It was a familiar chant. Empress Kayla glanced mercilessly at the scene below where one man stood above the other, his foot pressed against the fallen one's breastplate. I met her gaze, my blade’s tip hovering inches away from my opponent’s jugular. My Majesty’s gray eyes flitted from side to side, eyeing the rambunctious crowd clamoring for the fight’s conclusion. A man in white and black stripes shook his head disappointingly, sounding three sharp yelps with the silver whistle hanging off his neck. Thumbs down meant execute. Thumbs up meant spare, but punish accordingly.

She made her judgement, and I frowned disappointedly. Ultimately, it made sense, Perseus had put up a good fight and preserving his life for next year was logical, but bloodlust cared not for reason. Only pain. Regardless it was go time.

The laser induced plasma rapier was tossed aside, clattering with an ominous tone against the arena floor. Kneeling besides my opponent, one padded knee against the pavement, the other pinning down his heaving pectoral muscles, I leaned in and hissed into his ear. "We've got the greatest technology mankind has ever witnessed. Laser weaponry, high energy explosives, augmented superhuman strength yet we still always wind up settling things with our fists... do you know why?" I didn't wait for a response, slamming the knuckles on my right hand across his left cheekbone, snapping his head across with a velocity that threatened to break his neck, not that I cared. "Because it feels good."

He gargled something, ejecting a molar from his mouth. The bloodied tooth bounced across the arena floor, as crimson liquid sprayed across my face to accompany his tirade of insults. "Fuck you, I’ll fucking snap your neck next year you hear me? Rape your wife, beat you senseless, break your limbs, bash in your balls with a hammer you sick fuck-”

Idly, I removed both gauntlets from my hands and wiped the blood from my face. The same cursing, the same vows of revenge, all for naught. “Undoubtedly. But to quote an old phrase, beggars can’t be choosers.” I sneered, before fist after fist collided against the sides of his head, throwing it side to side as the crowd screamed quotes that boiled the raging blood in my veins. “Finish him!” “Break his bones!” “Bruise his skin!” “Crush his honor!” “JAXIMUS! JAXIMUS! JAXIMUS!” They roared my name with each successive blow and I complied with all their requests, but there was one person on the sidelines whose voice and actions effortlessly overwhelmed the spectators and my attention was solely on her.

My wife, my soulmate, my life-partner watched satisfactorily from the sidelines. Men drooled over her glorious body, clad so scantily in silk robes and lace, though she was quite the sight in carbon fiber armor with a semi-automatic plasma rifle in hand as well. Toned, slender, luscious 36c perky breasts, sparkling emerald eyes, the face of a supermodel framed by fiery hair exuding a hue that could've been plucked from a phoenix's tail feathers. She smirked, knowing we were moments from conquering another couple's will. She nodded, clearly enjoying our dominant position and with that, I rose to my feet and stomped on my opponent's wrist and he screamed, a bloodcurdling, agonized yell as the bone underneath fractured.

As anticipated, a single, familiar phrase cut over the jeers and taunts. "Stop! Stop. Leave him alone, I'll swap in." A petite brunette, lithe and flexible clearly as she breached the arena’s perimeter and stepped forward. Outfitted in a white silk gown, its hem tainted with dirt and dust she finally approached us and knelt besides her husband. Wordlessly, she motioned for two doctors on the sidelines to hurry over as she cradled her husband’s broken body in her arms.

"Marianne! Baby no! No please, don't do this. I don't want him touching you I-" The husband pleaded, tears streaming down his eyes, unable to even lift his right arm to wipe his cheek. She silenced him with a tender kiss as I watched impassively, bored with the interaction already and eager to continue with the next. I removed both gauntlets, tossing them aside.

"I have to. He'll cripple you for good, put you in the hospital for a half year, maybe more, perhaps even for life if I don't do this. I'm doing this for us, not for you, for my own peace of mind." She leaned forward, kissing him on the cheek before the medics lifted his aching, broken, protesting body onto a stretcher and transported him out of the arena. I considered forcing him to stay, ensuring that he would witness the violation I would force his partner to endure.

She watched him disappear into crowd before facing me. “Well then? Get on with it.” She snapped in a feisty, injured tone, arms folded across her chest, her expression that of utmost loathing and disgust. I reached forward, resting my hand on shoulder, savoring the feel of the smooth, milky white, tender skin barely shielded by the white silk dress. I lifted the strap, letting it fall aside exposing the top of her beautiful left breast. She shuddered, an action my partner noticed as she sipped a glass of red wine amusedly. I glanced back at her: she cocked her head to the side, biting her bottom lip, a sultriness spreading across her face and I thought,

I have earned my reward.

(Optional scene that follows. Skips Marianne’s rape. Gives more insight into the wife’s character.)

“It’s not a necessity to take every girl you break in as a slave, you know.”

“Why? Getting jealous there, Cecilia?” I smirked, slinking an arm around her waist as she remained intently focused on her holographic tablet detailing a series of transactions, most of which were incoming funds for our previous victories. “You know… I still have quite some cum inside my balls for you to suck out.”

“Only after you’ve washed off that whore’s spit. Oh I’ll definitely suck it, but not with her scent on your dick.” She gripped my erection, smirking slightly before pulling back her hand. Ever since she propositioned our joint venture, it was always an endless session of teasing and berating with her. She definitely pushed my limits, on the arena floor or in the bedroom. She smacked my sides with wooden swords; I smacked her face with my cock. There was always something about violence that made us degenerate, or was the proper term evolve, into a snarling ball of sexual fever at the end of our practice sessions. I’d always liked having a submissive girl at the end of the day, but something about Cecilia… consumed my thoughts, kept me wanting more. It wasn’t that she didn’t like playing the submissive whore, but she enjoyed challenging me in ways most women couldn’t.

Or was it all an act. I frowned, keeping those thoughts to myself. This year would be her sixth attempt to become Empress, compared to my first. She’d never kept the same partner for two consecutive years, discarding them after they failed her. And she’d been so close in her fourth attempt, lasting up until the final two weeks until her partner was skewered by three spears simultaneously. ”All of those fuckers failed me, every single time when I needed them most.” She’d ranted before, rarely, but every single outburst was etched in my mind eternally. That is SHE lost the conclusive fifth battle, letting down her partner.

A depression. Alcoholism. Rehab. A 2 year long hiatus. And now she’d returned, more power-hungry, seductive, beautiful, sensual, arousing, exuding more confidence than ever on the surface. Like a phoenix born from the ashes, blinding everyone immediately with her conviction, but now more sagely, understanding. Or was it all an act?

She confused me. But I needed her. I’d never understand her, perhaps I wouldn’t, even after death, which could be within the next 3 months, but I knew she needed me. After all, we were in this together. At least until we weren’t.

Ultimately my favorite prompt in a futuristic society where the greatest attraction is gladiator fights. The top fighters receive sponsors, live luxurious lifestyles. Couples, heterosexual or otherwise, register together in these brutal competitions which run from September to June, with the couple last standing achieving a final duel with the current Empress and Emperor to take their positions.

Fights can be fought in pairs or one partner can challenge another directly. Fighters must incapacitate their opponents within the hour, otherwise a draw is called. However, if a fighter successfully bests their opponent within the hour, any remaining time can be devoted to the fallen’s physical, sexual, verbal, mental abuse until time runs out but she/he is not permitted to kill/dismember/maim the fallen until the fallen’s fifth loss, at which point the current Emperor/Empress can decide their fate. However, the fallen’s partner can substitute for their partner. In the case of a pair-fight, no such option is possible. Loser’s must also forfeit 10% of their wealth to everyone who defeated them, totally to 50% of their of their total assets in the end.

THIS ROLEPLAY HAS THE POTENTIAL TO BE VERY PLOT HEAVY (In fact, I almost even designed, want it to be.) BUT THERE’LL STILL BE A FUCKTON OF SEX. In fact, I’ve already developed a character dynamic between the main character and his wife, which I can send to you in a PM if you’re interested. Ideally you would play as the gladiator’s partner-in-crime, but I’ve had others play as Marianne, the Empress, a random fangirl, another duelist, etc.

Rules are simple.

1) You may only lose 3 arena fights. After that, you’re eliminated until the next year.

2) You may refuse up to 5 arena fights. After which, you’re forced to accept all challenges.

3) You may only submit one challenge a day, though you can choose to submit none if you desire.

4) You may not participate fights within 24 hours of each other for the first half of the tournament, 48 for the second half.

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