Even from my box seat, high above the dry, dusty arena floor, I could see the sweat gleaming on the toned bodies of the warriors below. It made their skin glimmer in the sunlight as their muscles rippled; each thrust and parry sent 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 abroad for almost a year, away at Court, and I was yearning for satisfaction.
I wondered what he would have thought of this, of these men with their powerful bodies and primitive weapons attacking each other like animals. He would have found it barbaric – and while, yes, it was crude and savage, there was something oddly arousing to the spectacle. The gladiators were skilled and fleet of foot, their attacks an intricate dance. I found my thoughts drifting to speculation of their talents in…less violent arenas.
I shifted my weight, squeezing my legs together to grind into my seat, and bit my lip. Thank the Gods for the private box! I had no interest in company right now, not when I had discovered the tantalizing appeal of oiled warriors. I signaled for a refill of wine and sat back to enjoy the show.