The Arena of Lust

You struggled, confused and afraid, as the black bag was roughly pulled off your head and your eyes tried to adjust to the dark room. A pale, angry looking girl stood before you - that's when you noticed you were tied down to a chair, bolted down to the concrete floor.

"Who the fuck are you," you spat, outraged. "What am I doing here?!"

She smirked, "You are at Marineel's Arena and you are to be our newest fighter."

"What? What the hell are you talking about, who's Marineel," you question angrilly.

"Marineel is the founder of this Arena and our First Girlmaster," she growled, hands on her hips. "You would know her as Elizabeth Tyler... do you remember her?"

You did indeed - Elizabeth Tyler is a goth-girl with whom you shared a English class at your college. Last month she tried to seduce you into going on a date with her, but you never liked her moody attitude, despite her moderately attrative look.

"What does Tyler want with me," you asked, searching the dim room but unable to see much beyond the light of a single red lamp by your chair. "Being tied up like this doesn't exactly improve my opinion of her."

The girl laughed coldly at you, "Marineel doesn't like you so much anymore, John but you will be useful for us - you'll provide entertainment for our paying customers, in the ring. The rules are simple - the first fighter to orgasm loses and will be Marineel's, or her assigned girl's, bitch- for the rest of their pitiful lives - until they either agreed to be part of the Arena, or are permitted to leave. Understand?"

She didn't give you a chance to answer - she cut the cords binding your hands and walked out of the room.

Suddenly a door opened to your right and the sounds of a moderate size crowd's excitement reached your ears - upon walking out you realized your were in the Arena - a large, round room with a cobblestone floor and several sex-devices scattered along the sides of a eight-foot tall steel wall.