Stellan turned back to Sixx.
“I didn’t know there was a gladiator pit in Phoenix,” she remarked.
“It’s new,” he replied.
“How new?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Around four months.”
She turned her attention to the space, which had high bleachers going up behind a variety of double sets of thrones like the ones she and Stellan were in, all the thrones flanking the pit having the best views, sitting maybe only four feet from the edge.
She took it all in and noted there were a few thrones that were empty, not many, but most of the bleacher space was taken by bodies.
There had to be hundreds of people there.
Her eyes again caught Stellan’s, noting something further.
He was watching her, not the warriors in the pit.
Her.
Closely.
“You didn’t pay to get in,” she stated.
“Tickets need to be purchased in advance.”
“You didn’t hand a ticket to anyone,” she noted.
“No,” he looked to the pit, “I didn’t.”
Okay.
Um.
Okay.
Shit.
“You run this, don’t you?” she queried to his profile.
“I have a few other investors,” he answered, not taking his attention from the action. “But yes.”
But yes.
Trying not to appear dazed, she looked all around again.
This was a gift to her?
How?
Why?
She avoided the men in the pit, tuned out the cheering that was hitting extremes, and looked among the thrones.
All Doms, for certain, though she couldn’t know if they were the other investors. If they were, there were a number of them.
Some had two people sitting on the two chairs, men and/or women.
Some had only one.
Some had a sub sitting on the floor by their chairs.
Two had what obviously were gladiators defeated earlier. The defeated were on all fours at their Doms’ feet, still in their belts, but although one was too far away for her to see, another was just a few thrones down, and as it was pointed her way, she saw the raw red of his ass cheeks.
As well as the cream coming from it.
So there was a definite price to pay in losing.
My, my, my.
“Who gets the thrones?” Sixx inquired, turning back Stellan’s way.
“Owners,” he shared.
“Investors?” she pushed.
He looked to her again.
“No,” he said slowly. “Owners.”
Owners.
Of the warriors.
He knew she caught on, and she must have given something away, something that pleased him, because he didn’t hide it.
And she liked that she’d pleased him.
But again she hid it.
“They pay an impressive sum for their warriors to play, so they pay for their seat to be unobstructed,” he shared. “But also, in the end, however way they wish to be, they’re part of the show.”
Obviously from her superior vantage point she could definitely see dipping into her painfully acquired and carefully attended stash of cash for such a show.
He turned back to the action.
Sixx did too.
The instant she did, the sexual savagery of it smacked her in the face, drove up between her thighs, throbbed through her nipples and shivered across her skin.
And once it caught her attention, she couldn’t look away. The beauty of it was too extreme.
She was captivated.
She wanted one, and she didn’t even know what it meant to own one.
But she wanted one.
She wanted her own gladiator to battle for her, earn the spoils of his victory for her, or take the punishment of defeat … for her.
Perhaps the only thing that could draw her attention did just that.
A tall, built, good-looking, well-endowed male slave appeared at her side. He had a black belt around his waist. Leading down from the center of the belt, his large cock was trapped in an upward position behind black leather laces surrounded by rivets, his impressive balls caged with it but bulging out the sides. He also had a cut crys tal glass filled with ice and a slightly murky liquid with visible bits of pepper on a tray.
The bartender clearly knew what he was doing or had access to the Internet.
And Stellan clearly had someone who rocked in picking server attire.
The slave set the glass on the table by her side and backed away. After she lost sight of his attractive chastity cage and the meat it packed, she picked the glass up to take a drink before she set it aside, and she did all of this taking her attention from the pit as sparingly as she could.
And Sixx would discover all victory and defeat entailed when what appeared to be an unofficiated match ended at the loud sound of a gong reverberating through the space. This happened after the crowd grew frenzied when one combatant pinned the other to the mats on his stomach, reached between his legs, and they heard the pained grunt as the straps were ripped from around his privates.
Sixx sat back, tucked her clutch in her lap and crossed her legs.
She did this because she knew very well it gave the appearance of being calm and collected.
It had the added benefit of tightening her flesh around her misbehaving clit and ending the quivers quaking up her inner thighs.
She’d already exposed to Stellan she liked what she’d seen, though he’d watched her in playrooms so he could hardly be in question that she would.
How much it affected her, she felt it paramount not to expose.
She felt heat in her legs that had nothing to do with the winner dragging the loser up to his knees by his hair, and she slanted her eyes sideways to find Stellan was not interested in the pit any longer (if he was at all—this was her scene, it was not his).
He was studying her legs.
Sixx instantly looked back to the pit.
The winner had thrown the straps in the loser’s face and was working the crowd, squatting and shouting, pumping his bent elbows into his body with fists clenched, circling the loser who was still on his knees, head bent, strapping himself back up.
The winner stopped in front of a man seated in one of the cream chairs who looked easily like he could be given his own belt, take his place in the pit, and win. The victor dropped to his knees, ripping his straps off his cock and balls and lifting them, head bowed, toward his Master.
She couldn’t hear what the Master said since he was on the curve of the oval, several sets of thrones down from her and Stellan. But whatever he said allowed the winning warrior to toss his straps up to the floor in front of his Master’s seat then take his feet and stalk to the loser.
Catching the losing warrior by the hair again, he took him unresisting to his back with a moist, resounding thud of slickened flesh on mat, and the crowd lost their minds.
The winner dropped to his knees again, jerked the loser’s legs up high, pressing them out. The loser held this position as the winner guided his cock where he intended it to be, dead center of that silver ring, and pounded in.
An answering pound rocked Sixx’s body.
God.
Glorious.
She did her best not to press her legs together because she knew Stellan would not miss it.
She also did her best not to come right on the spot. She had on a lace thong that in no way would absorb the slick she’d leave if she allowed herself what she needed very, very badly watching the winner take his reward and the loser give it.
Instead, she endeavored to watch the action like it was mildly entertaining and knew she failed at this. But at least she wasn’t staring in the open-mouthed, undoubtedly drooling awe she would have used if she’d let her true reaction free.
It became apparent that the triumphant warrior was gracious in victory when he started brutally fisting his opponent’s cock.
The loser came first.
The winner bellowed his climax minutes later.
The crowd went wild.
Although her seat was equal to none, mid-oval on the wide side, she was going to ask Stellan how to buy tickets in the bleachers because she’d attend again. That was for certain.
She just wouldn’t do it sitting beside Stellan.