Liz spies a bit of gladiattrixing

There was a small sitting area near the back of the mansion. Two chairs attended a table that had a ball of glass as clear as a calm ocean atop it. The pirate had passed it once before and payed little thought. Indeed there were many queer furnishings about this structure: horned saddles, double-decked tables, and the like. Moreover the blatherskite of a reading held little value to her. For a charm or scrimshaw may offer a sliver of fortune, but any that claimed to see a significant intention of the fates was a liar or a fool.

Admonishments aside, this second passage beside the nook had Liz stare in the direction of the globe for longer, it being in her cone of sight as she faced ahead. And as such the pirate's peripheral caught a change within the transparence. Clouds frosted the crystal interior as if from the breath of an incorporeal and invisible creature. But as Liz transfixed her gaze upon these clouds, they changed again, resolving into crisp shapes and colors until the face of a woman could be seen. 'Twas Anne the beautifully brash tart she'd met minutes ago on her way to a scrap.

"And who shall we pair with this scarlet skirt?" asked a voice from the globe. "Why not another urban extraordinaire? May I present the neon damsel of decoding, Sparks-69." The image within the glass shifted suddenly, zipping about to give it's viewer the perspective of shot lead, yet it settled suddenly, showing the pink-haired woman that was the subject of the narrator's introduction which was evident to all because the sleeves of her all too small jacket bore the mentioned title. The front of this jacket lacked all capability to cover the glittering gentlewoman's chest exposing the rest of her garments which like the jacket were woefully lacking in all respect except their ability to draw the eye and stimulate the imagination. Triangles, held in place by black cables, were the only coverings beneath the scant coat. These three scraps of clothe (two upon her bosom and one to conceal her cunny) were decorated with glowing points and curves that wink in such synchronicity that one's eyes were inescapably drawn to the spot on her top that rose slight from nipples beneath and that all the more delicious earthly heaven betwixt her legs.

But Liz could not linger on the appearance of this pretty pixie-kin, for the view was fired again this time settling on a closed gate. No doubt such rapid movements where to preserve this ceremony's master's momentum as he quickly spoke again. "But who will stand alone against this dastardly back-alley duo? Well, she was born from the jaws of a moose; she harvested Saskatoon; she's the reigning champion of our hell in a cell, and she's here tonight to dispense double-double trouble. Maidens, monsters, and misidentifieds, please put your hands together for Prrrrudence Voorhees!"

This Miss Voorhees wore a terrifying mask that covered her head in entirety like the front off a crusading helm. It had only holes for her eyes and a matrix of much smaller pin-pricks to facilitate breathing without compromising protection. In two respects, her clothing was similar to the straitjacket Liz had been tangled in earlier. The first being that it covered her crotch with only a strip a mere few fingers wide, and the second being that it immediately caused one to question the sanity of its wearer. It had elements of a harness and suspenders to its structure; some half dozen vertical or nearly-vertical strips of leather descended her torso to converge on a large silver ring around her belly button from which her crotch strap plunged. A thong of leather each covered her nipples but otherwise these taut strips avoid her breasts altogether. Chains dangled slack between the breast flanking leather offering the suggestion of coverage while resting in a bend that echoed the comely curves behind them. The only parts of this woman appropriately covered were her shoulders which had spiked pauldrons, and her legs which wore hip boots. These menacing boots had curved blades beneath their soles, perpetually slicing. In effect this woman walked on the edges of axes. Which would have required some prudence indeed, yet Liz saw her skate forward with no such hesitancy. Quite a madwoman indeed, she heald in her spine-gloved hands a firearm with the girth to gauge it among the one-pound-lobbying cannons.

"Ooh no, Ooh no, I must say sohrry," the leather-striped barbarian spoke, her o's musically extended such that Liz could not help but picture her lips purse behind the mask as she enunciated them. "It seems I'm aboot to make you my puck bunnies, eh?"

The display within the crystal broadened to depict the two opposing sides and landscape between them. The confrontation was taking place on a single seamless stone, as broad as a meadow and equally flat. From this expanse rose jagged spires man-made (or perhaps by some other tool wielding creature) yet with with silhouettes as saw-toothed as any pine. Indeed there was a dimness and chill that clutched the visage within the crystal ball. Long shadows loomed from these bare evergreens hinting at a winter of apocalyptic terror. This gloomy place would be where Anne and her partner would struggle against the doom-donned maiden of questionable sanity.

In fear that was no doubt justified, the two woman opposite the masked brute-ette darted quickly in opposing directions. The vision within the crystal ball followed Anne as she nimbly climbed a tower of hazardly-hammered wood. From it's summit, the smokey woman commenced a flying leap to another. She continued displaying a talent for nimbleness, darting to and fro about the stacks with a quickness that the magic within the crystal ball had difficulty matching. In only a few of the flitty bounds the pirate's vision was left to extrapolate the foxy lady's movements from only scant glimpses of her skirt tails.

Unsatisfied by these dwindling displays, the view within the crystal swooped about in search of Anne's pink-hair partner. She too had devised a strategy of distance over direct confrontation, though remaining on the flat floor to do so. With swiftness and grace she used her wheeled shoes to cart about the slick surface intent to keep as many of the wooden spires as she could betwixt her and her pursuer, her bonnie backside jiggling invitingly with kick against the ground, no doubt spurring the leather-laced madwoman on. For as the reader may guess Spark's jacket came short of covering these jubilant globes, leaving a thin string between the comely cheeks as there only covering.

The pursuer herself enjoyed the slipperiness of her quarry with a canine excitement spreading her mouth wide and setting her eyes ablaze. She lacked the grace of her pink-locked prey yet had superior speed and rivalling maneuverablity. Her bladed boots carved long, straight groves in the stone below. This form of locomotion lead her to lack the rhythmic rise and fall of a chasing human and only poses the steady **** of a tumbling bolder. Her buxom chest seemed to be firm and full as any mountain, liable to crush or smoother all before it. But she was not mindless in her pursuit, for the greatly-girthed cannon she held was oft called to lob a projectile with a hearty ka-chunk.

Through persistent luck (or a reflexive skill quick enough to be mistaken for luck) Sparks was able to avoid each volley. Irrespective this was indeed a laudable goal for her, for the lobbed lugs that came nearest to her burst into a hale of shooting stars casting a gilded glow upon the fleeing maiden's flawless skin and making her duck or bar her face with her hands. Curiously however, the that landed a couple yards away from their target preformed no such dazzling ejaculation.

The reason for this became abundantly clear when a motionless wall blocked the pursuee's path. The roller-booted damsel was **** to turn'bout and flee across already trampled ground. An action that proved much to her detriment, for only some few dozen yards after her about-face, Sparks sailed near to a previously silent charge, which erupted with such coincidence that could only have been explained by it sensing the unawares woman's proximity. The resulting thunder was stud enough to aviate the pink-haired young lass and would have likely landed her breathless on her back were she not sent to endure the worse prospect of being caught by the cracky Miss Voorhees.

Though this toss had only incidental accuracy, and though the flung party did squirm with all the vigor she could muster, kicking her nimble legs and twisting her flimsily-clad chest, nevertheless, Sparks's thrustings were of no match for the firm grip of the evidently taller woman. Even with the un-uniform nature of their wriggling wrestle it was clear to Liz that the well-muscled roughiette had a height advantage of at least a foot. Indeed, the size and strength disparity became starkly apparent for the all too brief lady-tussle that ensued. While her left held her squirming catch, the raider's right made a thieving swipe from breast to quim, ripping away both of the scant undergarments covering Spark's treasures.

The larger woman held her **** for a moment (just long enough for the captive's breasts to cease their bouncing freedom celebration). Perhaps 'twas so Vorhees could savor the moment, or perhaps she wanted to season her prey with a tittle of false hope. Regardless, her next swat stole Spark's jacket and left the blushing damsel with only her boots the hide her nakedness (an obviously insurmountable task for them). Sparks wiggled with renewed vital, a redness in her cheeks. Her gyrations were doubtless an attempt to reclaim modesty, but the wild jiggling of her slender curves served counter purpose. Liz's thoughts fastly blossomed with tongue tours of such displayed flesh and other such. nude boot-knocking. Similar ideas must have been in the barbarian's head, for after taking an understandable moment to appreciate her prize, she did turn her captive about and pull her into an inverted embrace. "Well it seems Sparks-69," commented the voice within the glass globe "is living up to here numeral."

Rosey cheeks betwixt the enmuscled legs of the larger woman, the topsie-turved sparks could not make much of her chagrin known. However an irritated flailing of her naked legs was hearty enough of a display for Liz to gain an inkling. "Ooh sohrry their sweety, but I know just what my eager beaver needs, eh?" argued the upright victor. She slapped the upward ass before her. Then with spat on her finger, she set about burrowing a finger tip into the plunder betwixt such pale globes. This prodding proved encouragement enough, for though the dance of the defeated's tongue was not directly visible to Liz, its effects nonetheless were. "Maple Syrup!" exclaimed Prudence, curt passion eddying her tone. "Keep on dooing that, eh?"

Now that a tender helping of ferkytoodling was upon her gushable gash, one might think the fiercesome Miss Voorhees of less desire to hunt. Or at least of less capacity (as she carried the weight of a person in a front pack). Yet one look at the hunger in her eyes would instantly burn such notions. Twin flames of blue lust danced behind the stovely barrier of her mask. For this damely half-giant had only been further excited by her current prize, and soon again, she carved a path across the merciless arena, calling, "come oot come oot wherever you aer," her one hand carrying the brutish blast barrel and the other continuing to titillate her captive's anal tittle.

But at this time Liz chose to sever her gaze from the globe of glass. Enticing show though it displayed, the perked plunderer worried it would be some minutes before fair Anne was skin to skin with the she-barbarian. Moreover, such baudy visuals had provoked the pirate to find her own challenges and delights. Thus search she did.