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+---- Thread: Davos vs. Romulus (/showthread.php?tid=13)
Davos vs. Romulus - traxxgalaxy - 07-15-2019
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