Disclaimer: The following is fiction. The story’s content does not represent the writer’s beliefs, opinions, or attitudes. This story is intended for adult entertainment only. The characters and events depicted in this work are fictional. The author does not condone or promote unlawful activity as described in the story. By continuing to read this work, you acknowledge that you are an adult who wishes to read works of fantasy and fiction for the purpose only of fantasy. All the characters in this story are adults. They may portray different ages for the fictional character they are depicting, but they remain adults at all times.
Writer: Regis
Subject: MODERN ROMAN GAMES 3
Story Codes: Erotic Horror, Snuff, Young Ones
Modern Roman Games 3
The dozen of us ladies stood naked, wearing only our gold spike-heeled sandals and holding the weapons that had been provided to us. I would guess that to the casual observer, we would appear to be very sexy, with our long legs and posture emphasized by the spike heels, and with our full jutting breasts, round buttocks and our shaved, enhanced vaginas on full display.
I, for one, did not feel sexy. From what I could see, the others did not either. It was summer and hot, but we were all shaking from the horror of what we had just witnessed, and fearful terror of what was about to take place. We were now certain we were going to be required to do lethal battle with each other.
I suppose the sponsors of the other girls had also shown them the secret catacomb art gallery of ancient horrors, which I deemed to be gross sexual violence pornography. I can’t imagine that anyone would disagree with me on that point.
As I thought about it, I realized that was probably an important part of the program we were involved in. It made it clear that the coliseum sport was all about killing and being killed. All of the procurers like Hirshydick seemed to be following the same pattern.
They began the process by inviting us to Rome, buying us the shoes, showing us the Coliseum, exposing us to the secret artworks, bringing us to this little valley with the ancient amphitheater to prepare us as combatants in a Roman-style debauchery.
They were doing all of this for the amusement of this audience of debauched lechers who filled the stands, insatiable for naked women like us to spill our blood to entertain them. I realized this would cost a lot of money, and that the rich people were paying a great deal to enjoy this incredible depravity.
Panic set in, and I did the unthinkable. I pissed on the stone floor. As I did, two of the others squatted and did the same. Just then, a trio of husky men who looked and acted like bouncers came in. They looked us over to be sure we were all armed and ready.
“Okay, ladies,” one of them said, “it’s show time! We need you out in the arena, NOW!” Nobody hesitated; we all headed out onto the floor of this coliseum, carrying our various weapons.
At the gate to the fight pit, he said, “We need you to fight. You all need to fight for your fucking lives. All you need to know is that any bitch you don’t kill is definitely going to kill you. You can depend on it, since if she doesn’t kill you, she knows you’re going to kill her. The audience needs to see dead cunts as they’re kissing off. That’s you if you lose.
“Yes, that’s you I’m talking about.”
He looked around at all of us with his steady holding his eyes on each of us in turn. “That’s how this works, bitches, we need to watch rampant cunt killing. I need to see split bitch meat and guts strewn all over the sand on the floor of the arena. You are the ones to do this!
“We need you to slay every cunt you can with your weapon before you take a fucking fall yourself. Nobody leaves here standing unless she’s the last cunt on her fucking feet. There’s no reprieve, no way out, other than to be the best fucking bitch-killing cunt in the area.”
He looked us all over, clearly enjoying the sight of our terrified nakedness. “Got it, cunts? Now get your asses the fuck out there!”
I don’t think any of us liked being called cunts, but right now that was the least of our worries. This prick (I hope the asshole doesn’t mind being called that) was serious, and actually thought we modern, sophisticated women were really going to do as he said.
The motherfucker expected us to go at each other with our weapons with the intention of killing! He expected that we, fighting naked in our spike-heeled shoes, would replicate the ancient Roman coliseum battles so these people in the stands could enjoy our violent demise.
Our situation was absolutely preposterous. Who would ever conceive of, let alone do, such a horrendous thing? Who would pay a lot of good money just to sit in the sun and watch a dozen modern and educated women at war?
We stood, stripped naked, wearing identical gold spike heels, armed with spears and blades, and realized the expectation was that we would become aggressive and go at the others, to willingly stab and slash each other to death?
Who would believe that kind of thing could happen today, in the twenty-first century, with modern ambitious women set against each other, just for the kicks and amusement of fans of extreme Roman debauchery, gathered in a real Roman coliseum?
I looked at the stands, and the people leering at us were all eager for us to get started, to see that we could be made to hurt each other with our weapons, just for their enjoyment. To every question I asked, the answer was that this was really happening.
The man who had spoken suddenly and violently kicked the nude lady standing in the gate hard on her bottom, and she leapt out onto the sand floor of the ancient arena. The rest of us promptly followed, knowing there were no other possible options.
We stood there, well apart, naked in our gold spike heels, shivering from fear in the stark sunlight, carefully out of reach of the others’ weapons. That didn’t last long. He carried a gun and aimed it toward us. “Get ready to kill, you fucking cunts!” he shouted, and we realized this was going to be war.
The girl next to me swung her sword, holding it firmly in both hands. She lunged toward me as she swung, and seeing the look on her face, I felt lucky to leap out of her way. Just then, the German behind me slashed at me, and the tip of her blade cut a sharp line across my upper back and shoulder blade.
I spun around and sprang toward her as I stabbed with my short blade, and was startled that it plunged into the fatty meat of her left breast! Seeing her injured, one of the French ladies thrust her trident at her, and the German took two of the three prongs into her belly.
One struck her just below the ribs, the second caught the meat above her navel, and the third cut a bloody groove in her side. The English woman, seeing the French girl distracted in her attack, went at her with the club she’d been given.
It had a big hook sticking out of it, and the hook caught Frenchie’s ribs, getting snagged behind one. The frog bitch jerked it out, causing a compound wound with the broken edge of a rib sticking out. The other French girl came to her compatriot’s assistance.
She slashed violently, bringing her hacking sword downward with both hands. She was not used to the ancient weapon, and it came down on the German’s thigh, cutting a bone-deep gash. The other Germans were involved with Americans, and the one American not engaged in battle saw me standing alone.
She moved toward me cautiously, seeing blood on my blade, and with surprising skill, she threw her net over me to contain my arms and thrust her spear at me. The bitch knew what she was doing, and the iron tip of her spear drove into my breast, digging a deep, painful hole in me.
I tugged on the net and managed to get my right arm free. I jerked on the handle of the spear in a failed attempt to jerk it out of my breast, but what I achieved was to draw the cunt who’d stabbed me with it toward me, and as she got close, I thrust my blade at her.
I got lucky, sinking it deep into her tight lower belly. She began to drop to her knees, obviously seriously injured, and I jerked the blade to pull it free, but instead ripped her belly open right up to her sternum. ‘God,’ I thought, ‘I’m not this good at killing!’
When her knees hit the sand, her flesh parted wide, and she dumped a load of her gleaming viscera out, piling between her wide-spread legs. She flopped forward over her own extracted guts, probably dead before her tits hit the sand.
Everyone else was still standing. I had made the first kill! I was an innocent woman, not a trained fighter, and now they had made me a killer, a murderer who was not done yet, if I wished to live. I’d have to kill all the others, including the other Americans!
There were five of us American girls standing; the others were engaged in desperate struggles, fighting for their very lives. This was an astonishing situation, and I began to sob, standing with my legs apart and bent, braced for whatever was to come.
I was watching the others stabbing and slashing at each other. Blood spurted from fresh wounds. The trident had come out of the German’s belly, ripping a hole through which loops of good German guts began to emerge. The sand floor of the arena was becoming covered with gore.
The British bitch swung her club at one of the French girls, striking her from behind, and the sharp hook dug a trench across a buttock and up her back. The trident suddenly and violently struck the English bitch on the back of her neck.
The outer two blades missed on either side of her neck, but the center one plunged through her spine and emerged from her throat, killing her immediately.
I was pulling the net off my head and left arm when I saw one of the two Americans with swords slash the gorgeous Muslim bitch across her big breasts, splitting both open horizontally. The beautiful face suddenly contorted into the most excruciating scream.
Ignoring the blood gushing from her damaged tits, the roach rancher grabbed the handle of her sword in both hands and swung it upward, carving it into the groin of the spread-legged American, slicing open the meat between her legs, splitting her cunt and asshole open.
Blood gushed from where the silicon puffed-out cunt and rectum, both having received the injections, were deeply cut, and in a startling move, the blade swirled in an arc and easily slashed through the American’s slender neck, completely decapitating her.
The audience went wild as the head rolled in the sand and the neck stump spouted triple geysers of blood in the air. Amazingly, with three nude carcasses on the sand floor of the little arena of death, four, including the kid, nine of us were still standing.
All of us were leaking blood from vicious wounds, mine being a spear stab wound through one of my breasts, exacerbated by the trauma of tugging it out, and others also had non-lethal gashes and stab wounds showing brilliant red color. How long would this travesty go on?
THE END OF CHAPTER THREE