I’m thrilled to be a part of the Girls Who Score anthology. Cleis Press regularly produces quality literary erotica that’s as well written as it is arousing. When editor, Ily Goyanes, sent out the call for submissions, I wondered what sort of story I could write. I’m sort of an indoor girl, you see, having boxed up my shelf-full of second place tennis tournament trophies. (I never could master play at the net).
But I love writing historical erotica and decided, with the popularity of Starz’ Spartacus, that I’d enjoy penning a short story about female gladiators. The women warriors were given the term gladiatrix. These fierce fighters were featured in nighttime games or as preludes to male combat. Like their masculine counterparts, gladiatrices were picked from slaves or from free women seeking to earn fame and fortune on the sands. And like the men, they faced uncertain fates in the arena and often fought to the death.
My contribution to Girls Who Score is “Cymone’s Dominatrix.”
On the eve of the games gladiatrix, Cymone, prepares herself by submitting to her equally deadly lover, Appolonia.
Appolonia knows exactly what it takes to force the gladiatrix prima to her knees—and keep her there. The lethal warrior-woman has stolen Appolonia’s heart. But when you are fated to die on the sands, love comes with a high price.
Appolonia finished her wine and looked across the table to where another Hellene, Cymone, sat staring into her cup.
Cymone. Gladiatrix prima. She dominated on the sands, knowing just how long to drag out a fight so that the crowd cheered her to victory again and again, knowing how to make a spectacle of dealing the death blow to anyone unlucky enough to have to face her. She was a true champion, an entertainer who’d risen far above her status as a slave to become one of the most celebrated gladiatrices of her time. A scar marred her olive-skinned cheek, but to Appolonia, the imperfection only made Cymone that much more intriguing, that much more beautiful.
For all her prowess in the arena, however, Cymone delighted in darker pleasures of the flesh and Appolonia was pleased the gladiatrix had chosen her as her lover. Most nights, they lay in each other’s arms, kissing and caressing, bringing each other release before succumbing to the god, Hypnos’ spell. But on the evening before an appearance on the sands, Cymone allowed Appolonia a far firmer hand.
Appolonia squeezed her thighs together in anticipation. Any moment, Cymone would rise, giving the signal for her to follow.
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