Thread: The Condemned: (Older Woman, Young Male, Some Violence)

The Condemned Stepping off of the sand, sweat glistening on your skin, you look forward to cleaning yourself. You entertained the crowd, carrying out your executions with flawless precision. You hadn't always been the executioner. First a slave, then a female gladiator, you eventually were given a reprieve from fighting to the death and appointed executioner. Due to your incredible skill, precision and speed, you have very few scars from your fighting days and none on your face. You were grabbed from your lands to the west when you were very young, and now barely even remember your home or family. Today's batch had been no different than any other batch. Some you dispatched quickly, others you dragged it out for the crowds entertainment. One thing that never failed to amaze you is how you couldn't always predict how the condemned would accept their fates. While you usually got it right, sometimes big brave looking men blubbered like babies, begging pathetically for mercy they had to know you couldn't show them. Other times, the weakest most pathetic looking wretches looked at you with solid resolve, refusing to give up their dignity with their lives. They all felt terrible fear of course, as did you when you fought, but like you, some of them were better at controlling it. You knew how to make it quick when you wanted to. there was no such thing as a painless death by sword. Having a long sharpened piece of steel thrust into one's body is terribly painful, but for some of the lucky ones you knew exactly where to thrust so their suffering would be extremely brief. Others, you aimed for spots that were more sensitive, and did not kill quickly...the crowd like to hear shrieks of pain. Of course if you killed them all painfully, they would accept it resolutely as you learned from experience. To generate the fear in the condemned, the way the crowd liked to see it, you always had to give them the hope that they might be one of the lucky ones that died quickly. That actually made them more terrified, which was more entertaining for the crowd. The smallest one, the delicate little waif had been trembling, sniffling as she tried to control her terror, but when your blade sunk into her body, she emitted a high pitched shriek before falling in a heap to the ground, to twitch for a moment or so before remaining still for eternity. She was one of the lucky ones who went quick. The traitor standing next to her wasn't so lucky. Your work was done for the day, and you were going to go clean yourself and then walk the market. While still a slave, you were afforded tremendous leeway, and allowed to come and go as you pleased, provided you did not try to leave Rome. Walking through the slave holding area beneath the coliseum, you looked at the batch of sacrifices you would dispatch tomorrow A mostly pathetic looking bunch. Walking past one of the last cages, you look in and see a boy....the son of the aristocrat. The way you saw it, his father was the one who was really the criminal, yet for some political reason the boy was to be executed. That seemed illogical to you, but it was not your place to argue. You did what you were told, so you didn't end up being on the wrong side of an execution. You don't know why you did what you did next, but you instructed the guard to open the cage and let you in with the boy. He was young, in his teens and probably would have had a fruitful life ahead of him, had he not been sentenced to death for something he was not responsible for. Such a waste. Earlier in your life, in your younger days before you were transformed by brutality into what you are now, you might have been horrified at such a brutal fate being inflicted on one so young and innocent, but now you just see it as another part of your job. Leave us you instruct the guard. He does not like taking instructions from someone who is in fact a slave herself, but he knows you have the favour of a very powerful man. He is dressed only in a loin cloth, and will be oiled by tomorrow so as to look shiny for his date with your sword. Do you know who I am? you ask him assertively. The shaking teen looks at you, tensed in his efforts to control his fear. Yes I do he responds, barely a whisper. You look at him curiously, wondering how he knew that. I...I have seen you perform he said with a hint of a tremor in his voice. You raise your eyebrows out of curiosity. Both as a gladiator and then as executioner he says, struggling to hide his fear. You are surprised to hear that he saw you when you were a gladiator...he would have only been a mere child then. But then the Romans were a barbaric bunch. Are you afraid? you ask, glaring at him. He pauses, takes a deep breath and swallows, the smell of his fear permeating the room before clenching his jaw, and looking you in the eye and saying No. A faint smirk breaks out on your lips, as you give him a look that says you know he is lying. Of course he's afraid and it shows. Besides, who wouldn't be? Any other person would take pity on such a young boy, so frightened, but your years of brutal conditioning, including having been raped so many times before you were permitted to fight as a gladiator, have hardened you against compassion. You will take his life tomorrow just as you will the others. You do however find yourself admiring his resolve to show courage in his helplessness before his fate. You recall feeling the same fear once and struggling like he did. You decide right there that you will give him a quick clean death tomorrow, with dignity. Some other poor fool will have to scream while being sliced apart slowly. You look him up and down, and study his young almost bare body. He is very well toned, but with slender youthful muscle, not super hard man muscle. He has no chest hair, and has very soft smooth looking skin as an aristocrat would. You feel something stirring deep within you. Despite your life, the brutality you faced, inflicted and still inflict, you are a woman...a woman with needs. Stepping in closer, you look him up and down, as he tries to act calm before his executioner. He is so flawless in has youthful innocence he is almost beautiful, with blue eyes, a rarity for a Roman in your experience. His chest rises and falls with his breathing, as his tight stomach tenses with each exhalation. You are mesmerized by his youthful body. Reaching out, you place a hand on his shoulder, and run it slowly over his chest, feeling the soft skin under your finger tips. Gently, you take a nipple between your thumb and forefinger, tweaking it in curiosity. Stepping back, you look down at the thin cloth, covering his pelvis. Remove that, you command, looking at him coldly. He pauses, looking at you as though in disbelief before you give him a glare that says he had best comply quickly. Quickly he slips it off, and then stands up straight, his hands covering his nakedness. Hands at your sides you command He places them to his sides, and looks down in shame Look at me! you snap. He raises his head, locking eyes with you, blushing in shame at his nakedness. Inspecting him, you are not unimpressed. Evidently one part of his body has matured into that of a grown man. Stepping up, you place a hand on his chest and gently run it down, over his taught abdomen, and brush it just to the side of his male organ, before gliding it along the side if his hip as you go around back, and feel his thighs and buttocks. You approvingly find him to be quite firm. Stepping back, you eyeball him up and down once more, admiring his young looking tight body, and his well proportioned phallus. You realize that if he were to live, he could provide a woman's body with considerable pleasure. At his age he has clearly not yet felt the warmth of a woman's body, never released his seed inside a woman, never pleasured a woman with his cock, his fingers or his mouth .............. Such a waste you think. Steel will sink into that young body before his young flesh sinks into a lady's body. That is the only thing that really bothers you...turning this fine young body into a bloody corpse before anyone has the pleasure of using it. The idea that no woman would ever get to pleasure herself on that body before he dies is as offensive to you as the idea of wasting food. You know you are alone, save for a few condemned slaves in neighboring cells. If you are going to give him a quick death, then at the very least he should do something to earn it. Walking around behind him, you pull your sword, as his body tenses, his naked buttocks clenching deliciously. Stepping right up behind him, your body pressing gently across his back you bring your sword around the front of his body, and gently touch it to his flesh, feeling excitement at the power you hold over the young boy. Gliding the blade gently up his chest, your press it against his left cheek, and apply pressure turning his face towards you as you place your lips to his ear and whisper excitedly. You have a nice body. Tomorrow I will thrust my sword through it and end your life you say to the trembling teen. But for tonight... you say dramatically stepping around front of him, as you remove your armour, weapons and then your clothes, ever so slowly. Smirking, you notice that despite his terror, he still eyeballs you in your nakedness. Tonight.. you say stepping up fully nude, touching his face, and then gently running your hand down his body, bringing it close to his penis but not touching it. ..... you will serve my pleasure. He is trembling in fear, yet you see his young sex starting to swell and rise. And for your sake.... you say dramatically, ...I better be satisfied. But first you pause, looking over at a water basin with a cloth. Clean me Last edited Sep 13, 2020