LEANORE 14 By Heck Comments to heck@beadyeye.net CHAPTER FOURTEEN "GENTLEMEN, MY FIGHTER will be victorious!" Julia Domina was holding court in an elegant tavern overlooking the river at Galltex. Dressed in clinging green silk that perfectly complimented her flaming hair, she sat in a high-backed chair daintily sipping at a glass of rich red wine. She was surrounded by a group of attentive young nobles who hung on her every word, each of them deluding himself that he at least had a chance with her. "Yes, if you have money to wager", she said in a voice like a carnal promise, "you could do no better than to bet on my champion". "You have no champion". The voice was thick and oily, and came from an enormously fat man sitting at a table nearby. He was richly attired and his greasy fingers, currently engaged in conveying pieces of succulent roast fowl to his insatiable mouth, were beringed with gold and jewels. Julia Domina recognised a player when she saw one. With a sly smile she rose gracefully to her feet, glided over to his table and took a sip of her wine, sparkling eyes regarding him coolly over the rim of her glass. "Not yet, sir. Not yet. But soon. My fighter will be victorious in all areas of combat. She will become champion". "She?" His fleshy jowls shook as he raised his fat head. "Your fighter is a woman?" "She is indeed. And such a woman as you have never seen. Tall. Strong. Beautiful. And she will take on all comers, from here to the Hippodrome". "Miss." "My name, sir, is Julia Domina. I would thank you to use it". "Julia Domina? Not the wife of Senator Effluvius Dominus?" "The same". "Begging your pardon, Domina. I did not know". He lumbered halfway to his feet and bowed his head awkwardly. "I am Anatole Abraxas, at your service". "Charmed". Her tone indicated she was anything but. "Your name is familiar to me". "I have the honour of being a patron of the games. And I have a fighter or two of my own, all of which have brought me great satisfaction and reward". "Really?" She managed to convey the lie that this was all news to her. "Then perhaps you might agree to pit one of your fighters against mine? At the arena this seventhday?" Abraxas gave a short, harsh laugh. "Madam, I'm sure your 'champion' is a splendid combatant. But she is, after all, only a woman". Julia's eyes narrowed dangerously at the phrase. Abraxas appeared not to notice. "Mine are all men, and highly skilled gladiators", he went on. "It would hardly be fair to pit one of them against a member of the fairer sex". He inclined his head in mock respect. "You think so, do you?" Julia's words held an edge of anger. "Then, to coin a phrase, why don't you put your money where your mouth is?" Without waiting to be invited, she sat down opposite him. "I will put my gladiatrix up against any one of your gladiators. Your choice. And your choice of discipline, too. The bet will be five thousand sesterces, winner takes all". "No, Madam, it would be unfair and ungentlemanly." "I thought so", she interrupted. She dropped her voice low, so only he could hear. "When it gets down to it, you're all wind and piss, like all men. You coward". In a louder voice, she broadcast to the room. "Are you afraid, sir, to let one of your men face my gladiatrix who is, after all, 'only' a woman". Abraxas glared at her, his fury plain on his reddening face. She had him backed into a corner, and he knew it. "Very well!" he said at last, to the accompaniment of cheers from the onlookers. "So be it! The consequences will be on your head, not mine!" Julia Domina spat on the palm of her hand and held it out to him. He did likewise, and slapped his palm against hers, sealing the bargain with the mixing of saliva. "Done!" she cried, tuning to the company. "And your are all my witnesses!" She made to leave, calling to Abraxas over her shoulder. "My gladiatrix's name is Leanore, by the way. I trust I can leave it to you to see to the publicity?" "Domina, wait!" Abraxas called after her. She turned in the doorway, silhouetted in the frame against the strong sunlight. "Don't you want to know the name of my gladiator?" She paused for a moment, giving him a calculating stare. "It doesn't matter", she said, and left. Out in the street, two of her bodyguards had been waiting patiently. As she emerged from the tavern, they moved to flank her and followed her down the cobbles while she allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction. It had all been too easy. Men were so predictable, in their macho self-importance. She had brought Leanore to Galltex to find a fight, but not just any fight; it had to be against the best available, and she needed it to be well attended. In the usual run of things, unknown gladiators were brought to the amphitheatres and stood in the arena while their patrons issued an all-comers challenge. If it was accepted, which was by no means a guarantee, the fight took place after all the scheduled bouts had been completed, right at the end of the day when half the audience had grown bored and gone home. That was not good enough for Julia Domina. She wanted Leanore's fight to be right at the peak of the spectacle, against a well-known fighter, and well publicized beforehand. So she had done her research with due diligence. Anatole Abraxas, she had learned, was the owner of one of the most famous stables of gladiators in the Empire. One of his gladiators was the current Imperial Champion, and at least four others were or had been lesser champions. All of them were highly respected contestants in their own right. By the application of cunning and skilful manipulation, she had manoeuvred the portly patron into giving her exactly what she wanted, and while he would not field the champion himself she knew that, for fear of public humiliation, he would enter one of his best. Her grin broadened. That had been a good hour's work. * She would have to get back to her weights, Leanore thought. The bicep in her right arm bunched and rolled up into a steel hard mound as she cranked out yet another one-armed pull-up on a bar wedged into the doorframe. This was getting too easy and, quite frankly, boring. At least with the weights she could vary the resistance by increasing the poundage, to make it a challenge, and alternate the ways in which she worked with them. No doubt about it, she missed 'her' gymnasium. The tavern in which they had sought lodging was comfortable enough, and the food was good. But she was dismayed to find that, at times, she longed for the familiar surroundings of the Domina's villa. That was not supposed to happen; she was supposed to detest being a slave and be waiting impatiently for the day she would taste freedom once again. She had faithfully kept to herself the details of Julia's whispered promise but those who knew her best, especially Claudia, had noticed a fresh light in her eyes and a new spring in her step since the day of the battle with the barbarians. Her old lively, good-humoured personality had returned. Leanore released the bar and dropped lightly to the floor, where she began to perform stretching moves. Standing with feet apart, she slid each hand in turn down the shapely columns of her legs as far as the ankles, bending sideways from the waist. "I could watch you move like that all day". The voice of Marcellus came from the opposite doorway. Doubled over, Leanore peered through the trapezoid of solid flesh formed by her arm, leg, and side. "Marcellus!" Her face split in a wide grin, revealing strong white teeth. "What are you doing here?" He leaned against the frame. It was obvious from his expression and body language why he was there. "Oh, I just dropped by to pass the time of day. I noticed your patronne wasn't here, so I thought we could take the opportunity to get better ... acquainted". A square of coarse cloth was draped carelessly over the end of the bed. Leanore picked it up and began towelling herself vigorously, removing the film of perspiration from the exposed areas of her body. "You might at least have waited 'til I got cleaned up. I don't want to be too smelly while we get better ... acquainted. I'm all sweaty". "I like you all sweaty". Marcellus moved into the room and let the door swing shut behind him. It did not catch on the latch. He stood close to Leanore, matching her height for height, and gazed steadily into her soft dark eyes, inhaling deeply. "You smell musky but clean, like a real woman should smell. Not all paint and perfume like some so-called women". His eyes roved up and down her shift-clad body. "And you're powerful. Vibrant. Alive. All women should be this way". "And you". Leanore's voice was husky with heightened sexuality. "You smell like a man. A proper man. You smell of leather and horses, and your body looks strong and hard". "Not as strong and hard as yours, I fear. Yet you're so feminine. So lovely. So womanly". He leaned close and sniffed her hair and neck, inhaling the scent of her. Leanore sniffed him in return and they circled each other playfully, not touching but sniffing like two hounds in heat. Marcellus could feel his manhood swelling, struggling against the confining fabric of his undergarment, and raising a tented mound at the front of his uniform kilt. He leaned in for a kiss, briefly and almost nervously at first, until her strong hand cupped the back of his head, drawing him closer to her, crushing her full lips against his, her tongue probing hungrily. His hands began to explore her superb body through the sheer material of her shift and over her bare arms and shoulders. One hand found her bicep, and she flexed it for him, filling his palm with a mound of steely female roundness. Now, Marcellus had long been an admirer of the strong, athletic type of woman, and here he was in a loving clinch with the strongest, most athletic woman it had ever been his good fortune to encounter. The very fact of her strength was a palpable thing, tangible from yards away even without touching, and he knew a flutter in his belly as he literally trembled with excitement. He could hardly believe his fortune, and moaned in sheer pleasure as his tumescent phallus throbbed with the desire of her. Leanore was conscious of the turgid swelling that now pressed urgently against her, and felt a growing wetness at her own groin. A powerful need was building within her. Her hands found the buckles at the sides of his armour, and her nimble fingers deftly unfastened them and those at his shoulders. The backplate fell to the floor, but the torso-sculpted plastron was wedged between them and both were reluctant to pull away. Marcellus's hands wandered over the rounded deltoid caps of her shoulders and across her wide back, where thick and sinuous muscle rolled like snakes in oil, tracing the outlines of each peak and valley. He applied pressure, and was delighted to find that his fingers made hardly any impression on the solid hardness. Leanore had a hand between them, now, and was both excited and impressed by the hard length that filled her large hand. Finally, she pushed him away. "This is no good", she breathed. Her eyes told him she was not telling him to stop. "The bed?" "The bed". The leather belt that encircled her waist and the brooch that fastened at her shoulder wre removed in seconds. The clinging white shift fell away and her agile fingers undid the ties of her undergarment, leaving her in total, glorious, bounteous nudity. It was the first time Marcellus had seen her unclothed and the sight of her, revealed in all her splendour, took his breath away. He gasped aloud and stood agog, rooted to the spot by her beauty. Moving like a big languorous cat, she stepped in close, removing what remained of his clothing with a few deft movements, and plastered her body against his, her mouth against his, pulling him in so tight they were almost welded together. They were a good match for each other. Eye to eye, breast to breast, knee to knee. Groin to groin. Their arms went about each other and they kissed, long, hard, and deep, as if they would never stop. "Leanore! I've got us a fight!" Leanore and Marcellus sprang apart as Julia Domina walked in through the unbarred door without knocking. Marcellus nearly fell over himself, snatching his plastron from the floor and using it to cover his embarrassment. Leanore merely faced the newcomer and folded her arms under her majestic breasts, her irritation obvious in the set of her mouth. "Ah. I've arrived at an inopportune moment, I see". There was no modesty in the woman's posture as she openly let her eyes wander over Leanore's total and Marcellus's near nakedness. "Or perhaps it's opportune. For me". Her hands went to the fasteners of her own dress as she boldly approached the two. "Mind if I join in?" "My Lady, I." Marcellus was actually backing away as he spoke, to Leanore's suppressed amusement. "Oh, Captain, don't be so stuffy". Julia stepped out of her dress and came closer. She wore no undergarments and her body was toned and shapely, full breasts riding proudly high. "Leanore, why don't you lock the door?" Interested in the turn of events and eager to see how they turned out, Leanore obeyed the instruction. "I came to tell you I've got you a fight. A scheduled one, for this seventhday, but that can wait for now. Captain, drop that silly armour and come here". As mentioned earlier, Marcellus was drawn to strong, athletic women, and here he was with two of them. One very much more so than the other, admittedly, but even so he could hardly believe his luck. He thought all his birthdays had come at once. "My Lady." he began. "Oh, shut up. And leave off with the 'my lady' stuff. At least for now. Come here and kiss me". They moved together, mouth to mouth. Leanore came to stand close, and Julia's arm snaked around her waist, drawing her into the trifold embrace. The Domina's mouth writhed against Marcellus's, but her hands fondled and explored Leanore's body, tracing the lines and shapes of her superb musculature. Leanore enfolded the man and the woman in her strong arms and lifted them both clear of the ground. Staggering slightly, because of the awkwardness of her burden, she carried them the few feet to the enormous bed. Toppling like a tree, she fell onto the mattress, where the three collapsed in a giggling heap. Their composure regained in a minute or so, and they got down to the serious business of investigating the intimacies of each other's bodies. After some initial play, Leanore found herself on her back beneath the others. Marcellus found his way between her welcoming thighs, while Julia faced him, straddling the dark woman's face. Leanore's hands explored the creases and folds of Julia's labia, while her tongue probed deep inside the warm, wet tunnel. Julia kissed Marcellus deeply and his hands cupped her full, firm breasts, rolling her nipples between fingers and thumbs. Kissing and stroking one woman, the rigid pole of his impressive manhood entered Leanore. The dripping vulva that covered her mouth muffled her moans of sheer pleasure, and her tongue strove more urgently, licking and sucking strongly. Julia arched her back, crying out as her hands tightened almost cruelly on Leanore's breasts. Marcellus plunged hard and deep, driving his long and thick phallus to its full length, feeling her tight vagina engulfing his engorged penis, knowing the rising pressure of approaching orgasm. He grunted in time to his thrusts, conscious of the stupendous latent power of the beautiful thighs that now encircled his waist. Reaching around Julia's fine body, Leanore's long arms embraced her patronne with sufficient strength to make Julia aware of her power, and the knowledge excited the woman even more; she ground her hips against Leanore's face, trying to get the questing tongue as deeply inside her as she could. Leanore's thighs tightened around Marcellus, pulling him even deeper into her warmth, and it was all he could do to keep from exploding right there and then. Tongues and hands found ways of pleasuring that none had imagined, made doubly delightful by Leanore's strength and flexibility, and they spent the darkening hours in a hot, writhing knot of ecstasy, culminating in an earth- shattering, soul-wrenching triple climax that went on and on and on. Much later, after their cataclysmic release, Marcellus and Julia lay spent, panting like greyhounds, and shortly fell asleep. Leanore lay between them, a lover cradled on each muscular arm, staring at the ceiling with a contented smile on her face and marvelling at the way her life seemed to be turning out. * Dull and overcast. In that way, the weather was the diametric opposite of Leanore's mood. She felt vibrant, powerful, and alive. All the feelings that her intellect told her, in her status as a slave, she should not be feeling. The hell with intellect. She couldn't help it. The three-way experience she had shared with Julia and Marcellus had been some days ago, now, and she and Marcellus had managed to steal time enough to make love together four times since then and Julia Domina had come to her once. As a result, she felt an inner glow that suffused her body with light. In short, she felt marvellous. Even now, standing behind the portcullis waiting for her first scheduled contest, she could not stop smiling to herself. The pre-battle nerves were there, right enough, as they should be, and she did not even know the identity of her opponent yet, but the physical love she had experienced overshadowed all that and she was ready for anything. The arena at Galltex was a much more prestigious venue than that at which she had won her first fight. The sandy floor was so vast that she wondered how the crowd would ever make out any detail at all. All around the galleries gaudy flags and bunting hung in flamboyant gaiety, giving the occasion a festive, carnival atmosphere, and the stands were packed with spectators despite the threat of rain. The senatorial box extended on a balcony overhanging the arena floor, and inside noble personages lounged in idle comfort, watching the games or just chatting amongst themselves. An announcement had been made, identifying the guests of honour, but Leanore had been too keyed up to take any notice. Two spectacles had preceded hers, the first being a simple execution. The victim, a serial rapist and double murderer, had no doubt deserved his fate, but even in her elated state Leanore had to look away while the crowd bellowed encouragement to the trained elephant that calmly tore his lashed-down body limb from bloody limb. The second was an event imported from one of the innumerable islands that dotted the ocean to the south. A troupe of six young people of both sexes, dressed in short kilts and nothing else, danced and cavorted over the sand around a huge and enraged scimitar-horned bull that, almost comically, sported a single white rose on one horn. Leanore gazed in wonder at their nimble athleticism as they performed skilful gymnastics, using the maddened animal as a piece of apparatus. They vaulted over his back, rolled under his belly, and danced out of the way of his flashing horns, apparently escaping death by inches while the crowd roared its approval. The climax of the performance came as the musicians fell silent. The audience sat in rapt anticipation as all of the dancers save one retreated to the very edge of the arena, leaving their companion to stand alone. The bull, angry and confused, snorted as he spun in place. His plate-sized cloven hoof tore up the packed sand as he pawed the ground, his rolling eyes seeking something to kill. The lone dancer, a young girl no more than fifteen, drew her slender body erect, raising one hand in a theatrical flourish. In a clear, high voice, she yelled aloud, attracting the attention of the steaming leviathan. The bull wheeled, searching out the source of the sound, bulging eyes flashing. Contrary to popular belief, a bull rarely attacks head down, blindly. His vision is not that good, but he will not charge unless he can see what he is aiming at, so a charging bull will keep his head high, fixing his target with his eyes, keeping it in plain sight. Only when he is nearly on top of it will he drop his head, ready to impale it on his scything horns. Plumes of steamy breath spouted from his flared nostrils as he thundered across the arena, his hoofbeats sounding like a cavalry charge. The girl stood motionless, eyes riveted on the approaching monster, holding her statuesque pose. Leanore held her breath as it seemed the girl would be mown down by the onrushing behemoth. She wanted less than anything to see her killed, but could not tear her eyes away. The bull dropped his great head. Just as it seemed that she must be skewered on the stabbing horns, just when she was bound to die, at the very last possible moment, the girl sprang lightly into the air. Gracefully, she executed a perfect somersault, sailing high over the speeding bull, plucking the flower from his horn as he steamed beneath her. She landed elegantly on her feet, displaying her trophy for all to see. The breathless crowd erupted into wild cheering, getting to its feet to applaud the girl. Several animal wranglers rushed into the arena to distract the bull and entice him from the stadium, while the acrobat took her richly deserved applause. Leanore had been thoroughly entranced by the performance, and was still clapping, even as the troupe skipped from the arena and her own fight was announced.