Aliara has been captured and sold... again

The waiting wasn’t the worst part. That’s what they’d told her when she first arrived in the pits. It was the classic advice to newbies. “The waiting is the worst part,” the older gladiators said, “once you’re in the pit you’re too wired to really feel the fear.”

Maybe it was true for some of them. But it wasn’t true for Aliara.

She sat on the bench next to the gate and waited. Out there, the last act was just finishing up, a duel between three captured naga and the gladiator champion Kenso. Kenso would win, of course. He always won. That was why the crowds always came to his shows: not to see whether he would triumph, but how. Aliara was up next, and she brought out a very different kind of crowd, for a very different reason.

Blue-grey ichor spattered across the sands, and a cheer went up from the crowd. “Kenso wins again!” the announcer said, as if the outcome hadn’t been a foregone conclusion. “An amazing victory for the King of the Arena!” He let the applause continue for a minute or two longer, as Kenso traversed the pit with his arms in the air. When it started to die down, the announcer spoke up again.

“Coming up next, folks… the elven maiden Alluria versus… a fearsome rock troll! You do not want to miss this show, ladies and gentlemen, but I warn you that any weak stomachs may want to avert their gaze. Things may get messy!”

Aliara growled, low in her throat. They hadn’t even let her keep her name. “Aliara” wasn’t much of a name, but it was hers, one of the only things left to her from her parents. “Alluria” sounded like the trade-name of some silk-wrapped whore. Which wasn’t far from the truth, unfortunately.

She wore armor, of a sort, though it had clearly been designed to titillate an observer rather than protect her body. The breastplate bared both midriff and cleavage and had a frankly unnecessary amount of detailing, and the armored skirt was barely there at all. Her armor pushed her breasts up and together, forming a solid shelf of jutting flesh that jiggled with every movement. Her weapon, too, was over-elaborate and dainty, a spear with so much silver detailing and filigree that there was practically no steel in its construction at all. It was just for show, anyways. She only wished it was a bit less obviously so.

“Go on, Alluria,” said Pitmistress Kopekh. She crossed her arms and glowered at her charge. Kopekh was quite the ugliest dwarf Aliara had ever met, with slabby jowls, a crooked nose, and a rat’s nest of filthy hair. But she made up for it with her personality, which was by turns vain, sadistic, petty and pompous.

“That’s not my name,” Aliara said. Even now, even after the last few months, she still had a spark of defiance in her.

It was a spark more than Kopekh could tolerate. The dwarf growled and raised her hand. Her lash cracked through the air, unerringly seeking Aliara’s unprotected flesh and raking across her flank with cruel barbs. Aliara hissed through her teeth, but Kopekh’s control of the lash was masterful, and the stroke hadn’t even broken her skin.

“Get in there,” the pitmistress repeated. “Or I’ll bed you down in the troll pen tonight.”

Sighing, Aliara rose to her feet. Kopekh would do it, too. She was spiteful enough to risk damage to her star performer. Aliara shambled up the ramp, passing Kenso on his way down. The gladiator champion shot her a sympathetic look, though he would not meet her gaze. Aliara’s cheeks colored. Kenso was a good sort, given their circumstances. She was sorry that he would have to see her like this.

After the darkness of the undercroft, the light in the arena was near-blinding. Torches flickered in a ring overhead, and a massive brazier suspended from the distant ceiling glowed like the sun. “Ladiiiiiiiiies and gentlemeeeeeennnnn!” the announcer roared. “Hailing from the deepest forests of the World Above, the elven princess Alluria comes to test her mettle!”

The crowd cheered, though their praise meant nothing to Aliara. They didn’t come to see me win, she thought bitterly.

“And to test it comes… a fearsome troll from the darkest reaches of Mount Skarfell!” The gate on the other side of the arena began to rise. Chains clanked and machinery rattled. Aliara tossed her spear from hand to hand and stamped some of the numbness out of her bare feet. The arena sand was clean and fresh, the bloodstains from the previous fight already gone.

The troll had to stoop to pass through the arch, and even so, the top of its flat head brushed against the lintel. It was a monstrous beast, at least ten feet tall even hunched over. Its skin was slate-grey and stone-textured, with occasional scales that gleamed like polished obsidian. Its face was almost human, with a lantern jaw and a drooping, curved nose. Sickle teeth sprouted like mushrooms from between thick, wormy lips. Its legs were stumpy, barely longer than Aliara’s, but its arms were longer than she was tall, corded with muscle. It wore only a crude loincloth and carried a club made from a gigantic femur bone. The smell that rose up from the troll was appalling, like the stink of a corpse left to rot in an underground pond for decades.

It saw Aliara and its mouth split open into a grin. Rotten peg teeth ground against each other. Aliara wrinkled her nose; she could smell its breath from here. Trolls were intelligent enough to train, and this one had clearly been briefed on what the “fight” would entail. Aliara sighed and dropped into a fighting stance. At least she could make this quick.

She’d long since learned not to fight back too hard. The game was rigged against her. There were times, in the first months of her captivity, when she’d entertained the fantasy of escape. She’d break the script, kill her enemy, overpower the guards in the confusion, and vanish into the vast Underneath. She’d come close a time or two, but her captors were not stupid. The armor she wore was not just to make her look appealing—it was enchanted, or more properly, cursed. If she ever did too well, if she ever appeared to be winning, Kopekh could paralyze her with a word. Or simple knock her ****. Or set her nerves alight with excruciating pain. She would do the same if Aliara wasn’t putting up a good enough show. She’d tried laying down on the arena floor a couple of times to see what would the pitmistress would do. All that happened was the same thing that was going to happen anyways, but with more pain and humiliation involved. And being Alluria was humiliating enough.

The troll lumbered forward, and Aliara came to meet it. She circled, keeping her distance and jabbing with her spear. Either the troll hadn’t been told it was a toy or he wanted to put on a show, too. He leaned backwards, away from her thrusts, and held his bone club in a guard position. He let Aliara stab at him a few times, then put his head down and bull-rushed towards her, his free hand held out to grab.

Aliara whirled away with elvish ease. If she were fighting a troll for real, this was how she’d do it. They were hard to hurt and almost impossible to kill, but they tired quickly, especially in bright light. She’d dance around him until he could barely lift his club and then set upon him. Even if she couldn’t put him down for good, she could make his regeneration long and painful.

If. If any of this mattered. If it was up to her.

The two of them traded blows for a few minutes more, and Aliara’s speartip spanged off the troll’s stony body. He tossed his club aside. Only a woodcut troll from a storybook really used a giant bone, anyways. The feral kind preferred to grab prey with their bare hands. It made it easier to rend and bite.

The troll swiped at her, his fingers passing within inches of Aliara’s body. His next swipe sent her staggering backwards. She judged that she’d put up enough of a show to amuse Kopekh and the punters, and the next time the troll grabbed at her she let his fingers close about her wrist.

“Oh no, folks!” the announcer bellowed from somewhere far overhead. “It looks like the troll has Alluria in his grasp! Is this the end for our warrior princess?”

Anger boiled inside Aliara, sudden as lightning. She would not simply lie down in defeat. She would not. She spun her ridiculous spear with her free hand and reversed her grip, stabbing it up at the troll’s face. The creature stumbled backwards, clutching his eye. Trollish ichor squirted out between his fingers. The spear may not have been a proper weapon, but it was sharp enough for this.

Aliara spun away to a chorus of gasps from the audience. Even the announcer seemed uncertain of how to take this reversal. “She’s… she’s freed herself, somehow! It looks like this fight isn’t over yet!” The half-elf circled around the troll, nimble on her feet, careful to stay on his blind side. A look of pained surprise crossed his face. Clearly, he hadn’t expected this.

She darted in and launched a flurry of jabs at his face. A few of them opened shallow cuts on the troll’s cheeks and snout, cuts that closed again almost as soon as they appeared. His eye was already regenerating as well. He looked furious. Well, that’s something, Aliara thought. Her mind was awhirl. She needed a real weapon, that was the next step of her plan. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that the gate to the undercroft was still open. There was an armory in there. Getting past the guards might be tough, but they wouldn’t be expecting her. All she had to do was—

Pain shot through her, twisting her hands into claws and making her stumble. It felt like a lash of fire scraping against her back. The spear flew from her grip. Before she could regain it, the troll was on her, its claws closing around her shoulders. A cloud of trollish halitosis filled her nostrils.

“And there you have it, folks!” the announcer said as the crowd began to roar. “It looks like poor Alluria’s luck has finally run out!”

The troll stared at her for a moment. The eye she had stabbed was still a smear of bloody tissue, but the other one was narrowed in rage. For a moment, she thought the troll was about to bite her head off, but instead it threw her to the ground. She landed hard in the dirt and tumbled end over end. The aftershocks from her cursed armor were still fading, and fresh bruises piled on top of older aches. She pushed herself up into a sitting position in time to see the troll bearing down on her.

One paw closed around her hair and **** her down as she tried to rise. Trollish fingers tangled in her locks she yelped at the sudden pain. The troll’s other hand grabbed his loincloth and tugged it aside.

Beneath, he was half-hard and stiffening. No, the troll would not kill her. That was never the danger. The pitmistress had very quickly figured out Aliara’s unique resiliency, borne of drider magic, and had figured out how to exploit it. The audience had come to know her, too, and those who flocked to her fights had come to see a very special kind of entertainment.

The troll’s cock was a foul thing, lumpy and misshapen, its surface knotted with buboes and fibrous growths. Its head was flanged and its shaft was crooked, like a bone that had broken and been reset wrong. It wasn’t the largest such organ Aliara had seen in the last year, but it was still far bigger than any human or elf, at least as long as her forearm and wider than her bicep. It stank, too, even worse than the troll himself, an odor like rotten fruit and spoiled milk. A misshapen pair of testicles hung below the shaft. One was no bigger than a man’s, while the other was the size of a cantaloupe.

The troll yanked Aliara forward with one hand while fisting his cock with the other. Slowly but surely, it rose from half-mast to full, its crooked length unfurling like a pennant. The smell washed over Aliara as an almost physical ****. Over the past year, her gag reflex had wasted away to nearly nothing, but her throat hitched now in response to the cloud of cock-stink.

The troll pulled Aliara towards him by the hair, mashing her lips into his manhood. Foul-smelling slime smeared across her cheeks and jaw, but she kept her mouth firmly closed. She knew she was just delaying the inevitable, but her defiant heart would not let her just roll over and accept this humiliation. The troll growled impatiently and twisted his fingers through her hair, yanking a chunk of it out at the roots. Aliara tried to keep her jaw locked shut, but she couldn’t help it. She opened her mouth to cry in pain and the troll thrust his cock inside.

It filled her mouth at once, the flanged head pouching out her cheeks. Her eyes watered at the taste, but she **** down her gorge. If she threw up, she knew, it would only make things worse for herself. Instead she tried to focus on breathing through her nose. The troll pushed forward slowly. He had probably been warned not to break her. Inch by inch, his cock slid deeper into her mouth, oozing along her tongue and scraping against her cheeks. Her jaw creaked as it was **** open painfully wide. The head of the troll’s cock reached the back of her throat and paused there for a second. Aliara groaned as she felt the flange pressing against her esophagus. She wanted to believe it wouldn’t fit, but months of hard experience had taught her that her throat was as elastic as the rest of her.

Evidently the troll knew it too. Had he tried this with a normal woman, he’d have snapped her neck, but Aliara’s throat simply expanded to accommodate the enormous trollcock. A bulge formed in her throat and she let out a muffled moan as the pressure released. The flanged cockhead tented out her skin, leaving the enraptured audience with absolutely no doubt as to what was going on. By the time the troll’s hideous balls came to rest against Aliara’s chin, his prick tip was halfway to her stomach.

Only once he’d bottomed out did he begin to withdraw, leaving his victim gasping and ****. He actually pulled himself entirely out of her, leaving Aliara to cough and spit up wads of trollish precum and her own mucous. Her reprieve was short-lived, however, as the troll grabbed her head in both hands and thrust back into her.

SPLLLRRT! The sound that his cock made burrowing into her throat was loud enough to be heard in the stands, a buttery squelch reminiscent of a peat bog. Rivulets of spit squirted out around the seal of her lips, painting the arena floor. The crowd roared in appreciation. A few of its more fervent members, overcome by the sight of Aliara’s conquest, were touching themselves or each other. “Look at him go, folks!” the announcer said. “Alluria has the softest throat this side of the Molten River, or so I’ve been told!”

GLAAAK! BLUUUUGH! PPPPBBBTTH! A chorus of gagging and **** noises rose up from the trapped Aliara, momentarily drowning out even the distant cheers. She let herself go limp. The troll was holding her up, anyways. Further struggle would just lead to further pain. She would go away inside herself, let the troll make use of her body, let the jeering scum in the stands have their pleasure. They could defile her body, but they would never break her spirit. Her eyes went glassy and she let the troll wrench her back and forth. A few lumpen curds of trollish cum dribbled from his cockhead, plunking into her stomach like chestnuts. At least in this position she couldn’t taste them.

He continued to use her throat for another five minutes, shaking her back and forth like a ragdoll. Every few seconds, a new spurt of precum would fill her throat and backwash up out through her mouth and nose, filling her sinuses and pouring down over her face. It dribbled down her chin and pooled in the hollow of her cleavage. She did her best to breath through her nose, though every exhalation blew bubbles in the frothy mixture currently coating her face.

With a satisfied grunt, the troll pulled her off his cock. It stuck in her throat for a moment and Aliara’s eyes slammed open. There was a sense of rapidly mounting pressure and then the troll’s tip pulled free with a wet pop. Aliara collapsed in a coughing fit, hacking up huge wads of cum and throat-slime. Had it not been for the troll’s grip on her hair, she would have collapsed.

Nor was he finished with her. His massive fist uncurled from around her hair, and the constant tugging pain abated. She had no time to experience any relief, though, because the troll’s grip was moving to her shoulders. He manhandled her around, grabbing her by both shoulders and lifting her entirely off the ground.

Aliara’s armored skirt barely reached mid-thigh, and she wore nothing beneath. She kicked her legs at the troll, hoping to score a solid hit on his manhood, but to not avail. She stubbed her toe against his stony stomach and hissed in pain. The bottom edge of her skirt was as good as a funnel, guiding the troll’s penis to where he wanted it to go. Aliara tried to pinch her thighs together, but the troll’s erection was too thick and muscular to be denied so easily. Its tip slid in between her thighs and the crook halfway down its length **** her legs apart like a wedge shoved in a doorjamb. Aliara grimaced as the troll’s cockhead slid along her thigh, smearing her skin with an unidentifiable paste.

It found her entrance easily enough and stuck there for a moment. Aliara hung suspended in midair, her arms pinned to her sides, her body at a forty-five degree angle relative to the ground. She looked up at the audience. They were all staring down at her, row after row of people: men, women, humans, dwarves, drow, orcs, all united in their desire to see her defiled.

You scum, she thought. You vermin. Get a good look. Watch the show. Hatred bubbled and boiled inside her. The troll was just a dumb beast doing as it had been told. These people were the real monsters.

“Uh oh, folks!” the announcer said. His magically amplified voice boomed out across the arena. “It looks like our troll friend has taken a liking to Alluria! Has she found a husband at last?”

The troll yanked Aliara down and thrust forward at the same time. Its cock, already slick with her saliva, bulled past her nether lips and slammed home into her quim. Her eyes bulged and her mouth flopped open. The troll’s rock-hard prong burrowed deep into her guts, pummeling her in the diaphragm and shoving all the air out of her lungs. She let out a wheeze and flailed her legs against him, but she was helpless to stop his progress. The massive cock filled her insides, shoving her organs out of the way and deforming her stomach. The bulge it created was massive, standing at least six inches proud of her flesh. Her skin was drawn so tight around the troll’s cock that an observer could make out every detail: the flanged head, the veins and growths dotting the shaft, even the dimpled hole at the tip.

The troll withdrew slowly, letting the bulge sink a little at a time. Aliara sighed as the pressure released enough for her to inhale. The cock was still inside her, stretching her poor pussy to the point of pain, but at least she could breathe now. The troll gurgled in her ear and shoved forward again—less violently this time, but still strongly enough to mash her womb flat against her sternum. The bulge formed again, pressing up nearly to the level of Aliara’s breasts. She cried out in distress. The pain was bad enough, but the sense of violation was total. Her body cavity was being filled by monstrous, trollish fuckmeat. Its warty flanks abraded her inner walls, scraping painfully against what was once so velvety soft.

Her armor grew warm, as though someone had touched a burning brand to the outside. Aliara shuddered. She knew what was coming next. Not more pain—pain was bearable, at this point. The same magic that made her resilient to this nightmarish penetration dulled the pain to a distant ache. No, the armor’s enchantment struck at something far more ****: her dignity.

“Oh!” She tried to bite back her cry but could not. This was not a squeal of pain or dismay. It was a lewd, whorish moan, more suitable for a courtesan than a gladiator. Yet Aliara could not stop herself, no matter how hard she tried. The warmth spread from her armor to her skin, tingling on her fingertips and dancing up her spine. It seized on her brain’s pleasure centers and lit them up like fireworks, heedless of her shame and disgrace. Her eyes rolled back into her head and her tongue lolled out between lips that were suddenly wet and glistening. Her clit stiffened and her pussy lips grew livid and puffy, dripping with sweet nectar. It ran down the sides of the troll’s cock, pooling in the hollows between growths. All of a sudden, the kink in the middle of his manhood was not a deformity: it was a blessing, precisely angling his rod to rub against her most sensitive spaces.

Stop this! Aliara told herself. Get a hold of yourself! But despite her best efforts, the magic of her armor was far too potent. She could picture Pitmistress Kopekh, sitting on a bench and watching through piggy little eyes. No doubt she would have two of her fittest slaves pleasuring her, rubbing their tongues across her sagging bosom and taking her nipples into their mouths…

She shook her head to clear it, but the obscene images kept coming. Instead she looked out across the audience, but there was no relief there, either. The lewd display in the pit had driven the crowd to new heights of depravity. She saw a pair of leashed humans crowding around their drow mistress, one tonguing her pussy while the other buried his face between her ass cheeks. She saw a gnome held in a midair full-nelson between two orcs, their fat green pricks sawing in and out of her holes. She saw people crawling over each other, licking, sucking, caressing, biting, their fingers and pricks plunging in and out of each other’s orifices seemingly at random….

Aliara shuddered as her first orgasm of the day crashed over her. The troll’s buboes and warts were rubbing her just right, adding a frisson of texture as he jackhammered her cunt. Her vision dimmed for a moment and the sound of the crowd faded, as though she were hearing only an echo. Blood pounded in her ears. She could feel the breath rushing out of her lungs, though she could not hear her own cries. The rest of the audience could, though, and they let Aliara’s pleasure drive them onward to ever-increasing perversions.

“OH! AH! FFFFUCK!” Aliara’s voice was thick and garbled. “UNNNHHH! FUCK ME! FUCK ME HARDER!”

It’s not me saying that, she insisted to herself. It’s the armor. Just the armor.

Yet part of her knew this was a lie. She arched her back and extended her legs in both directions, her toes curling. Part of her wanted this, craved it. Part of her reveled in the debasement, even welcomed the public humiliation. The armor merely unlocked that part and brought it to the forefront. Part of Aliara—a sullen, shameful part, a part that she had long kept buried but could never fully extinguish—told her this is what you deserve. Half-breed. Slut. Born of lust, it is all that drives you.

In her more sober hours, she knew this was a pernicious lie and could name it so. But right now, with her belly tenting and her clit screaming for attention, she could not so easily deny it.

The troll picked up the pace, as if sensing his partner’s eagerness. Perhaps he was just reacting to her tight channel spasming around him. Whatever the reason, his thrusts became more urgent, his movements more florid. He dragged Aliara up and up until his cockhead rested gently against her entrance, then slammed her back down, brutalizing her passage and burrowing his prong into her innermost places. Her cervix proved no barrier at all, and with a white-hot flash of pain he was in her uterus. The dimpled hole at the tip of his cock constantly leaked thick, gluey precum, which filled her womb and bloated out her belly. Her pussy lips, stretched beyond recognition by the troll’s girth, dangled on other side of his ballsack. Aliara’s stomach bloated outward, both from the sheer size of the impaling organ and from the copious quantities of trollspunk that were still pouring into her.

“GNNNHHH!” The troll thrust one more time and let out a wheezing bellow. His misshapen balls hitched and a gout of cum spurted from the tip of his prick. It splashed against the walls of Aliara’s womb and sloshed down her channel, weeping from her battered gash like mucous from a runny nose. Again and again, thick ropes of the stuff spewed forth, and Aliara’s belly began to rise like bread dough. Much of it slopped back out of her, but a goodly amount remained inside, smoothing out her expanding stomach. She let out a last, **** moan, part plea for salvation, part scream of delirious joy. The next orgasm that rolled over her was the strongest yet, a mind-blanking, bone-rattling cumquake that shook her from skull to toe. The audience responded to her climax with a crescendo of their own, and soon the stands were sticky with the mingled fluids of a dozen Underneath races. A glistening waterfull of interspecies spunk cascaded down the stairs and poured out over the arena sands.

Aliara hung in midair for a moment, suspended atop the troll’s still-hard cock. As he softened, he lost interest in his prize and let go of her arms. She slumped forward, but the impaling rod would not let her fall. Instead she sank slowly to the ground as the troll’s cock deflated and slipped out of her. She finally faceplanted, but her grotesquely swollen belly would not let her lie flat. Instead she balanced atop it, her ass sticking out into the air, her freshly uncorked pussy blasting out gouts of lumpy trollspew and filling the air with a rubbery chorus of lewdness.

PBBBBBBBBTTTTTTTTHHHHH!

Aliara lay there in a daze while fight attendants bustled out to lead the troll back to his lair. Nobody came out for her for some time. Eventually Mistress Kopekh took to the sands herself, stepping daintily over the pools and puddles of goo that littered the floor.

“Hm. An acceptable performance, Alluria,” she said. Aliara made no response. Only her shallow breathing gave any hint she was still alive.

“Look at you,” the dwarf sneered. She prodded Aliara’s belly with the toe of one boot, then laid her sole on top of it. Gradually she applied pressure, at first light but increasing steadily, until Aliara cried out in pain. A thick BBBBRRRT! filled the air and a geyser of cum shot free from Aliara’s gaping pussy.

Kopekh signaled her slaves, and a pair of them took Aliara by the shoulders and knees. It took two strong gladiators to carry her back underground. They tossed her into a pile of straw in one corner. It would take a few hours for Aliara to wring herself out, unless Kopekh sent one of the other slaves to assist.

That evening, the half-elf was still sore, though her lower body was mostly numb. No matter the strength of the magic, these shows still took a toll on her. She wondered how long she’d last. Would she die in the arena, one of these days? What kind of end was that? Fucked to **** by an ogre or lizardman, far from the forests of home…

No. She would not die like that. She had no intention of dying here at all. Kopekh was cruel and greedy, but she was also shortsighted and occasionally careless. Sooner or later she would let her guard down. Aliara had already started gently feeling out the other gladiators, seeing which ones might be ready to risk it all for a chance at freedom. She needed to win Kenso, that was the key. If he stood against them, they’d never escape. With his help… they had a chance.

She’d escaped slavery once. She could do it again. And afterwards, what? **** on the party of hunters who’d sold her, certainly, if they were even still alive. And then? Images flashed in her mind: the City of the drow and the dark-haired woman she’d followed there. Did Teysa still live? Maybe. Maybe.

One thing at a time. Aliara rolled painfully over onto her side and helped herself to a bowl of gruel. For now, she focused on surviving. One day at a time. But she would never stop craving her freedom. She would never give up.

BAD END (for now)