Coliseum I

by Tacitus

As the huge crowd seethed with pent-up excitement, the two enemies studied each other intently, breath blowing hot on heaving, sweat sheathed chests. Each had sought the other's defeat and destruction for more than an hour. Initial armor, leathers, and sheer undergarments had long been torn off. Athletic tests of strength with arms upraised, full breasts and muscular chests pressed hard, one-to-the other, trembling with exertion…acrobatic jumps, high kicks and spinning leaps…impressive displays of dead lifts above heads and driving of nimble, muscular bodies hard into the arena dirt…all these crowd-pleasing tactics had been displayed for the audience's enjoyment, but in the heat of the day and duration of the contest, these maneuvers were long past the capability of either exhausted combatant to perform again.

But, as was true from the start of this contest, the reality and brutality of their struggle remained. The Coliseum walls were a crucible where one woman would triumph…and the other be destroyed. The blonde Scythian Najara and the raven-haired Thracian Xena had met before, to the east of the capital city, in Antioch , where the stakes had not been so great. That fight, like this one, had been without quarter, or rules. But unlike their prior encounter, which the Scythian had won after a bitter, hard-fought contest, this one was a fight to the finish. One would perish…and one would become Champion of Rome.

Curiously, the crowd, perhaps once expectant of a quick, though hopefully bloody victory by the previously triumphant Scythian, now seemed to share both contestants' fatigue and near exhaustion. True, human combat was the elixir of Roman citizenry, particularly in the capital city of the Empire, and a fight to the death was an experience to be shared with hundreds of your unwashed, shouting city mates, half-drunk, half-sated on snacks and foreign delicacies sold by vendors outside the massive arena's outer walls. But this contest had gone on too long, death dealing weapons long since lost in the arena dirt. It was now a brutal struggle between two evenly matched, completely naked, women.

Most of the audience, men and women alike, sweating in the heat and humidity of the August sun, hoped for one of two things: First, that they, themselves, should be trapped between the muscular thighs of the Scythian or Thracian. And after all, “Since the Thracian was basically a Greek, and if you've seen one, you've seen them all…doubtlessly she loved woman as well as men…and both equally well,” thought many of the wealthy, sexually dissatisfied Roman matrons watching from above. And if that fantasy were unfulfilled, as seemed likely, the Emperor could consent to releasing the wolfhounds held for occasions bordering on tedium such as this…and end the struggle of both women….once and for all.

But then suddenly, in answer to their disquiet and restlessness, the contest took on suddenly renewed vigor, as if aware of the crowd's displeasure and boredom, both contestants sought to avoid a fang-determined fate worse than defeat by a worthy female opponent in one-on-one, hand-to-hand combat.

With a sudden surge that overcame pain-wracked muscles, damaged, bruised ribs, and abdomen and pubic regions screaming for relief from the near constant-pounding and abuse at the hands of the Scythian wrestler, the Thracian gained the upper hand through a series of hammering fists that rained about her opponent's head, shoulders, chest and belly.

The hot, slick arena wall met the slowly retreating blonde. Najara realized she was losing any leverage she had to counter this Greek bitch as Xena's powerful body thrust hard against her victim, pressing her opponent's equally sensual body against her own.

Finally, the blonde could move no longer, her back flush to the stone, crushed hard against the Greek's breasts, abdomen and groin, strident upper arm muscles overpowering her own. Najara gasped from the incredibly sensual feel of her opponent. “How long had it been since she had last felt a woman's touch?” she wondered, mind adrift in regions far from arena combat. But then reality painfully intruded as the air was forced out of her lungs with the solid impact of three body punches brutally driven into chest and stomach by her dominant adversary.

The blonde knew she was in trouble, perhaps more so than at any time since her last encounter with Xena in Antioch . All her victories to date in Rome had been easy, perhaps too easy. But poorly trained Celts, Gauls and Britons, oftentimes more whores and impoverished street people than wrestlers and seasoned fighters, had little prepared Najara for a renewed contest with her former adversary. This Greek bitch was well trained…had won fights from Britannia and the Silk Road to Egypt and Babylon…was well serviced by her Roman decurio she-bitch, Callisto…and was desperate to please both her blonde lover…and her adopted Empire's leader, Caesar.

But again, such thoughts were abruptly stopped, as the subject of her contemplation had now flung her arms skyward, simultaneously driving a callused knee hard into her cunt, pinning the blonde's midsection firmly against the wall, immobilizing her. In this helpless position, Najara could not escape the crushing force of her opponent's body. Her face gave away both despair in her predicament and sexual arousal as Xena's heavily-muscled belly and thrusting chest overwhelmed her own body.

But while Najara moaned in pain, increasingly feeling weaker and helpless, Xena inwardly smirked, knowing the effect she was having on her blonde opponent. She had been there…done that…particularly in her struggles with Callisto in Byzantium and along the Danube, and the Warrior Princess could feel the strength of her Scythian opponent ebbing as she continued to jam her against the arena wall.

The dark complexioned wrestler knew she had her fairer-skinned opponent sufficiently worn-down to start working her over, from throat to groin, as Najara's straining attempts to free herself were becoming more and more desperate. This was what the Greek wrestler longed for—close-in body punching, where her superior strength and weight in this long contest would doubtlessly bring her victory.

And face it—she simply liked hurting people, particularly women, and though she derived some degree of sexual satisfaction from the struggle, she was honest enough with herself to admit that as good as she was in bed, with either male or female, she would just as soon beat them as fuck them.

Xena now brushed aside the Scythian's feeble guard of upraised forearms. She pulled her in, circling the blonde's body with her arms and holding her tightly as her fists dug into her opponent's sides and belly. Leveraging off Najara's flush position against the wall, Xena pushed backward against her encircled opponent, arched her back for maximum force, rocked back on her left leg, and snapped her torso forward at the waist, driving her right knee with as much force as she could into the moist blonde pubic hair between the other woman's legs.

Again she did it, reveling in the feel of her knee driving up between once-powerful, meaty thighs until she felt Najara's frantic fingernails gouging her back in retaliation. Locked together they struggled against the wall imprisoned in each other's arms, two full-bodied, heavy breasted female warriors pressed hard against one another, as powerful thighs drove repeatedly into the softness of each other's groins. Silent except for grunts of pain alternating with cries and curses of frustration, they fought on…and on…and on.

Suddenly, a particularly harsh low blow broke through Najara's defenses and crunched up hard against the blonde's pubic bone, lifting her slightly off the ground. The crowd nearest the contestants sensed the power, strength and potential lethality of the blow. Xena did too, yelling in triumph, and released her encircling arms. As the momentarily free Scythian fell to her knees, doubled over in pain, Xena renewed the attack by viciously hooking her opponent's neck from behind.

The raven-haired wrestler, sensing, hopefully, the beginning of the end, pulled and forced Najara's head back, crying out with her effort as she thrust the blonde's head between her heavily-muscular, eagerly-awaiting thighs. Xena fell back on the hardened dirt arena floor, levered her torso upward on her hands, and clamped Najara's head in a merciless scissors, heavy upper legs trembling with the exertion.

The Greek Warrior Princess leaned back, dropped to her elbows, threw her head back, and yelled in triumph, a wolfish grin masking a momentary grimace of pain as the Scythian's teeth, invisible to the crowd, bit down hard on her inner right thigh. Regardless of the pain, or the blood now flowing freely into the junction of her thighs and exposed pubic region, Xena held the hold tight, the force of her efforts, combined with the searing pain in her thigh, now telling on her face.

For her part, Najara's hands made desperate attempts to part the Thracian's thick thighs, but she was held fast, locked tightly within the Greek's, meaty, powerful legs. Finding no way to force the hold apart, Najara made an effort to turn within the sweaty, blood and dirt stained dark flesh that entrapped her head. Sliding upward through the sweat, she now felt Xena's pubic hair gliding soft and moist against her cheek, a relaxing and pain-salving feeling, partially countering the torture being inflicted by the classic wrestling hold being administered.

Sensing her opponent's sensual delight, Xena further piled on the pressure, the Thracian's muscles pronounced in their relief, almost coming alive in a desperate attempt to either choke or smother the Scythian into unconsciousness. To exacerbate the pain being inflicted, Xena alternated drawing her legs upward towards her torso, then wrenching downward, twisting from side to side. One moment she was buffeting Najara's head against her moist, steaming groin, and in the next grinding hardened thigh muscles crushingly against the sides and forehead of her opponent, seeking to make the hold as uncertain and uncomfortable for the Scythian as possible.

Najara alternately purred in delight… then moaned in pain…with the alternating force of the hold, all the while slamming her hands in the dirt of the arena floor in frustration. Xena's legs relaxed on the upward draw…then clenched again as the entrapped body was thrust down and twisted against its own body weight. For the raven-haired dominatrix, this was beginning to be fun…as well as arousing. But for its victim, it was an endless cycle of pleasure…then acute torture…by a merciless opponent who obviously enjoyed both loving and inflicting pain on a near defenseless opponent.

Xena again twisted her body…she was getting the hang of this…and threw her head back in another triumphal yell, her glistening face holding forth in near animal-like celebration of the kill. The arena spectators, nearly comatose in the heat, were now awakened from their sweat-drenched slumber by the Greek warrior's cry of victory, seldom heard in the world since the time of Alexander.

Confident she had their attention, Xena momentarily loosened her grip, but as the Scythian attempted to roll out to her left, Xena reached under Najara's body and sank long, strong fingers deep into her belly muscles. Grunting with effort, the Thracian dug in deeper, clawing into the flesh until she was able to twist her own body away from the blonde, yet using her single hand and fingers alone, leverage the hapless victim into a sitting position, then back her against the arena wall, all accompanied by wails of pain and torturous gasps for air from her Scythian opponent, who while free of the confined grasps of dark-hued thighs, was now nearly paralyzed by the deep, searing pain driving through her midsection.

Summoning a last reservoir of strength, the blonde momentarily rallied, and dislodged the claw-like grasp from her spasming abdominal muscles. An attempt to regain her feet was met by a hammering blow to the left shoulder which knocked her back to the ground, but at least the contest was more fairly based now, as both women resumed the furious fighting seen earlier in the contest.

As before, sweat slick bodies were now continuously entwined, raising puffs of dust in the pall of the arena dirt, as dulled spectators silently watched them strike out blindly at each other, hoping this contest would soon end. “The Gods! Bring out the tigers!” more than one weary, heat-stroked citizen thought.

But in the arena itself, there was no flight of fancy, but the reality of two female gladiators seeking desperate victory at the expense of the other. Feeling Najara's hand scrambling across her ass, fingers probing for the anal opening, Xena thrust her away, and as she did, rolled the blonde beneath her on her belly. Slipping a powerful left forearm around the other's throat she pulled Najara's head up, thrust her knee into the small of the Scythian's back, and arching back, pulled her opponent's upper torso with her.

Both women sensed their struggle was near its final conclusion. Najara desperately sought to block out the searing pain in her spine and free herself from the encircling arm that was crushing her windpipe. For her part, Xena grunted in exertion, sweat streaming down her face, breasts and thighs, seeking to tap her last bit of reserve, mustering all the strength she could in a contest-ending attempt to break her opponent's back

But her efforts were to no avail. Suddenly feeling the Scythian's sweat-soaked head starting to slip from between her equally wet arms, she quickly released the hold, maneuvered the legs stretched behind her together, and half-dragged, half-twisted Najara's body so that her breasts and upper torso were now jammed against the arena wall, her dirt and blood encrusted forehead pressed hard against it.

Pausing for a moment to re-gather her fast fading strength, Xena resumed her hold around the Scythian's neck and again began to pull Najara's head back. The resultant scream of pain, now increasingly mixed with fear, was clearly heard in an arena suddenly nearly quiet in eager anticipation of the pending demise of the Scythian warrior woman. Impervious to the muffled scream emanating from the crock in her forearm, Xena dug her knee further into the small of the blonde's back. Feeling once powerful lower back and abdominal muscles now giving way under the relentless pressure being exerted, the Thracian pulled her victim's upper body still further away from the arena wall.

Rising to a half-crouch, she arched the hapless Scythian's body in a bow before suddenly intent spectators, who even with the deleterious effects of heat and alcohol, could not help but be impressed at Xena's display of strength. “This Warrior Princess was certainly a powerful representative of the greatness of Greece…and will be a fitting Champion of Rome,” more than one awestruck spectator thought, though perhaps still hoping for some quenching of their unfulfilled thirst for blood in the sand.

But a bloody demise of her opponent was not Xena's strategy. Instead, rocking slowly to the front and then to the back, each movement further stretching the helpless woman beneath her, Xena waited for the sound of breaking bones. But it had to come quickly, as the Greek wrestler could feel her strength ebbing, her body one vast vessel of pain. She knew she was fading fast, and as Najara let out another stifled groan of agony, Xena sensed now was the time to gamble on a final, game-ending movement, and released her victim to fall forward into the arena dirt.

Quickly the Greek wrestler threw herself down on top of the Scythian, who let out another painful groan as the full weight of her opponent ground down on top of her. Mentally, Najara still wanted to fight on to the bitter end, but physically she was nearly incapable of further resistance. She momentarily resisted, seeking to twist out from under the weight of the Thracian pinning her prostrate form into the dirt, but it was useless. With her mouth and nose full of dirt, Najara suddenly stopped struggling in a desperate attempt to get some air into her constricted lungs. Xena seized the opportunity to run a forearm under her left armpit, momentarily rise, and roll the defeated Scythian on to her back.

Now free of the arena floor, Najara attempted to clear her mouth with a free hand, but Xena batted her feeble attempt aside and sliding forward towards her head with her full body, smothered the blonde's face with her damp, bloodied, but still strong stomach muscles. In response, her victim ceased moving, and Xena looked upward at Caesar, now rising to his feet.

Xena let a half haughty, half-wane smile cross her face. The audience was unsure if that was for the benefit of those who knew of the Greek woman's contempt for this flaccid Roman who was barely a man (or so she had been told by the whores who had bedded him), or in response to a sudden resurgence in Najara's thrashing beneath her as the blonde's pinioned chest and belly heaved up and down, desperate to gain an entryway for air to fill her tortured lungs. Xena gave one last cry of victory, her legs wide and planted buttocks tight and firm on her opponent's face, and drove a hammering fist into the Scythian's forehead trapped in a tight, escape-proof grip at the apex of her twin thighs.

“Lay still you cunt…if you know what's good for you,” Xena hissed in Latin. The Scythian did not understand the language of the Empire, but fully understood the intent, as well as the power, contained in her opponent's body language, and ceased all movement.

Hopeful that her life might be spared, Najara lay there as the Greek woman wrestler went to a kneeling position and, facing the spread legs of her opponent, straddled the up thrusting chest of the blonde, pinning her outstretched arms. Through a dirt and blood hazed vision, all Najara could see above her was the full, perfectly shaped buttocks and dripping womanhood of her opponent as Xena pinned the Scythian's slack arms with her shins and admired the view of her completely devastated opponent laying prone beneath her.

The view of Najara's body heaving spasmodically from anguished defeat, and the vision of Xena raising her arms in a victorious pose over the paralyzed blonde had the suddenly attentive, appreciative crowd now roaring in admiration.

Remembering an always crowd-pleasing move from her gymnasia days competing before the elders of Athens and their Macedonian overlords, Xena rolled her victim back over on her belly, reversed position atop her back, bent forward, and hooked her arms under Najara's legs. Rocking back, she arched her back sensually, and pulled the helpless blonde's legs upward and outward in a 'V', showing the blonde pubic bush of her defeated opponent to a thoroughly appreciative, and now sufficiently aroused, arena crowd.

“If only this were some male Roman centurion!” Xena thought as she further arched backwards. “Getting some hapless Macedonian hoplite in such a hold always delighted the home crowd,' she remembered, “Nothing better than a raging, pain-inflicted hard-on to get the locals fired up!” she recalled, half-smiling with the remembrance. “But then, they always loved the hometown girl!”

But such sentiments were transparent to the Roman citizens seated above the arena floor. They were ecstatic--the sight of the dominant, full-bodied Greek woman warrior's body sensually arched back with her helpless blonde opponent spread eagled in a position that left nothing to the imagination was a display of such overwhelming power on one hand, and such complete helplessness on the other, that it was certainly representative of the glory of Rome, and brought forth roars of admiration from a now standing, wildly applauding crowd.

Xena leaned forward, lifted her arms, and dropped the lifeless legs of the defeated blonde into the dirt. Slowly she stood fully upright, straddled her devastated opponent, and raised her arms overhead in victory. The crowd continued to roar incessantly as Najara lay there prostrate, unable to move a muscle in her body, only able to stare vacantly above her at the magnificent body of the woman who had ended her dreams of becoming Champion of Rome.

But the moment of Xena's supreme triumph was abruptly broken as a distant side gate in the arena wall opened, and a tall, leather-clad woman strode purposely through the archway and out into the brilliant sunlight and stultifying heat of the arena.

Though fully dressed in the uniform of a Roman decurio , she commenced shedding her leathers as she continued walking across the arena floor. With helmet removed, her long blonde hair shone brilliant in the harsh light, falling halfway down her back. With breast plate and black leather bustier subsequently shed, a strong supple body, with high, large breasts was apparent to all who waited in hushed silence for this intrusion to be explained.

Closing to slightly beyond arm's reach, the newcomer paused and shed the rest of her clothes, so that she was now as naked as the victorious Greek woman still astride her latest victim.

“You didn't think it would be this easy?” the willowy blonde shouted for all to hear.

“Well yes, for a moment I did,” Xena replied.

Then murmuring in a harsh whisper that only the upright, naked blonde could hear, she added, “What is this? Some kind of joke…some kind of trick?”

“Hah!...You stupid Greek whore!” came the low-voiced, but equally harsh retort…and raising her arms waist high, she quickly closed Xena, encircling the still-winded and only barely recovered Greek wrestler with lithe, powerful arms. Clinching her up tight around bruised ribs, the blonde lifted the exhausted Greek off her feet in a crushing chest-to-chest bear hug, eliciting a moan of pain from the exhausted Warrior Princess.

Treacherously smiling as she sank in the hold, clenched fists and knuckles driving hard into lower back muscles, she hissed in the Greek woman's ear, “Silly rabbit. Tricks are for kids!”