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Its either prison or slavery for our heroine.

Such a waste, his wife sighed hand pressed to plump bosom.

The ox lurched forward with all his strength and launched himself at his opponent in one last effort to finish him. The younger man stumbled backwards, fell, lay splayed in the shadow of his enemy. A cry went up. The hammer fell. Then it was over. The ox sprawled face down in the dust a sword sticking up through the back of his neck.

A gasp of astonishment and then a roar of approval swept over the field. Money reluctantly changed hands. Of course the wolf would win, the spice merchant nodded sagely to his quivering wife. He knew it all along.

The wolf paid no attention to the crowd. He stood over the body of his vanquished foe hands clenched at his sides drawing air into his lungs in deep ragged breaths. The adrenalin of battle and of his narrow escape coursed through him. He did not notice the applause nor the two somber guards approaching leading a willowy girl of perhaps twenty or a little older between them.

The girl had watched the contest from under a silk canopy set up at one end of the arena. She had sat very still ignoring the repeatedly offered cup of wine, intent upon contest unfolding before her. If she favored one or the other man she did not show it but followed every movement closely weighing the merits of each blow. A sharp-eyed observer might have detected a slight tension in her shoulders when the younger man stumbled but not the slightest flicker of emotion revealed her thoughts on the progress or outcome of the contest.

With the deciding stroke dealt she had risen and allowed herself to be led out from under the canopy and onto the field. Crowned with a wreath of daisies and clad in a simple shift of white linen that showed the barest hint of rosy nipple, she stepped daintily through the still swirling dust to where the victor stood.

She came to a stop some distance from him and waited head bowed, hands clasped demurely before her. Waking from his reverie, the young man fixed his puzzled eyes upon her. His gaze flickered over her slim body and chestnut curls as if trying to remember what manner of creature she was. Suddenly his mouth widened into a feral grin. The guards stepped back and he began to prowl a circle around her. The crowd stilled . A hush of anticipation fell over the arena.

He circled her again and then again drawing closer each time. He inspected her once more with greater care lingering first on her barely concealed breasts and then on the shadowy triangle between her legs. She did not move. Not a tremor nor a breath disturbed her composure as she waited to see what he would do.

When he was less than an arm's length from her, reached out a hand and cupped a breast. When the girl did not object he tore aside the flimsy fabric and helped himself to a rough grope. Still she did not move though a hint of color bloomed on her high cheekbones and up the column of her slim neck.

With a sound somewhere between a groan and a growl the man seized the girl and threw her to the ground. He quickly ripped away the remains of her garment and forced her slender thighs apart. She did not cried out but stiffened and squirmed a little as he wedged a powerful thigh between her legs and pressed his engorged manhood against her.

"I know it's big but you'll just have to take it," he grunted in his own language. If she did not understand the actual words, she understood their intent for she began to fight him at last.

She bucked and strained against him, surprisingly strong for someone so slight. She was like rod of slender steel that bent but refused to break. And she was nimble. Several times he almost lost his grip on her. If he had been a bulkier and slower man she might have been able to wriggle out from underneath him.

In the end thought she was no match for his strength, not with the thrill of victory flooding his cock with blood and making his balls ache.

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