Even from my private, curtained box seat, high above the dry, dusty arena floor, I could see the sweat gleaming on the toned bodies of the warriors below. I felt a tight rush of pleasure between my thighs. Their skin glimmered in the sunlight as their muscles rippled, each thrust and parry sending a shiver of excitement through my body. *I haven’t been touched in so long*, I thought with a frustrated groan. My husband had been at Court for a month and I ached for satisfaction.
Not that I had ever been particularly satisfied when he was here.
I wondered what he would have thought of this, of these hulking fighters, garbed in ragged loincloths, spiked platemail, chain tunics. Some fought with axes, some with swords or whips; all seemed deadly. A hundred different styles from a hundred different places, a hundred different men and women here to prove themselves in battle.
He would have found it barbaric and pointless – and a risk to even be here. I could hear him in my head, droning on about Family reputation and the importance of decorum and how nobody respectable would be seen at the arena. *Well, that’s why the boxes have curtains,* I thought with a laugh, toasting to myself.
And while, yes, it was crude and savage, there was something oddly arousing to the spectacle.
The fleet-footed gladiators were skilled, their attacks an intricate dance. As they circled and clashed, I found my thoughts drifting to speculation of their talents in…less violent arenas. Pit fighters had that reputation, after all, and some even retired into it as a career. I knew more than a few ladies who had coyly bragged about a night with one. Only covert whispers after too much wine, though – the scandal could sink even a moderately prominent Family.
It would destroy one as tenuous as mine.
An odd thrill of arousal shivered up my spine at the thought of that danger. I shifted my weight, squeezing my legs together to grind into my seat, and bit my lip. I wouldn’t ever risk it, of course, but for some reason the thought turned me on in a terrifyingly powerful way.
*Thank the Gods for this private box!* I had no interest in company right now, not when I had discovered the tantalizing appeal of oiled warriors. I felt a pang of guilt at that – the Family couldn’t afford it until our marriage – but it quickly subsided as I remembered how my husband had left.
The Emperor had sent for us. Us. Aiden’s steward had intercepted the messenger, a scullery maid had later informed me. The fool had thought the cavernous kitchens would mask the discussion – who did he think half the kitchens reported to?
But, of course, the other half reported to him.
I swirled my wine in my glass, lips pursing as I considered the arrangement. My lust ebbed away to a simmer. My uncle had cautioned me against letting a marrin have their own staff for precisely this reason. We were a house of spies.
*Not a problem to solve today,* I firmly told myself, draining the last of the wine. My gaze drifted back to the arena, where preparations were being made for the mock battle, the culmination of the day’s events. Each victory here came with rather tangible benefits in terms of gold and fame – as well as quite a few exclusive invitations, and not just to positions in mercenary companies or royal guard staff. There were whole brothels in the Scarlet Quarters staffed by former gladiators in an entirely different array of positions.
*Or so I’ve heard,* I thought with a rush of pleasure, imagining myself brave enough to venture there.
A group of earthen constructs hovered slowly across the dusty ground, depositing destructible scenery here and there to use as shelter or, if needed, desperate forms of weapons. Behind them followed another cluster of the magewoven creations, these ones spun from elemental water and each emitting a misty aura to dampen down the battlefield.
I felt myself getting wet as well as I thought of what a brothel visit like that would be like. No nobles ever visited a brothel, of course. That would be the end to a Family, if the scandal got out. Curiously, the thought enflamed me, and I slid my hands between my thighs, leaning forward to try to catch sight of the fighters. The movement grazed my throbbing clit against my fingers and I gasped at the sudden, shocking rush of sensation.
Moaning softly, I shifted back and forth again, gently and discreetly grinding into my hands and the chair seat in a slow rhythm. My nipples rubbed against the fabric of my gown, the friction delicious. Each time I leaned forwards, I caught a glimpse of distant boxes and felt a shameful, gleeful rush at the realization that they could also see me.
Would they know? Would they know I was touching myself, pleasuring myself, fucking myself just a stone’s throw from them?
Was the risk worth it?
I hung there, torn between lust and duty, and then from the arena down below came a sudden blast of horns and a deep, booming dumming.
The final event.
This was what people truly travelled here for – no other province had a spectable like this, and an entire economy had developed around gladiator recruitment, training and employment. Mercenary company captains, Family armsmasters and brothel madames alike crowded the first several rows of the seating, premium tickets to properly assess the warriors and their prowess before bidding for their services.
It wasn’t forbidden, exactly, for nobles to sit there, but the shame would be hard to recover from. Still, something in me longed to move down there, to watch the warriors and hear their grunts, smell their sweat…
The thought almost set me off again, and I leaned towards the balcony-
I let out a deep, shuddering breath, settling back into my seat. *Just watch from here for now,* I told myself, flushing with shameful pleasure as I realized how close I had been to getting caught.
*What are you, some common wench?*
I heard the words in my husband’s voice, echoing up from the memory of our last lovemaking: gentle, short, dutiful and leaving me achingly unsatisfied. I had begged him to grasp my breasts, pinch my nipples, push me to my knees to suck his cock – to use me.
I had breathlessly begged for him to use me, and he said no.
That was months ago, now, that he had rejected my needs – and my own hands and magewoven toys could only get me so far.
I*’m being discreet,* I reassured myself, idly stroking my hand against the bodice of my gown. My nipples pulled taut. Thin, flimsy, low-cut: a naughty choice I had paraded through the streets on my way to the arena – concealed beneath a voluminous cloak, of course. Still, the dirty secret had made me flush, my legs a bit shaky as I navigated Glorian’s treelined avenues.
I had paused at the reflecting fall before the entrance, a ten-story high wall of magespun elements reflecting back the sights of the city. Concealed beyond was the arena – a basic security measure, as cheating and assassination attempts ran rampant at local regional pits – but a rather stunning one. I studied myself in the shimmering surface, clit throbbing as I smiled at my little secret knowledge of what lay beneath the deep hood and voluminous outerwear.
I was practically naked beneath my cloak, and nobody knew.
I admired my body now, pulling the sheer fabric of my dress tight against my breasts. My nipples created stiff peaks in the fabric and I let out a giddy laugh, excited and emboldened by my sensuality.
I shifted my seat a bit closer to the balcony and leaned forwards to watch the assembling gladiators. I pressed my breasts together, rubbing the fabric against my nipples, and watched the other boxes out of the corner of my eye. The faint curve of the arena allowed for a glimpse into the other private booths, if one was indiscreet enough.
I desperately hoped someone was.
Down below, a final warrior jogged up the ramp from the underbelly. I had heard there were training grounds and living quarters down there and I felt a sudden, curious desire to visit, to be surrounded by the muscled warriors and see where they eat and sleep and fuck.
The crowd erupted into a cheer – this must be the Conqueror. Whispered gossip of his glory had reached even the salons, tearooms and parlors of the Crescent, and I had listened eagerly at every outing, imagining him in my mind later at night, when I was alone and unsatisfied. Would he be gentle or demanding? Would he treat me like a noblewoman, with deference and respect and all the other boring things Aiden thinks we must embody every moment of every day, or would he treat me like a woman, hungrily melding his body with mine?
As the warrior waved, I caught sight of a Family Patriarch a few boxes over sneaking a glance my way. I met his gaze, blushing at my boldness, but driven by a wild arousal. He blinked, went to turn away and then stopped, frozen, watching as I wiggled in my seat and made my cleavage bounce.
Emboldened by this, I slowly slipped off one arm of my dress, exposing a single, bare breast, nipple stiffening even tighter in the chill air.
Even from here, I could see his trousers straining against his hardening cock.
I slowly rose and his hands fumbled at his waist, reaching down his pants to squeeze and stroke in response to the sight of me.
*A common wench.*
I shrugged aside my husband’s words, banishing the memory as I slid off the other shoulder of my gown. Both breasts bare now, skin flushing with shame, but more turned on than I had ever been – if we were caught…
But all attention was on the formalities in the arena far below, warriors selecting weapons and building the teams for the melee.
I let my gown fall to my hips, the belt there holding the fabric tantalizingly low in place. The noble’s mouth opened and I thought I heard the faintest whisper of a moan drift towards me on the wind. In a furtive, forbidden performance, I cupped my breasts, keeping my gaze on him as I gently flicked my nipples.
*Aiden probably works with him,* I mused, trying to place if I knew the older man. He wasn’t familiar to me, but my Family work didn’t involve economic sectors, so there were whole swathes of nobles I only saw at dull formal dinners and stuffy state parties.
A thrill of panic went down my spine. We were bound to cross paths eventually after this. I was opening myself up to shame, blackmail, a blow to the Family reputation…
And then, as he frantically fumbled with his pants, I realized that I didn’t care.
The man’s trousers fell to the floor of his box and his cock sprung up erect between his thighs. I felt a rush of delight – I had done that to him, with my body and my sexuality.
In the pit, the battle was nearly ready to begin and a city official began the formal opening speech, filled with disclaimers about injuries and death, while a miniature version of the reflecting fall was used on each combatant, scanning for poisons, cantrips, charms, searching per their weaving for any cheating edge.
The informant I had gotten the arena information from had told me that the falls found a fighter or two every now and then, but aside from this, the final ceremony tended to be quite dull. I reminded myself to thank Henrick for that extra detail and to tip him generously when I returned to the estate – I hadn’t thought it useful at the time, but now I suddenly knew that every moment we kept this up resulted in more and more risk as bored spectators’ eyes began to roam.
*I could stop right now, just sit down and end this,* I thought, stroking a line from my throat, between my cleavage, down to my navel. The man’s knees shook and he fumbled wildly behind him for a chair, stool, something to support his weight.
*I should stop, right now,* I told myself, hands fumbling with my belt. A gift from Aiden for me to wear, spangled with glitterstones from overseas to advertise his trading network. I unhooked it, discarded it onto the floor of the box.
*I can’t stop,* I moaned, thighs tense as I felt an urgent need building.
I dropped my gown and stood there, naked before the entire arena.
I feared someone would see and that fear fed my excitement. My hand dipped low, sliding between my swollen lips, using my own wetness to glide across my clit. The chill air gusted softly against the slickness on my thighs like ghostly fingers caressing my skin.
The Patriarch’s head titled back and his body tensed, spasming. I was pleased with the reaction – I felt dirty, like a harlot at a brothel, tempting a man to climax with the sight of her body alone.
And I loved it.
My skin was on fire with shame, my mind on fire with lust. Pleasure and reason warred with each other and, before I could find my self control, I came.
My moan melded into the cheer from the crowd as the trumpets blared and drums beat, heralding the start of battle.
I sunk into my seat, still climaxing, and frantically rubbed my clit to unleash a wave of pleasure. My eyes squeezed closed as ripples of ecstasy ripped through me, but even as I finished I wanted more – I needed someone’s cock inside me, using me properly.
As my orgasm ebbed away, my first guilty thought was of my husband. *Aiden would be ashamed,* the responsible part of me scolded.
*Then Aiden is a fool,* my sensual side growled.
*Besides, Aiden is not here,* I reasoned with myself. *And what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him. Or me. In theory.*
I signalled to one of the new air constructs, one of Aiden’s recent obsessed investments. We had fought over them, the cost absurd just for making a show of wealth and power, but he insisted them necessary for our reputation, while forbidding us from attending the arena, also for the sake of our reputation.
“Who will use them, then?!” I had asked, frustrated. Everything should have a use and it frustrated me when things went without theirs.
“It’s not about using them,” he had explained. “It’s about showing the city that we can afford them.”
“But we can’t…”
“But they don’t know that,” he said, and that was that. Five hundred mana to the mages every month for something we would never touch.
*Well, Court is a long way away, and the arena is close,* I thought, rebelliously triumphant at flouting his command now that I was here. The autonomous magical creations were starting to grow on me – their mindless natures were perfect for keeping secrets. People could always be bought.
Or worse. My spymaster didn’t always use coin.
I gestured to the construct for a refill of wine and sat back to enjoy the show, though the troubled – and inexplicably arousing – thoughts of the ramifications of what I had just done began to flood into my head.
*Your Family could be ruined, you could be blackmailed, your reputation could be destroyed.* I knew all the risks, knew all the dangers.
*You could become a common wench.* I was still discovering my desires.
Somehow, despite all the danger, I couldn’t bring myself to stop.
I needed more.
The battle began.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/120ycw7/used_by_the_gladiator_my_shameful_dirty_descent
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