight. Clearly I am facing a well-trained opponent. I curse my mistake and quickly draw my elbows back together, shielding my badly wounded belly with my folded and well-muscled arms, protecting my chest with my forearms, using my huge, hard, spiked fists as cover for my face. Despite my wound (or because of it?) my cock reaches new stiffness under my loin cloth and oozes pre-cum. It is said that a man's cock shoots desperate wads of semen at the moment of execution or death in combat, an involuntary biological impulse to make a final attempt at procreation before the inevitable end. But I refuse to believe I am defeated by the likes of a barbarian musclebrute like this Lombard bastard.

I tighten my steely midriff, drawing the abs taut in a desperate effort to prevent guts from spilling out of the bloody tear he left in me. I regain composure with a sidestep and quick feints to his left and right. Our eyes never stray from each other's fists as we warily circle one another, sweating, heaving, bleeding, hurting, and oozing our cum. I can tell that the wound to Romulus’ right forearm causes him as much pain as my belly gash is causing me. With flesh and muscle torn on his main fighting limb, the arm will soon become a liability for him.

I narrow my eyes and grin with an evil intent that my opponent understands and shares. I pivot suddenly on my right heel, swiftly spinning and lowering myself with bent knees. When I return to a frontal position I have dropped below my opponent’s line of sight and use the momentary distraction to launch a vicious uppercut directly to his right elbow. CRACK!  My metal spikes slam hard into the pointy bones of his bent elbow, crushing the joint and fracturing his arm with multiple breaks. It is a beautiful strike, for not only have I crushed the elbow on his already wounded arm, the force of my blow also propels his caestus toward his own face. Romulus’ own deadly fist scrapes his right cheekbone, tearing part of his face off and only narrowly missing his right eye.

I bounce back to fighting stance, alternately hopping and crouching before my opponent, laughing heartily at his mutilated face. My caesti drip with his manblood, and the spikes of my right glove are now clotted with his flesh and muscle. The pain in my gut quickly reins in my enthusiasm, however, and I double over enough to crease my abs together in an effort to staunch the flow of blood and whatever else is running from the tear in my belly. I wince and press the side of my left elbow in against the gut wound, never taking my eyes off my competent foe. Clearly I will need to kill him quickly in order to survive this ordeal.

Romulus:
 
I sense my spiked glove to Davos’ belly has done lots of damage, first by sinking it in deep, then by twisting it. I hear his initial gasp and then the howl of absolute pain the stud feels as his gut opens up. I lick my lips and grin as the blood spurts and his innards are exposed.
 
I don’t actually see his cock totally hard and spurting precum under his meager loincloth, but I realise if it’s anything like mine, it must be.  My 8.5 inch piece of manmeat is now rigid and straining in my jock. The outline of the sizeable bulge in my jockstrap is still hidden by my loin cloth.
 
Davos defend himself very cleverly to prevent me from launching another attack. If I had the chance, it would more than likely prove fatal.  The crowd are going wild. I am experienced but certainly not as experienced as this mighty warrior, and the cheers of the crowd make clear that I am not their favourite. We are both sweating, our muscled bodies glistening with our manly endeavours. Both of us are now wounded. I watch intently and circle, desperate to get in a deadly blow.
 
But Davos shows his superior guile by feigning and ducking and weaving, and then he moves lightning quick and lands a well-aimed blow to my already injured right arm......AAARRRGHHHHH!! I feel intense pain around my elbow. His caestus tears into it and splinters my bone. I yell out knowing I am in trouble, my bone shattered in several places. With my forearm gouged as well, it is rendered almost useless against such an experienced gladiator.
 
Instinctively I try to cover up, but my glove catches my cheekbone.....UGGHHHH   FUUCKKK!!   I feel it sink into my cheekbone, again drawing yet more blood, and at the same time my cock throbs and jerks. It spurts out another wad of precum almost in protest. My jock is now precum-soaked. I move back, knowing I have to keep my right arm away from further damage.
 
I twist and turn, knowing Davos is still hurting. I launch out my glove wildly and aim at his gut. As he lowers his caesti to defend his heaving gut, I suddenly swing my left glove HARD, aiming it at Davos’ left cheekbone. I know it has to meet its target if it is to stop him from applying the killer move.
 
If my glove hits the target, it is going to spell BIG trouble for Davos. If not. then he will be the favourite to take this one.

Davos:
 
I am prepared for my opponent’s desperate lunge toward my face. His left caestus hurtles toward me, though with less confidence and power than his previous strikes. The shattered right arm has reduced his fighting prowess. It was a good strategy to target his limbs first rather than his chest or gut. I bend my right leg and tilt my head to the right, allowing the thrust of Romulus’ caestus to pass harmlessly by my face, though I can feel the brush of air on my flesh as the deadly bloodied spikes rush past. His left arm extends to full length, but the fist reaches only thin air over my shoulder.

His right arm mangled, broken, and now hanging useless at his side, I exploit the opening Romulus offers with his extended left and the close proximity of his mostly naked body. I use both caesti on him in a powerful double smash to his throat, grinding my fists toward each other as they connect with the flesh on either side of the stud’s adam's apple. I see his eyes bug out wide and his tongue protrude from his mouth as my powerful fists drive into the fighter’s neck. I twist the ceasti to ensure maximum damage and rip open blood vessels on the side of his neck. As he instinctively moves his still usable left arm to defend his neck, I wince in pain from his glove spikes as they gouge into my right forearm, lacerating it a second time, now from hand to elbow. AARRGH!!

Romulus’ defense is short-lived, however. I quickly remove my right caestus from his pummeled throat and WHAM it with all my power into his belly, twisting it as he twisted his in my gut, penetrating deep into his innards. My cock lurches to full erection under my meager loin cloth, precum now running down the sides of my shaft. I follow up with another brutal blow, this one with my left glove to the right side of my opponent’s face. His head snaps violently to the side, blood flying from the gouge his own caestus left in his cheek, bloody spit spraying from his gaping, surprised mouth.

I extract my fist from his fucked gut and step back as Romulus tries to flail at me again with his left arm, his defenses now useless as his knees begin to buckle and he clutches his gaping gut wound with his left hand, even as I still press my own elbow into mine to contain my ruptured guts. The blood from his neck wounds courses down his mighty bare chest as Romulus sinks to his knees before me. I notice his cock throbbing inside the jock pouch he wears, its fabric moist not just with sweat but with semen as well. The crowd cheers me, many of the spectators themselves enjoying rock hard erections at the sight of two beautifully muscled studs fighting to the death. As my opponent goes to his knees before me, I wince from pain, my right arm now beginning to go numb and useless from the severe lacerations he inflicted on it, my gut wound bleeding profusely as pink innards try to spill from the hole in my midriff. Yet I relish my latest hits, which have done even greater damage to my foe. I consider my next move and have the taste of victory in my mouth . . .
 
Romulus:

My attempted blow to Davos’ face with my one usable caestus doesn’t connect as I had hoped. He moves to the right and bends his glistening, muscled torso slightly. My still effective left arm shoots high over Davos’ shoulder, my spiked glove hitting air instead of the intended target--his rugged, handsome, battle worn face.
 
My right arm has a gaping wound with blood flowing down it, and with my attack using my left arm I leave myself open to my opponent.  Davos uses all his experience and takes full advantage.  Within a few seconds I am mutilated not by one, not by two, but THREE blows, all of which hit their intended target. The spiked gloves of my nemesis first sink into my throat. This is a deadly blow that causes blood to spurt from it like a fountain even as I try to defend myself and attempt to pry the spiked gloves from it. I keep fighting, as a true gladiator must. I try to counter and manage to gouge Davos’ right forearm.  The wound is superficial, though, and my strength begins to fade. My opponent quickly exploits the situation. FUCK - my belly is again open to attack.
 
 ARRRGHHHHH   NNNGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHH....his right caestus sinks deep into my gut, just above the top of the scant loin cloth that barely contains my jockstrapped hard-on. My cock is spurting huge amounts of precum at this point, filling my jock and soaking it. My gut is opened up.
 
The third blow to my face also hits the target, and I buckle finally. I drop to my knees a mangled bloody mess. My face arm gut and throat all have deep wounds. Blood spurts, and I moan. Only my opponent’s right arm and gut are seriously wounded so far. I start to flail, moaning loudly. The spectators are now all rock hard as they see the final desperate efforts of a naked and almost beaten gladiator.  Fighting for my life, I lunge my left spiked gut up into the open wound in Davos’ gut, hoping this last ditch blow will prove just as deadly as his have been so far. My glove again sinks deep into his already opened guts, and I twist it deep into his belly.
 
Will it be enough to stop him from inflicting any more damage to me?

Davos:
 
I curse my poor judgment, leaving myself within striking range of my opponent’s left caestus when he is down and virtually powerless. AAAAUUUUGGGHHHH !  He fires a quick left directly into my already painful, deep belly wound, sending shock waves of severe pain through my entire frame. The sensitive guts burn from the merciless metal spikes that rip into them as his fist once again enters my wounded belly. I jerk myself backward, extracting his fist from me by pulling away from him. I clutch the gaping, oozing gut wound with my left fist while moving furiously around behind him, no longer lacking any decisiveness about what I must do to the fucker. This piece of musclemeat must die. Now! He has torn my magnificent body and mangled my good arm. I look forward to spewing my victory cum in him or on him as he writhes in agony from my swift and lethal spikes.

Romulus twists in his kneeling position in an attempt to keep me in his sight. I move quickly forward, thrust my left outward directly into his face as he turns it toward me, smashing his nose and breaking some upper teeth. Just as swiftly I move around to face him, thrusting my foot outward with a brutal and expert kickbox to his naked chest, toppling him backward. The fightstud sprawls his legs out in front of him as he unbends his knees, then digs his heels into the sand. No mercy! I drop full body weight onto the bastard’s sternum with my left knee CRACK! and see blood burble between his lips as he begins to bleed internally. Romulus tries to cough the liquid obstruction from his  windpipe as his broken ribs, ripped lungs, and punctured heart collapse inside his studly chest. I move quickly to remove the last of the man’s killing capability by targeting his left elbow. I pin his arm out from his massive body with one foot against his wrist, then bring my caestus down hard again and again against his elbow, smashing it until it is inoperable. He howls from the pain and I shut him up by slamming my right caestus into his mouth, mangling the lips, breaking the jaw, forcing teeth in his jaw to shift out of alignment.

I straddle the defeated warrior, sinking down onto his torn belly, my knees sliding forward into his underarms. My cock rubs against the hairs in his pec cleavage as I lean forward to finish him off with head blows. I brutally, swiftly fire off alternate close-range powerpunches to the head of the doomed gladiator, left-right-left-right-left-right-left-right. After the fourth pair of slugs I notice his neck no longer musters any muscular resistance to my fists. Instead, his head slams helplessly back and forth, batted between my deadly fists like a punching bag. I squeeze my knees in against the sides of the stud’s big chest, forcing air out of his lungs with a sickening wheezing sound. I feel no heart beat in his chest. I slam his head back and forth twice more with a strong left-right, but it is clear I am batting a piece of dead meat.

His eyes are beaten so badly they have swollen shut, his lips parted with a stupid expression, his face mauled beyond recognition, the skull cracked and oozing brains. I rise to my feet, placing my bare foot on his sweaty dead chest. The blood and gore have stopped oozing from his deep gut wound. I lean down and tear the jock from his loins, holding it aloft for the crowd to acknowledge. I render my foe naked, helpless, defeated, and dead. With my bare foot on his now quiet chest, I flex my arms and pecs for the crowd and savor my victory.

I loosen my own loincloth as my hard dick demands new space. My cock blows cum without even being touched, plopping out 4 or 5 loads onto the dead fightstud as soon as it is freed from under my loincloth. His dead dick is still hard, defiant to the end. He shot a huge wad of cum when he died, and it lies drying on his cockshaft, belly, and thighs. A fly is already attracted to his remains, crawling across his bloodied face while another lands in the rough wound that I cut deep into his hard belly.

Suddenly I am made vividly aware of my own belly wound as a wave of knee-swaying agony crashes over me. I double over and suck in air as I press the hole tightly with my fist. The charons come onto the arena floor to verify the kill and remove the dead stud. They do not bother with the hot iron applied to the bare chest of the supposedly dead man. His mutilated head is so obviously mangled, there is no question about whether he perished in the fight. As I strut in my victory lap around the Arena, a bit unsteady as I press against my belly wound, the charons unfurl their coiled ropes on which meat hooks are tied. I sway on my feet, standing in a pool of blood that has oozed from my wound. I struggle to remain conscious while they hook my opponent’s body and drag it out. His career has ended, his name already forgotten. I have delivered him into the oblivion that is the ultimate fate of all gladiators.
 
I make it back to the dungeon beneath the Arena. The slave I fucked prior to entering my contest cowers as he seems me return and tear the loincloth from my waist, revealing a still hungry, cum-oozing cock. But the slave need not fear, because right now I am more interested in tending to my wounds than fucking his ass. I extend my arms so that he can remove my spiked gloves and free my hands. A brazier of hot coals and red hot irons is ready for purposes of stanching the bleeding from gladiators' wounds. I lie back naked on a pallet, my broad wounded chest spread for healing torture as the slave approaches with a hot iron. I stuff my loin cloth into my mouth and bite into the sweaty cum-soaked fabric, then tense my pecs and gut as the iron is laid upon my bare bleeding flesh. The cloth in my mouth barely stifles my animal howls as the slave presses the red hot metal to my flesh, cauterizing my gut wound and giving me a hideous scar that will decorate my bare torso for the rest of my fighting career. The same is done to the wound that my opponent’s caestus raked in my forearm. I lie moaning, sweating, and writhing in pain. The slave applies oil to the burns and cuts.

Word is sent from the Emperor's loge that my superior bravery and skill are being rewarded with special sex privileges in the spoliarium at the expense of the loser. I stride boldly to the subterranean room of morgue slabs where the dead fighters are washed, butchered, and processed. Unsteady on my feet from the wounds and searing burns, I try desperately to hide my infirmity, keep my footing, and not pass out. It is rare for a man to survive a caestus fight, and I am determined to qualify for that distinction. I have no problem remaining conscious, however, when I enter the spoliarium and see my recent opponent’s magnificent body stretched naked on a slab. My cock lurches to full attention, and my heart races at the sight of his muscular corpse stretched before me for the taking.

The slaves have just finished stripping him of his loin cloth and the jock pouch he always wore, and they have thrown buckets of water over his dead body to wash away some of the grime, gore, blood, and sweat. His caesti have already been removed by the time I enter the spoliarium. There is no subtlety to the process--blocks of wood are positioned beneath the forearms, and an axe is swung into the arms to sever the hands. The valuable fighting gloves are taken from the partially severed limbs, leaving stumps hanging from the sides of the man’s corpse. Other parts are to be removed as well. The nips will be cut from the fighter’s slab pecs, a common prize harvested from fallen gladiators. These circles of stud flesh will be tanned and sold as amulets. I am told a Senator's wife has already bid on them. His big cock and balls will be cut from his body, the testicles crushed and dried, then sold as aphrodisiac. The cock will be preserved and used as a totem by some young centurion who hopes it will give him strength and prowess in battle. Before my opponent’s body is butchered I am given the privilege of relieving my horny cock in his hot dead ass. "To the victor goes the spoils," a guard murmurs, motioning me to position myself at the end of his morgue slab, between my opponent’s legs as they hang over the end of the long stone. I hoist his mighty legs and let the calves drape over my shoulders, then I press my cock against his fuckhole and force it into him. The ass is still warm and tight, the warrior’s life having drained from him only moments earlier, and my cock penetrates deep, growing harder and eventually shooting numerous ropes of stud seed.

My victory fuck at the expense of an opponent who tried so ardently to kill me adds carnal pleasure to the glory of my victory. I have shot deep and hard into his corpse so that my thick cock cream will remain lodged in his body when the mutilated remains are thrown into the lime pit. The pleasure is intense and brief, and soon I am remanded to quarters, my indomitable cock still hard with manly excitement, helping me to take my mind off the pain from my burned wounds.

I await my next battle. My opponent, whoever he is, will likely cheer the sight of a wounded warrior. The thrill of my recent kill and the ecstasy of a victory fuck sustain me, compensating for the inescapable awareness that next time my own ass could be laid out dead on the slab for my killer to rape.

Such is the lot of the gladiator.
 
end

hey all, this story has never failed to get me off....  see what it does for you.

The Swingers Club Massacre

Swingers Club.txt

SaraJane and her husband of 3 years, Jon, pulled up to the large house on the East Side of Ann Arbor in a light drizzle. SaraJane wore a tight black silk dress, very low cut in front, and open down to her butt in the back. Jon wore golfing shorts and a golf shirt that showed off his athletic physique. Sarajane's long chestnut hair was pulled back in a pony tail braid that hung down her back.
They had never been to a swinger's club before, but had seen this one advertised in one of the "underground" newspapers that circulated around campus. Since they already did a bit of swinging with close friends, and SaraJane was decidedly bi, they had talked about coming to this party and trying it out. Now, getting ready to jump out into the drizzle, SaraJane was having a little more than cold feet.
"Jon, what if we don't like it... or more to the point, what if I don't like it?" "Hon, just say so, and we'll back out immediately. Remember what they said in the brochure they mailed us? No pressure to do anything you don't want to.. that's the rule!" "Yeah, I recall that, but suppose you're having a ball plowing some cute chick and I'm stuck with some 300-pound dork? Are you sure you'll walk out with me?" "OK, we're in this together, right. I promise. I don't lie. Is that enough?"
They jumped out of the car and ran up the sidewalk and then to the front door of the
large, well-lit house.  As Jon rang
good feeling about this, Jon."  Jon
from the exertion of running up the
any problems attracting attention."

the bell, Sarajane shivered. "I don't have a smiled, watching her breasts heaving into view sidewalk. "Don't worry, hon. You won't have
The door opened, and a middle-aged woman in a cutoff T-shirt and thong bottoms and NOTHING else invited them in, with a slight German accent. "You're new tonight, I think," she said, smiling at them. "Yes." Jon and Sarajane both answered together.
The woman laughed. "I'm Luisa. Come on into the den, we're already somewhat underway, and the rest of the group will be SO pleased to meet you."
SaraJane and Jon followed her down a hall to some large oak sliding doors, and got their first look over Luisa's shoulders as she slid one of the doors aside and stepped inside. There were about 20 people in various states of undress standing and sitting around the room with drinks. The focus of attention was a silver-haired man in a lounge chair, stark naked, with a young blonde, also naked, straddling him.
She rocked slowly back and forth, dragging her large dangling breasts over his face, then sitting back and allowing his very stiff cock to impale her.
Luisa turned to them and said conspiratorially, "That's my husband, Hans, with one of our guests. He makes it a point to pick someone's young wife to get things started. Isn't he a devil?" SaraJane looked around the room, observing the men, many of whom were sporting obvious erections while watching Hans and his playmate performing. Jon stared at the couple in the lounge chair, continuing their slow ballet. Luisa spoke softly to SaraJane, "There are 2 other rooms on this floor for those who would like a little more privacy, and 3 rooms upstairs. But we always enjoy it when 2 or 3 decide to perform for us as a group. I think it's more fun that way, don't you?" she said with a wink. "Oh, and through the door on the other side of the hall, there is a swimming pool and outdoor patio, although I don't think it will be too popular tonight, with the rain and all. Feel free to use it if you want."
SaraJane smiled at Luisa and thanked her. Just then Jon grabbed her hand and pulled her around, "Look!" Hans was leaning back, stiff as a board, with both of his hands on her breasts, while the blonde bounced up and down on his cock, and suddenly an explosive grunt emanated from him and his belly shuddered. She continued her rhythmic rocking up and down on his throbbing pole as he obviously blasted his seed up into her pussy. After a minute, he groaned again and slumped down in the lounge chair, exhausted. Luisa tok SaraJane's hand and led her over to a bar in the corner of the room. Jon tagged along, sporting a nice bulge in his shorts.
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                                  Swingers Club.txt

"Jon and SaraJane, I'd like you to meet Mark and Alyssa." Luisa presented another couple in their 20's. Mark was tall and athletic with tousled sandy hair, and Alyssa was petite, with dark complection, mysterious dark brown eyes, and long, flowing black hair. Mark was dressed only in a Speedo that showed the clear outline of his cock, and Alyssa wore a loose-fitting shift with a scoop neck. Her erect nipples were clearly outlined thru the thin fabric. Jon and SaraJane got something to drink and chatted with Mark and Alyssa. As it turned out, this was only their second time here. SaraJane asked, a little sheepishly, "Did you um, you know, participate, last time?" Mark smiled and Alyssa nodded enthusiastically, offering an evaluation: "It was the most erotic thing we've ever done! We just had to come back!"
Luisa interrupted them with an announcement to everyone: "OK everybody, Jon and SaraJane here are new tonight, so let's get ready to welcome them properly with our traditional welcome chain." The guests turned their attention away from Hans and the young blonde, as Luisa led Jon and SaraJane to a couch. She told them, "Take off all your clothes and sit down. We're going to introduce ourselves properly.
SaraJane self-consciously slipped the straps over her shoulders and let her dress fall around her ankles, leaving her in nothing but bikini panties, while Jon stripped off his shirt and shorts. When Jon pulled down his jockeys, his cock sprang up, twitching in anticipation. All around them, everyone else was quickly stripping, and lining up in front of the couch. SaraJane slid down her panties revealing her trimmed patch of thick auburn pussy fur, then she and Jon sat down side by side.
The first couple stepped up and knelt in front of them, the husband in front of SaraJane, and the wife in front of Jon. Luisa took up a position next to the couch and said, "Each person will get one minute for introductions. Go!" The middle-aged man in front of SaraJane smiled and said, "Hi, I'm Spencer." With that, he gently spread her legs, pulled her forward to the edge of the seat and plowed his cock right into her wet pussy. Spencer's wife, a short-haired blonde with small tits, looked up at Jon and said, "Marsha", and dropped her mouth around Jon's already stiff cock, bobbing up and down furiously while Spencer plunged his cock rhythmically deep into SaraJane's cunt.
Luisa rang a bell, and Spencer & Marsha got up and moved aside. Steve and Megan replaced them, and SaraJane's pussy was quickly filled with pistoning cock again, while Megan, a tall, long-haired blonde with huge breasts straddled Jon and sat down on his twitching pole. She rocked up and down a couple times before Jon reached up and cupped her huge jiggling tits. Ding! They were followed by Bruce and Sig, and this time Jon found his cock between Sig's huge tits. SaraJane began breathing faster, and her nipples stood erect as she became more and more excited. Bruce rammed his cock deep into her pussy, making her breasts bounce erotically.
Again the bell rang, and Jon & SaraJane found themselves face to face with Mark and Alyssa. Alyssa knelt, draped her long black hair over Jon's belly and proceeded to give him a combination hand-job and blow-job. Mark lifted Sarajane's legs and drilled his large cock all the way into her in one lunge. SaraJane gasped, as flutters of pleasure began to emanate from her well-fucked sex. Jon looked over when SaraJane moaned... And he almost groaned himself when the bell rang again.
Next came Luisa and Hans. Hans knelt and lowered his face into Sarajane's very wet pussy, lightly working her clit with his tongue. Luisa straddled Jon and impaled herself on him. Jon slid his hands up under her top and found her breasts to be quite firm and nipples erect and hard. Too quickly the bell rang again.
Jon and Sarajane were both so erotically charged that they didn't catch anyone's name after that. Just another couple, another cock driving deep into SaraJane's sloppy wet pussy, another pussy sliding down over Jon's throbbing cock... did she say her name was Sonya? Wait, the brunette in the tube top with the bouncing breasts...
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                                  Swingers Club.txt

Another pair of eyes watched the scene of wanton sex. One of the curtains over the large side window wasn't pulled quite all the way... Ron peeked in, feeling his cock stiffen in his shorts despite himself. He had been chosen by his master to put an end to this debauchery, yet watching this hateful, sinful behavior was quickly transforming him into one of these sinners as the desires of the flesh were heated to boiling by the devil himself. Ron took his eyes away from the grossly evil scene and busied himself checking his equipment, but never was he unaware of the aching he felt in his male flesh... a sure sign that he was about to do battle with evil forces. Automatic pistol with silencer... check... full clip in place... check... 20 more clips of 9mm ammo, 32 bullets to the clip... check. Time to move... Just one more look...
Luisa announced that everyone had properly welcomed Jon and SaraJane, but neither of them had 'come' yet. "Jon and SaraJane, decide together which couple you want to finish you off." Jon looked at his wife and laughed, "Who do you want, honey?" "Let's have Mark and Alyssa," SaraJane whispered back. Jon nodded in agreement. Mark led Alyssa over and helped her get positioned over Jon's stiff, throbbing erection. She lowered herself slowly, impaling herself on his huge pole.
Meanwhile, Mark pulled SaraJane up and turned her over the back of the sofa, quickly driving his cock into her sloppy pussy and cupping her breast in one hand and her pussy in the other hand.
SaraJane gasped as the whole length of Mark's cock plunged into her, and the electric jolts of pleasure began instantly to radiate out from her filled-up belly. Alyssa sat all the way down on Jon's lap, taking his whole cock up her pussy, then she arched her back and accepted his hands on her full round breasts. She lifted herself up about half-way and let Jon start to fuck up into her, while fondling her firm and ripe breasts. SaraJane leaned to the side and kissed Jon while Mark's cock pistoned in and out... until she gasped and then screamed as all reality exploded in pleasure and nothing mattered but the huge cock plunging into her belly. Jon saw and heard his wife explode in a powerful orgasm, and with one last squeeze of Alyssa's beautiful breasts and one last lunge of his hips, he drove his cock deep into her and felt it explode, spewing his seed deep in another woman's belly... and he was aware of Mark's guttural groans that meant he was pumping his sperm into SaraJane's belly, too.
Ron fidgeted, trying not to feel the aching for pleasure that was so unmistakeable coming from his rigid male organ, then tore his eyes away from the window when he saw both men stiffen and release their seed... Now. It has to be stopped NOW! Ron straightened his backpack full of ammo clips and made his way through the bushes to the front door.
Jon realized that everyone was clapping, and Mark and Alyssa disengaged themselves and stood up. Jon took SaraJane's hand and also stood. Luisa invited people to mingle, make some friends and make use of the private rooms and the indoor swimming pool. Another couple whose names Jon did not remember came over and chatted a while, finally introducing themselves as Roger and Sonya. Jon thought, "Sonya... yeah, I remember her... I think..." Roger said to Jon, "My wife would like it very much if you would join us for a 3-some. Interested?" Jon looked at SaraJane. "Go for it baby," she said with a wink. I'm sure I will find some companionship here." Sonya took Jon's hand and led him away. A number of other couples left in small groups, and finally Mark and Alyssa asked SaraJane if she'd like to try a 3-some with them. SaraJane agreed, and they went off looking for an empty room.
Luisa, Hans, and the young couple Sig & Bruce were left in the main room. Hans beckoned Sigrid and Bruce over to him and began to caress Sigrid's large breasts. Luisa brought Bruce over and soon they were on the floor, Hans on his back and Sigrid mounting him, while Bruce stood next to them with Luisa and Sigrid taking turns sucking on his very stiff cock. Sigrid bounced up and down, making her huge breasts bounce very erotically, and Luisa told Bruce that he should shoot his cream all over his wife's tits when Hans filled her pussy with sperm.
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Luisa took turns sucking on Bruce's cock while Sigrid fingered Luisa's pussy. Luisa
felt unmistakeable twinges of pleasure starting to radiate from her belly and Bruce groaned that he was going to cum soon, when the doorbell rang. Luisa, flushed and close to orgasm, wanted to ignore the door, but her european hospitality was too strong. She disengaged herself and walked unsteadily to the door. Still flushed with sexual energy, she opened the door.
Thup-thup-thup-thup-thup! a series of 9mm bullets punched a line of holes starting low in her belly and up across her left breast. Luisa shuddered with the impacts, then fell backwards, slumping to the floor, her eyes wide in surprise. Ron stepped in and closed the door. Looking down at the nearly naked woman writhing at his feet, he coldly pulled the trigger again and put another 6 bullets into her breasts. Luisa's body bounced as the bullets tore through her soft breasts, then she slumped, lifeless.
Ron stepped around the corner into the main room. A tall man, completely naked, had his cock in the mouth of a blonde woman with huge breasts, and she was sitting on the cock of another man. Ron shuddered, thinking of the sin they were committing.
He raised the gun, pointing it at the standing man. Bruce groaned as Sigrid's sucking mouth did its magic, stiffening as the cum boiled up in his balls. Sigrid pulled back and aimed him at her breasts. His cock twitched and a huge spurt of cum jetted out across her bouncing breasts. She stroked his cock, coaxing more and more spurts of cream, and Bruce's overstimulated balls obliged with a huge load. Sigrid began to come, and her pussy clamped around Hans' cock.
Ron had seen enough. Thup-thup-thup-thup-thup! 5 holes appeared across Bruce's chest, tossing him backwards to sprawl across the couch. Sigrid did not understand what happened, because she was gasping and shuddering as her orgasm ripped up through her body, followed quickly by Hans' eruption of sperm. Ron aimed at the shuddering, naked woman, her blonde hair tossing erotically... Thup-thup-thup-thup-thup-thup! Sigrid's big breasts jumped and bounced as 6 9mm slugs slammed through them, tossing her backwards to sprawl on the floor, leaving Hans' cock jerking and spewing into the air. Ron walked over to the gasping man. Thup-thup-thup-thup-thup-thup! He fired 6 bullets into his still-twitching cock and churning balls. Hans grabbed for his destroyed manhood, and Ron emptied the clip into his chest. Hans collapsed onto his back, twitching.
Ron pulled out the empty clip and tossed it, replacing it with a full one. He gently kicked the body of the blonde woman. Her big breasts swayed back and forth, but there was no response. The bullet holes in her breasts were starting to bleed. Acting on an impulse, he placed the muzzle of the silencer over the nipple of her left breast and fired. Thup-thup-thup-thup-thup-thup! Her big breast bounced as the bullets punched through it and into her heart. Turning to the tall man, sprawled on the couch, Ron grabbed him by one arm and pulled him onto the floor, then he lifted the blonde's body and lay her on her back on top of him. Arranging their arms and legs in a spread-eagle pattern, one on top of the other, then stood between their splayed legs. Aiming at her soft lower belly, Ron drilled them both with another volley of bullets. Thup-thup-thup-thup-thup-thup! Their bodies bounced as the bullets tore through her pussy and on through his belly.
Satisfied, Ron walked to the door, and closed it behind him. Again he tried to ignore the insistent ache in his groin. The next door down the hall was partly ajar. Ron slipped inside into the semi-darkness. There were 2 nude women, face to face on the bed, one on top of the other, with a man at each end. The man who was between the legs of the 2 women was fucking the one on top, then he would pull out and slide his cock into the woman on the bottom. After fucking her for a few strokes, he would switch back. At their heads, the other man was taking turns pushing his cock into their mouths. The two women were grinding their pussies and their breasts together and were moaning and begging for more fucking.
The guy fucking the two women switched from the woman on the bottom to the woman on the top, drove his cock into her and stiffened, throwing his head back in a howl of sexual release, as his balls exploded up through his cock, shooting his sperm deep
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into her belly. "Oh God," he groaned, "I'm shooting off into your wife, Chuck!"
"Give Susie a nice bellyfull," the other guy responded, "she deserves it. Ha ha haaaaa... I'm going to shoot mine down YOUR wife's throat in a second, Jim! What a cock-sucking whore your Christine is! She's sucking the cum outta me!"
Ron decided to get rid of the two men before dealing with the lascivious women. Two quick but silent bursts from his machine pistol sent both of the men reeling onto their backs with a line of bullet holes up their bellies. The two women were far too involved in carnal pleasure to even notice what had happened. Ron walked over to the bed and looked at Susie's spread-open legs, and pussy dripping with fresh cum. The ache in his shorts became too much for him to endure, so he unzipped and let his rigid cock spring out of confinement. Kneeling where Jim had been a moment before, he rammed his cock into Susie's splayed open cunt. He fucked into her for about 10 seconds before he stiffened and sent his boiling sperm into her belly. Susie convulsed and started to moan, and in his sexual ecstasy, Ron squeezed the trigger of his pistol and emptied the clip into Susie's back. The 9mm bullets penetrated her body and punched into Christine's belly and breasts, killing both of them.
Ron realized what he had done when the gun stopped firing. He was now a sinner, too. Collecting himself, he vowed to finish his work here quickly and not be tempted by the devil again. Slamming a new clip into the gun, he checked his work in this room. He rolled Susie off of Christine's body so that they were lying side-by-side on their backs. Then he rolled and dragged the bodies of the two men and laid them on top of the girls in the traditional missionary position. He liked the way this little scene looked. Time to move on.
The next room held three people, two men and a girl. It was Roger, his wife Sonya, and Jon. Jon was on his back on the bed and Sonya was straddled over his hips, impaling herself on his pole, rocking up and down. Roger knelt at their side, watching Jon fucking his wife, while Jon stroked Roger's cock and Sonya played with his balls. Ron took in this scene for a minute, then decided to send these sinners straight to hell. Roger groaned as Jon's ministrations on his cock and Sonya's squeezing of his churning balls sent him over the edge. His cum spurted hotly across Sonya's breasts. Jon let go of Roger's twitching cock to pull Sonya's hips down against him, driving his cock deep into her belly, igniting his lust with a deep groan. Two cocks spewed rhythmically, one onto Sonya's breast and the other up her cunt. Ron added the rhythm of his automatic pistol to the orgasmic sounds already playing... Thup-thup-thup-thup-thup-thup! Across Sonya's cum-spattered breasts... Thup-thup-thup-thup-thup-thup! Down Roger's chest and belly... Thup-thup-thup-thup-thup-thup! Across Jon's chest... Sonya gasped and fell backwards, sprawling over the end of the bed and abandoning Jon's spurting cock. Roger doubled over and slumped in a heap across the top of the bed, and Jon's body just bounced as the bullets stitched across his chest.
Ron stepped in close, surprised to see both of the men's cocks still twitching. He pushed Roger with his foot, rolling him onto his back with his legs bent at the knees down over the side of the bed. He appeared to be dead, except for his twitching cock. Ron panicked, and started shooting into Roger's cock and balls, then Jon's... Thup-thup-thup-thup-thup-thup! Finally he turned to Sonya's body, sprawled with her head and arms hanging over the end of the bed, 6 bullet holes across her breasts. He emptied the clip into her pussy and belly. Thup-thup-thup-thup-thup-thup! Sonya's body jerked at the impacts and her riddled breasts bounced. Her body slowly slumped off the end of the bed onto the floor.
Ron ran from the room and sprinted up the stairs, tossing the empty clip and shoving a new one into the gun. He burst into a bedroom to find a hairy, muscular man lying on his back on the bed, completely naked and alone. Ron simply riddled him with bullets, watching him jerk and bounce and finally fall still under the barrage of 9mm slugs. In an adjoining bathroom he could hear water running and two female voices. Opening the door, he found Alyssa and SaraJane in the shower together, soapy and wet and laughing. Sarajane was standing behind Alyssa, running her hands up and down over Alyssa's large breasts. Alyssa was saying, "I can't believe that
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he fucked us both and came twice in 20 minutes!" Alyssa's long black hair was
pulled to one side, down over her shoulder, and she snuggled back into SaraJane's softness and enjoyed the stimulation of the water on her belly and SaraJane's hands on her breasts.
Ron brought up the pistol to shoot them, strangely feeling the ache in his groin again... but no, he would not sin again. Thup-thup-thup-thup-thup-thup! Thup-thup-thup-thup-thup-thup! 9mm slugs tore through Alyssa's belly and slammed into SaraJane's belly. Alyssa jerked forward and took the second volley directly in her breasts, then slumped to the floor. SaraJane was plastered against the back wall of the shower, her belly bleeding. Thup-thup-thup-thup-thup-thup! Ron riddled one of her breasts. SaraJane fell forward and caught herself, sliding down into a semi-seated position. Thup-thup-thup-thup-thup-thup! Ron put 6 more slugs in the other breast. SaraJane shuddered and slumped over Alyssa, lying still.
Ron went to the shower and turned off the water. He pulled Alyssa's body out onto the bathroom floor and lifted her onto a wood bench in a seated position. Then he pulled SaraJane's body out of the shower and sat her next to Alyssa, leaning against her with her legs apart. Sarajane's curly chestnut hair fell in ringlets over her shoulder and down over Sonya's breasts. Ron put a new clip in the gun and holding his again-stiff cock in one hand, he fired into their bodies, short 3-bullet bursts, watching their bullet-riddled breasts bounce as the bullets hit them, watching their bellies jerk when the bullets slammed into their guts. Ron's cock spurted onto the floor when he pumped 3 bullets into Alyssa's dark pussy, and when it stopped throbbing, he put the last few bullets into Sarajane's chestnut-fringed pussy. Her body jerked, fell across Alyssa's lap, then rolled slowly onto the floor at Ron's feet.
Ron suddenly panicked, realizing that there were still more people in the house, and that his sadistic indulgence in overkill may have alerted someone. He threw the empty clip out of the pistol and slammed in a new one. At the end of the hall, he pushed open the door to find himself looking at the back of a naked man standing in the middle of the dimly lit room. The legs and arms of a short-haired brunette were wrapped around his body as the rocked rythmically. Ron then saw that a second guy was plastered up against the girl from behind, his hands clutching her tits and his cock in her butt. Ron didn't have time to think about the evil being perpetrated here, he just fired into the back of the first guy. He sprayed a zig-zag pattern up and down his back and the bullets ripped through all 3 of them. They all jerked and grunted as they were riddled, and they slumped in a tangled pile to the floor. The girl's upper body slid out from between the two men, and Ron admired the pattern of bullet holes across her tits. But enough! There was more to do!
Charging out the door he ran down the steps and went to the door at the end of the hall. Pushing it open, he peered into a large room, dimly lit, in which there was a swimming pool. There were several couples in the pool area, two in the water and one couple in a deck chair, but they were not making a lot of playful noise. Slowly rocking along the side of the pool was a man standing in waist-deep water with a nude girl wrapped around him. Her breasts were in his face and he lifted her slowly up and down in the water, fucking his cock up into her lovely body, while her breasts slid up and down over his face. Her dark hair was wet and matted against her back, and her face glowed with sexual excitement. Ron watched the guy throw back his head and groan when his cock started to spurt deep into the dark-haired beauty's belly. Ron fired into his tense-muscled back... Thup-thup-thup-thup-thup-thup! The bullets ripped through his back, exiting his chest and continuing into the girl's belly. The couple shuddered under the multiple impacts, and sank into the water. The girl popped back up, floating on her back, and Ron finished her off with a triple-bullet burst to each of her sexy, bouncing breasts. Thup-thup-thup! Thup-thup-thup!
A naked, long-haired blonde with small but firm breasts sat on the edge of the pool on the opposite side from Ron, her legs spread lewdly apart. Ron could see a man in the water, with only head and shoulders exposed, his face buried in her pussy. Her head tossed from side to side as he drove her further and further into orgasmic
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pleasure with his mouth and tongue. Ron flipped the gun to full automatic and sent a
stream of bullets into the convulsing girl's naked body, riddling her tits and belly, and throwing her onto her back. Ripping out the empty clip, Ron shoved in a new one as the guy realized something was wrong and stood up looking at the bullet-riddled body of the girl. He turned toward Ron, a look of horror on his face, and Ron riddled his chest with a dozen bullets, tossing him backwards onto the dead blonde's body.
Ron turned his attention to the last couple in the pool area. A man lay back in a deck chair while a short-haired brunette with large dangling breasts knelt on the floor between his legs, sucking his cock. Her head bobbed rhymically up and down, taking his large cock deep into her throat. One of her hands worked his balls, massaging and squeezing them while her other hand was buried in her own pussy.
Ron's view of this couple was from the side, and he watched the guy's body stiffen and arch while she took his erupting cock deep into her throat, her breasts bouncing with the smooth rhythm of her bobbing head. Ron raked them with bullets, spraying them both, back and forth, running the stream of bullets down his chest and belly, then down hers, back up, pumping several through her large dangling breasts, then several into his cock and balls, until they both stopped their jerking and slumped lifelessly into the deck chair. Her head lay slumped into his lap, and his cock was still in her mouth.
Ron believed that he had killed everyone in the house, but he pulled out the spent clip and put in a new one just in case. Intrigued by the mayhem he had wrought, he walked around the pool, observing the riddled body of the brunette, still floating on her back in the water. He thought he might like to do a little target practice on her. Thup-thup-thup! Her body bounced in the water and floated away from him. He passed the long-haired blonde lying on her back with her spread legs in the water, her older male lover sprawled on his back over her. These two could use a few more bullets, he mused. Thup-thup-thup! Thup-thup-thup! 3 in her breasts and 3 in his belly for good measure. And around to the deck chair where the short-haired blonde laid slumped in her partner's lap, cock still in her mouth. I wish I had a camera, he thought...
Spencer, Marsha and Steve had finished their playing in the other upstairs bedroom and had come down to take a dip and cool off. Marsha's naked breasts still carried the spatters of cum that her husband, Spencer, had shot there while Steve was unloading his huge balls full of sperm into her belly. They came thru the door and saw the bullet-riddled bodies lying around and in the pool. They saw a strange man standing over the dead couple in the deck chair with an ugly-looking gun. He was unaware of their entrance, staring at the lewd and gruesome scene, preparing to put a few more bullets into their already-riddled bodies.
At this moment Marsha screamed, and Ron spun toward them, pulling the trigger of his automatic. The bullets sprayed across the trio, catching Steve in the belly, then Marsha across the pussy, then Spencer took 4 or 5 in the belly. All three of them jerked back in shock, unable to move as Ron played the stream of bullets back across their chests. Marsha's cum-spattered tits took 4 bullets as she slumped to the floor, followed by both of the men, until they lay in a pile of grotesquely entwined arms and legs. Ron's clip was empty. He tossed it and slammed in his last one.
He approached the tangled bodies of the lovers and poked them with his foot, then backed away and fired one more burst into them, watching their bodies jerk and bounce.
A loud voice called, "Ron! Stop!" Ron looked up in surprise as a dark figure clad in a robe and cowl swept into the swimming pool area. He dropped his gun with a clatter and stammered, "Master! What... what are you doing here?" The dark figure stopped about 10 feet from Ron. "I have been observing you, Ron. You have done a great deed here tonight, putting an end to these depraved sinners." Ron smiled, "Thank you, master." "But," the Master went on, "I observed you taking pleasure in the bodies of these sinners. You are one of them, now."
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Ron's face dropped, as he realized what the Master was saying. In a split second he realized that the Master had a gun in the voluminous sleeve of his robe. Before Ron
could move, the gun started to fire...

Imagine Ron's surprise when the bullets started punching into his cock and balls, then his taut belly. Thup-thup-thup-thup-thup-thup! His eyes flew open and the gun fired again, sending a stream of bullets up his belly, and across his chest. Ron felt the bullets penetrate him, ripping him apart inside, felt himself falling back... heard his body hit the water... felt the cold...
The Master waited for his body to float to the surface, face up, before he emptied the clip into him, propelling his corpse out into the pool.

Various Pics

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The rebel gladiators tried to invade the town from the sea. Few made it past the beach.

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Damn, There goes my favorite sword.

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