The Gladiators: Ch. 1 [Preview]

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Greetings, my faithful readers!
This is the preview of the first chapter of my third commission, courtesy of another commissioner who prefers to remain anonymous. I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! This is the very tip of a very large, very impressive iceberg, and hopefully you’ll enjoy building up to the spectacular climax of this tale as it continues.
[redacted]
Content Warnings: Unrealistic anatomy, Muscle, Incest
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The Beginning

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The Fates’ designs are never clear to those woven into their tapestry. With each mortal and immortal birth, Nona spins the thread of fate, Decima measures it carefully, and Morta cuts it’s end. Together, the fates weave each thread into their loom, crossing and twisting and interweaving each strand with countless others, forming the great and glorious tapestry of destiny.  But just as one cannot see the full glory of Roma while standing in the Flavium, no single thread can see the course their thread weaves through destiny. But, seen or unseen, the course of one’s fate is undeniable. See two threads, bound tight together since first they were spun, unable to know nor deny the fates’ designs, as they continue blindly towards a fateful crossing of strands.



In a rural strip of Terranova, the back corner of a back corner field, wicked steel claws raked the earth with tireless hunger, ravenously feeding piled grasses into a mechanical maw, chewing down the row. As the steel beast’s eyes saw the end of the row, it’s simple silicon brain sparked, confirming their were no more rows to turn and feast upon. It’s tireless tracks came to a halt, and its steel gut churned its meal, binding it all together. its task complete, the steel beast sang a sharp, steely tone of triumph, and it’s back end opened. From the beast rolled a massive cylinder of tightly-bound hay, as tall as a man and just as wide, nearly nine hundred pounds of tightly-packed vegetable matter. It rolled down a ramp to the ground, barreling across the field like a steamroller. The baler’s simple metal mind had already forgotten about the bale, its treads rolling once more as it made for the road, already occupied with its next priority, reporting a coolant leak to maintenance.

Marcus gritted his teeth and braced himself, kneeling down as the enormous bale bore down upon him. It looked even bigger from this angle. He had one chance. As soon as he felt the rough netting touch his fingers, he heaved. His entire body stiffened, muscles tensing to oaken hardness. His biceps pulled into knots of muscle the size of grapefruits, his massive pecs flexed into iron plates of pure power, his rippling core tightened to a washboard eight-pack, every bulging muscle glistening with a sheen of sweat. The bale hesitated, its path barred, but its momentum too great to be stopped. His thighs strained as he rose, defiant of the immense weight of his load, and let out a determined growl. As he reached his full height, he gave one final heave with every last ounce of strength within him. The bale’s momentum carried it along as his muscles gave it one last upward push, the massive cylinder arcing into the air for a brief moment before it came crashing down once more to land in the bed of the hauler behind him, the sudden impact making the hauler’s shocks buckle for an instant before they came bouncing back, the tossed bale rolling to join the dozens of others already within.

Valeria gave a sinking whistle, impressed. “Damn! I was expecting you to get steamrolled.” She commented, shaking her head as she slammed the hauler’s gate shut and latched it into place. Her body was an effortless balance of strong and soft. Warm, olive skin, glistening with the sweat of a hard day’s work, showed every contour of her firm, sculpted muscles. From her tight 6-pack to her strong thighs to her beefy biceps, it was like all of her body fat had been gathered to just the right places. Her labor garb, essentially a sports bra and a pair of tight skin-tight shorts, strained to contain her abundances, her full, soft E-cup breasts rising and falling with each deep breath, her wide hips and juicy, shapely ass rolling as she shifted from one foot to the other. The only other clothing she wore was her slave collar, a black choker with a small box on either side of her neck. “That makes us even, right?” She inquired casually.

Marcus grinned triumphantly, shaking his head. “Oh, no you don’t. You raised the stakes, remember? Now YOU owe ME one.” He corrected, wiping the sweat from his shaved head with one hand, feeling the short, black stubble already growing on his scalp rasp at his palm. Sweat glistened all over his olive-skinned body, drops gathering into rivulets that cascaded through the deep valleys of his powerful muscles. Like his sister, he wore only his slave collar and his labor garb, the labor garb much like his sister’s bottoms, but the front of his tight, clinging shorts bulged with a orange-sized mass, tightly packed away.

“Damn. I was hoping you’d forgotten…” She muttered as she turned back to face him, it was easy to see the resemblance between the siblings. Venus blessed, some called them, to be so attractive even after years of hard labor. They both had the same warm olive skin, tanned a shade or two darker from working in the sun all day. Both bore the same brilliant sapphire eyes that gleamed with energy. Both had deep black hair, though it was hard to tell with their heads shaved, though the look did nothing to detract from the pair’s natural beauty. While they both had the same strong cheekbones, her face narrowed into a heart shape with full, pink lips, while his bore a strong, square jaw with a bit of a shadow of stubble.

There were plenty of other differences between the twins, too. He was taller, standing 6’5” to her 5’10”, and older, too, by about an hour. He was stronger, she was faster. She was more free-thinking, he was more organized. He was better at direct competition, she was better at team sports.  She was better with horns, he was better with drums. The pair had been competitive from the moment they were born, ceaselessly duelling one-another in every arena they could come up with, each looking to prove to themselves and their sibling that they were the better of the two. And yet, despite their endless struggle, they were all but inseparable, one only rarely seen without the other.
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