AUTOGRAPH HUNTER

by Daniel

The back of the ticket was the only spare piece of paper in Tarvil's pockets, so he hurriedly striaghtened out the creases by pressing the paper against the wall of the corridor.

"You're next, boy!" said the arena official, a fat old man with a shaven head and a dirty white tunic.

Tarvil nodded, rummaging in his pockets for a pencil but finding nothing better than a small stick of charcoal. Cursing under his breath, he waited impatiently at the head of the queue, wishing that he had come to the arena better prepared.

The door in the corridor opened and a young man of around his own age bustled out, waving a small painted portrait as he scurried away past the long queue.

"She signed her own picture!" he trilled excitedly. "Look, everyone! She even wrote my name alongside hers."

"Get inside, boy!" growled the official, tugging Tarvil's shirt. "Stop gawping at that idiot!"

Tarvil dashed under the arch and the door slammed behind him. He found himself standing in a small square room, its only furniture being a little table in the corner and a bench along one side. On the bench sat a woman, her shoulders bare, her body wrapped in a long white towel. Her brown hair was cut very short, styled quite spiky on top, and her eyes were a piercing crystal blue. Smiling at Tarvil as he entered, she signalled that he should sit beside her on the bench.

Tarvil thanked her breathlessly, realising as he sat down that his knees were trembling. Again the woman smiled, leaning back against the wall and inhaling deeply.

"What is your name and age?" she inquired. "And where do you come from?"

"T-Tarvil, my lady," came the stuttered reply. "I am eighteen and I come from Tilnon."

He did not need to ask her name, for he knew it well enough, having followed her career with obsessive interest for three years. Nor did he need to ask her age, nor the place of her birth, for every fanatical admirer of her prowess knew such mundane facts. She was twenty-five and a native of Werth, born into a childhood of immeasurable poverty and sold into slavery before her tenth birthday. Like most Werthers she was olive-skinned and blue-eyed, her lean face showing the high cheekbones that were such a typical feature of her people. A faded scar ran down the length of her right cheek from eye to jaw, marring what would otherwise have been a flawless and beautiful face. To Tarvil, of course, she was still very beautiful, the loveliest of all females who fought in the arena at Crothar.

"My name is Zone Arkus," she said softly, giving him the information though she figured he already knew it. "Do you want my autograph?"

"Yes please, my lady," he answered shyly. "But I have come ill-prepared, I fear." Holding out his trembling hand he clutched the creased ticket.

Zone Arkus laughed, her eyes twinkling and her shoulders bobbing. "You want me to sign the back of an arena ticket? That won't do at all, dear Tarvil. Most of my fans bring a picture of me to sign, or at least a program from today's swordfighting contest. I refuse to scrawl my name on a crumpled ticket."

Tarvil blushed deeply, feeling so forlorn and embarrassed that he wished the ground would swallow him up. He almost felt like weeping under the lash of what he believed to be her scorn and disdain.

But Zone observed his distress and curled a comforting arm around his shoulders.

"Forgive my jest," she said. "I was only joking, or partly so. For indeed I will not sign that wrinkled ticket." Rising to her feet, she stood before him, her blue eyes glinting as she stared down at his mournful face. "Don't look so disappointed," she added. "For you are about to become the most fortunate of all the admiring fans that are waiting to see me today."

Tarvil gazed up at her, awestruck by her loveliness. Having previously seen her only at a distance as she fought in the arena while he watched from the tiered seats, he was now at last close enough to truly appreciate her beauty. At six feet she was at least four inches taller than him but now, as she loomed above him while he sat hunched on a bench, she seemed like a statuesque goddess. Being in such proximity to her body, to her supple athletic form that had for so long fuelled his fantasies, caused a stirring in his loins. He could feel the warmth of her flesh like a hot breeze against his face, his nostrils flaring at the aroma of perfume emanating from her freshly-scrubbed pores.

And then, to his astonishment and delight, she let the towel fall to the floor.

"My lady!" he gasped, his mouth forming further exclamations but his throat turning suddenly dry and tight. Sitting back against the wall he feasted his gaze upon her, the woman of his dreams, the female gladiator whom he had adored from afar for so long. There she stood before him, the famous Zone Arkus, her sleek muscular limbs as smooth as brown leather, her magnificent shapely breasts heaving above a delicately narrow waist. Her slim hips were encirled by a thin band of red lace which in turn held up a triangle of white silk that preserved her feminine modesty.

"You seem surprised, Master Tarvil," she said, smiling down at his wide-eyed expression. "Is this not what you expected?"

"N-no, my lady," he stammered, his voice croaking. "I never expected to see your gorgeous body unveiled, though the vision exceeds anything my mind may have conjured during these past years. You are truly, utterly, stunningly beautiful."

Zone laughed merrily, stepping forward to bring her body close to his dumbfounded face. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she thrust out her hips, making her crotch touch Tarvil's twitching nose. The white silk that covered her mound felt smooth and soft against his skin, his nostrils shivering at the strong womanly scent emanating from the triangle of white silk.

"To what do I owe this great honour, Mistress Zone?" he asked politely, using the most courteous language. In his lap his erection throbbed and ached, straining beneath his trousers, desperately seeking to escape the restrictive garment.

"You're merely twice lucky," she replied. "Lucky once, because I intend to give you a special souvenir, unlike any other that I bestow today. Lucky twice, because today's hard-fought combat has made me feel more alive than ever before, while the bath that I have since enjoyed has made me yearn for sexual relief. So, Master Tarvil, let us combine the two and make a single gift that you shall take home with you tonight."

"I do not understand," he protested.

"You will," she replied. "Now, put your hands around my hips and clasp my ass. That's right, my young admirer, that's very nice indeed. Squeeze my buttocks, though gently, and move your fingertips over them, also along the cleft between them. How does that feel?"

"Praise the gods!" Tarvil hissed, gazing up to admire her superb breasts and the large pink nipples that adorned them. "Your bottom feels so firm, so rounded, just as I imagined. And in the cleft between your cheeks my fingers detect a thin string of lace, such as encircles your hips. The lace seems to go all the way down, plunging deeper into the crack, until it reaches your ... "

"Whoa, my young disciple!" she cried, her body suddenly tensing. "Your finger just ran over my little brown rosebud. Did you not know?"

"No, lady, for the red lace strip conceals it. I'm sorry if I inadvertently tickled your anus."

Zone shrugged, giggling as she pressed her body even closer, until her silk-covered mound pushed against the teenager's gaping mouth. He knew what she wanted him to do, so he put forth his tongue and licked the silk triangle, flicking the outlined shape of her hidden labia with small movements of his tongue-tip. Meanwhile, his hands caressed and squeezed her incredible ass, which felt so perfect that he almost ejaculated into his trousers.

As a spectator in the arena he had often seen the outline of Zone's buttocks through the short leather skirt that all female gladiators wore, but he never imagined that he would one day clasp her firm curvy cheeks in his groping hands. Nor did he ever expect to see her fantastic bosom bared for his delectation, its charms usually hidden in a wraparound band of leather that protected her orbs in combat. The white silk undergarment that his tongue now licked so eagerly, so feverishly, was such a pretty item that he guessed it to be an expensive present from a wealthy fan, a sensual gift from a doting admirer to a girl whose public career was not normally associated with delicate things.

On several occasions, when an opponent's sword had sent Zone Arkus tumbling to the arena's sandy floor, the spectators had been given a brief glimpse beneath her leather skirt, a fleeting view of the skimpy black undergarment that usually hid her intimate parts. To some of her obsessed fans this glimpse was enough to fuel their masturbation fantasies for many nights, but Tarvil and other devotees longed to see more, though none of them seriously hoped for it.

To most spectators, even to her most adoring followers, Zone Arkus the Gladiator was a creature of leather and steel, a skilful though merciless killer whose days were spent in sand and blood. Seeing her standing before him now, her smooth brown body smelling of perfumed soap, her womanly parts enclosed by a flimsy garment of lace and silk, Tarvil felt that she had become transformed into a sweet and gentle queen.

As he licked and nuzzled her cunt the silky material became moist with his drooling saliva and with Zone's oozing juices. Tarvil's hands on her buttocks roamed ever more frantically over the firm rounded flesh, his fingers becoming bolder, probing deep within her ass-cleft to gently rub the lace strip against the sensitive crinkled mouth of her anus. His tongue soon drenched the white triangle, making the material so transparent that the fleshy slit of her shaven cunt became visible. In response to Tarvil's slavering attentions, Zone felt her orgasm approaching swiftly, its first waves breaking upon her body before gathering for a mighty surge.

"Tarvil! Oh Tarvil!" she gasped, throwing back her head. "Today, you are of all my many followers the most precious!"

Then, to his delight, she climaxed on his tongue's eager dance, her legs shuddering, her buttocks tightening in his hot clasping hands. Above his head her magnificent bosom heaved, the pink nipples stiffening on her breasts as her upper body stretched in ecstasy. Holding her ass tightly he felt its cheeks harden as the muscles clenched and, in that same moment, a dribble of pre-cum trickled from the tip of his stiff aching cock, the fluid forming a small damp patch inside his trousers.

Tarvil placed a series of tender kisses along the red lace waistband of her undergarment, but Zone pulled away, ruffling her short brown hair with those long strong fingers. Standing barely twelve inches away from his drooling face she tucked her thumbs into the red lace waistband and quickly pulled her underwear down her legs, chuckling as she stepped out of it. Then, holding it delicately between thumb and forefinger, she dangled it in front of Tarvil's nose, the wet silk triangle flicking his nostrils as they flared.

"You smell my scent, I think?" said Zone. "Like ink on a page, my cunt-juice writes my mark on this flimsy garment. Here is my special autograph, Tarvil, written with passion on my underwear, just for you. Take it home tonight and cherish it, remembering your favourite gladiator!"

"L-lady!" he stammered, too dumbfounded to say more, though he gratefully accepted the gift. The vision of her smooth hairless mound held him transfixed, his eyes drawn to the glistening slit and to the stiff pink clitoris that peeped between her labia.

"No other man has ever received such a souvenir from me," Zone explained. "So consider yourself uniquely honoured."

A smile flickered across her mouth as she bent to retrieve the white towel, a graceful movement swiftly wrapping it around her body. For a moment the disappointment on Tarvil's face was plain, his expression turning Zone's smile into a white-toothed grin.

"Up, now," she said gently, offering her hand for his kiss. "Stand up, and bid me a courteous farewell, until we meet again."

Tarvil rose, politely kissing her hand before carefully folding the moist undergarment to place it in his pocket. Still grinning, Zone nodded towards the door and said: "Tell the next fellow to come in."

As he left the room, Tarvil heard her give a small giggle, but he didn't look back, holding his head high as he stepped proudly into the corridor. A portly middle-aged fan hurried from the head of the waiting queue to enter Zone's chamber, the door closing softly behind him. But the surly arena official eyed Tarvil suspiciously, scratching his stubbly chin.

"You were in there a long time, boy," he observed. "And what were those strange noises?"

Tarvil shrugged innocently. "Nothing, sir. Just our voices as we talked about today's swordfight."

"Did she give you her autograph?"

Tarvil smiled, patting the mysterious bulge in his pocket. "She did indeed," he answered, as he turned to walk away towards the arena's main gate. "In fact, sir, she was exceedingly generous."

THE END

Copyright � D. Boudewijn 2005

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