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The Real Victory

Antony's victory in the arena seals his fate.
The men grappled in the hard-packed dirt, their flesh nearly invisible under a slick layer of dust, sweat, and blood. Weapons had long been cast aside—they fought with bare hands and knees, no rules, the desperate grunts reaching high into the stands where the elite lay breathless, watching in their silken glamour.

Sylvia lay on her side, pillows propped at her back. Pure white skin, in contrast with her rich green tunic, stretched the length of her body, and she matched the robe with the brilliant envy-green of her large eyes. Long brown hair tumbled in tresses, hiding the soft curve of her breast, but even that curtain couldn’t hide the vase-like shape of her form. She’d been told she was beautiful—oh yes—by the men (and women) of the court, perfume flowing from their soft skin as they spoke.

Sylvia wasn’t interested in perfumes and soft furs. As she watched the fight draw to a close, she leaned forward. That—that was what she wanted.

Antony stopped, breathing heavily. His opponent sprang up from his back, where Antony had catapulted him moments before. Antony took another deep breath and surged forward, fighting the heaviness in his legs, the feeling that, if this went on much longer, he would drop like a supplicant to his knees.

The man grunted as Antony’s head hit his stomach, and he doubled over just long enough for Antony to place a hard-aimed blow at the man’s temple. Antony saw the whites of the eyes roll , the slackening of the jaw, and knew he’d won. He stepped back and held his triumphant fists in the air, feeling the rush of victory cut through the pain in his chest and head. The crowd roared, and Antony tossed the curly black hair from his eyes. Those black eyes searched the stands for the general, looking for the signal that meant he could rest. He passed over a woman in a bright green robe, not noticing the intent eyes that were fixed on him.

He found the general, surrounded by the rich of the town and decked in splendor in the stands, and Antony dropped to a knee and waited. After what seemed like an eternity, the general gave the signal Antony’d been waiting for. As he exited the stands, he met the eyes of the woman in green, just for a moment. The intensity of her gaze sent a shiver through him that replaced the fever of battle with a different fever altogether.

Sylvi paced her chamber, excitement mounting. The guards would arrive any minute now, dragging today’s victorious gladiator with them. She imagined running her hands through his dark curls, the feel of his large hands on her ample hips, and the heat in her ached, flushing her cheeks and forcing her to catch her breath.

There-yes! She could hear the clink of the guard’s weapons, their steady footsteps drawing close.

Sylvia composed herself as the two guards stepped into the chamber, the gladiator chained between them. His olive skin was flushed, and his black eyes shone like wet rocks. He was shirtless, and his skin bore the signs of the day’s fight. Bright red lines crossed his chest and arms, and old scars stood out, white colored, on the skin. Sylvia drank her fill as she shooed the guards away with a flick of her wrist.

At last, she was alone with him. He had bathed, and his muscles shone in the dim light. He stood at attention and watched as she slowly approached. Sylvia put hand on Antony’s chest; his skin was firm and hot to the touch. Sylvia pressed herself closer to him, the smooth rise of her breasts against his tanned arm. He didn’t move, but his eyes drank in the sight, and he licked his lips. The wetness between her thighs increased; the ache was a need now, but she forced herself to be patient. She circled him completely, tracing his upper back with her hands and biting back a laugh when goosebumps rose in his flesh. When she stood before him again, she met his eyes; he was breathing harder now, and Sylvia resisted the urge to fling herself back and beg for his cock.

Instead, Sylvia backed away, keeping eye contact. She slid her tunic from her shoulders, revealing her full, round body. She reached up and pinched each of her nipples; they hardened instantly, and Antony’s hand flexed. She imagined the length of his cock under his toga, and an involuntary moan escaped her throat. At the sound, Antony stepped forward, but Sylvia put up a hand to stop him. Wordlessly, she backed backward to the bed. She propped her back against the lush pillows and spread her legs, revealing her wetness to him. His eyes shone as he stared, and he looked at her pleadingly. Sylvia laughed softly, then reached a hand between her thighs, caressing herself in front of him. She rolled her clit between her fingers, throwing her head back and closing her eyes. With the other hand, she slid a finger in her pussy and teased herself, wetting the bed beneath her. When she was close, when the orgasm had built itself to a peak, she wrenched her hands away and opened her eyes. 

Antony had come forward; he stood at the end of the bed with his hands clenched. She met his eyes.


Never had Antony obeyed a command so willingly. The toga fell from his shoulders, revealing a hard stomach and, waving beneath, his thick, erect cock. It stood like a pillar between his muscular thighs, and Sylvia moaned as he climbed onto the bed.

Antony caught her moan with his mouth, pressing his tongue against hers in a frenzy. She kissed back, reveling in the after-taste of dirt and sweat that still clung to his lips. He bit down on her lower lip and she felt a surge in her pussy. Digging her nails into his back, Sylvia lifted her hips to meet him.

It was Antony’s turn to tease now, though. He brought his mouth to her nipple and bit gently, forcing Sylvia to hold her breath for a moment; at the same time, his fingers found her slit and he pressed two fingers inside her, hooking them and caressing her g-spot. Sylvia ran her fingers frantically through his hair as he worked her, her hips pumping on his hand. His mouth moved to the other breast and she cried out as the orgasm took her, her pussy pulling at his fingers.

As the aftershocks pumped through Sylvia, Antony raised his head and met her eyes. He plunged his dick inside her and she clamped down on him, bringing a moan from his lips now as he closed his eyes and rammed hard. On and on he slammed into her; she felt her pussy contract and explode until she wasn’t sure she would ever walk again. He pulled his chest from hers, putting their bodies at a perpendicular angle as he thrust deeper inside her. He reached down and put his thick thumb to her clit; the effect was instantaneous. Sylvia screamed, a guttural cry from the very pit of her stomach, and she squeezed his dick as she came in a rush. Antony thrust harder, harder, until his own groan escaped his throat. He came with a shudder, pressing all the way to the back of her, then rolled away, panting. 

Slowly, Sylvia gained the ability to think again. She stood and wrapped herself; seeing her move, Antony followed suit. She rang for the guards as he pulled up the tunic. As the guards appeared, she smiled. “Until your next victory,” she said, and the corners of his mouth twitched as he was led away.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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