The Roman Games

Eroticism and Debauchery in Virtual Rome

 

by Wayne Mitchell

 

SAMPLE CHAPTER

 

***

 

CHAPTER ONE (Partial)

Bare-Handed Combat

 

It was Friday night. Jamie Watson was laying in bed checking his emails before going to sleep. After replying to the last one, he set down his phone but then immediately picked it back up in response to the beep which indicated an incoming text. He frowned slightly as he saw the obviously spam text which said, "Are you man enough to compete in The Roman Games? For more information go to..." It then gave a link which was just a bunch of numbers and letters.

He huffed and deleted the text, but as soon as he did, his phone again beeped and the text read, "This is a serious question. Are you man enough to compete in The Roman Games? For more information go to..." This time the numbers and letters were in a larger, bold font with "<Click Here>" in a bold italic font right below it.

Another quick delete, followed by another beep. This time the text read, "Jamie, I know you fantasize about this. This is your chance to turn your fantasies into reality. Check out The Roman Games at..." The link looked like the same bunch of numbers and letters as on the other two texts. The only difference was that the "<Click Here>" was in a really old-looking font.

"What the heck," he said aloud. "They already know who I am. Might as well see what kind of spam shit they are trying to get me to buy."

He clicked the link and a site came up showing a Roman amphitheater similar to the Coliseum except rather than being round, it was hexagonal. The extremely clear image appeared to be three-dimensional and was so detailed that it looked almost like he was viewing an actual six-sided stadium from an airplane flying overhead. There were some control icons on the edge of the screen so he played with the controls for a few moments and figured out that in addition to expanding or reducing the image size, he could change his point of view from ground level to high in the sky and could rotate the image around himself.

When he finally got things settled on a decent-sized ground view from the middle of the arena, he slowly rotated things and could see that there were six giant banners which hung over the six walls of the arena floor. The banners were a deep red that was almost purple with large gold lettering on each of them. One banner said, "Bare-Handed Combat." One said, "Group Battles." Others said, "Battle of the Sexes," "Chariot Races," "Foot Races," and "Gladiators."

Above each title, in a slightly smaller font, was a number written in Roman numerals. Bare-Handed Combat was number I. Gladiators was VI. Most of the banners reached about half-way to the sand floor of the arena, but the Bare-Handed Combat banner with its Roman numeral I was much shorter than all the others to allow for a huge set of brass gates in that wall. The Gladiators banner was also somewhat shorter because there were arched windows under that banner which opened into an alcove area beneath the grandstands. Through the arched windows, Jamie could see a number of men in armor milling around.

"Jamie," a voice from his phone said, "this is a free trial. You don't need to enter any credit card information. You don't need any special equipment. You don't need to download some expensive program. You don't even need to enter your full name or any of your personal information. All you need do is move the arena walls until the banner of the area you want is displayed. Then hold your phone up to your left eye for thirty-two seconds."

Jamie thought, but did not say, "Is this some elaborate joke?" He was, after all, a rather successful game developer and knew that what the voice was saying was next to impossible. But the complexity of what he was viewing on his phone was also almost impossible so he found himself moving his phone closer to his face.

He held it motionless in his hand for a few moments, then after saying "Oh well," aloud, he zoomed the image and rotated it until the Gladiators banner nearly filled the screen. "Here goes nothing," he said and held the phone directly in front of his left eye while softly counting, "One thousand one, one thousand two..."

He didn't get to say, "One thousand thirty-three" because just after he said, "One thousand thirty-two," he found himself standing against the Gladiator wall of the stadium.

Instead of softly saying, "One thousand thirty-three" he shouted loudly, "Holy shit!" And then excitedly said, "This is the best virtual reality I have ever seen!"

He quickly checked himself out and discovered he was dressed in a peaked metal helmet of some sort and thick leather shoulder pads. That was all. Except for the helmet and pads, he was totally naked. Looking down, he could see that his body... and prick... seemed to be him, so evidently he was not some strange avatar. Everything was so realistic that he even thought he could feel a warm breeze blowing across his naked skin, but that had to be just his imagination. He could feel that he was holding something in his right hand. Tightening his grip he said aloud, "Yes, I feel that."

He looked down to see that what he was holding was a long, spiked trident. In his left hand he was holding a circular net which had some heavy round metal weights all around its outer edge. A large group of men stood against the wall with him. More stood inside the alcove. He could smell the stink of sweat and other body odors. Smell? How was that possible?

He slowly looked at the large group of men. They wore a variety of helmets and leather or metal armor. They also held a variety of weapons ranging from short swords and shields to long lances or tridents. Regardless of what weapons or protection they had, all of them were naked from the waist down. On one side of him a short, stocky man was wearing a full-face helmet and a metal arm shield. He was armed with a very short sword that looked almost like a fat dagger. The man on the other side had a more open-faced helmet and a small, round shield. His sword was slightly longer, but was still rather short and thick. Jamie turned to him and said, "This is weird armor. I seem to be half dressed."

The man, who was a head taller than Jamie gave a deep, rumbling laugh and said, "It pleases the crowd. ... And it saves time when the losers are thrown to us."

Jamie looked at him in amazement and confusion. He continued, "We fight sixth. The losers from some of the other battles are thrown to us as their punishment."

Jamie still looked confused so the man said, "Just lean against the wall and wait."

It appeared the man was going to say something else, but a dozen or more trumpets started to blare as a large chariot slowly rolled into the arena. The chariot must have been extremely heavy because it left deep ruts in the sand floor of the arena. The curved front wall of the chariot was covered in gold with golden images of men and beasts proudly displayed on the rounded surface. The wheels and any wood not covered with gold were painted a bright red. The leather harnesses and reins were the same bright red. Even the horses' tails had been dyed to match the red of the chariot.

A driver dressed in a simple white tunic with red trim stood at the very front of the chariot holding the reins in his hands. A man in bright red robes rode near the back of the chariot waving at the people with his right hand while using his left hand to hold tightly to a golden grab bar which came up from the floor at the back of the chariot, formed a large circle, and then attached to the top of the chariot wall. A beautiful woman, also dressed in red robes, rode alongside him but she kept her left hand to her side while her right hand held the grab bar on her side of the chariot.

Jamie watched the chariot as it made a complete lap around the arena. When it passed directly in front of the gladiators, he blinked his eyes and shook his head. Those weren't horses pulling that chariot. Instead of two or four horses the chariot was pulled by twelve naked slaves with bright red horse tails sticking out of their butts. They were arranged in rows of three with the first two rows being female and the last two rows being male.

The big gladiator leaned down and said to Jamie, "Those are losers from last week's games." He then laughed and said, "The one advantage of being a gladiator is that even if you lose you don't end up being thrown to the women or pulling the Emperor's chariot." He laughed again and added, "You just die."

He then patted Jamie on the back and said, "You stick with old Petro and maybe you will even survive today's games." He laughed again and said, "No matter what, we are last, so we get to see the rest of the games and with a little luck you might catch a young nymph or satyr when they lose and are thrown to the gladiators."

Jamie didn't know what to say, so he said, "Thanks, Petro. My name is Jamie."

Petro startled and then very obviously looked at Jamie's crotch. He laughed and said, "Just checking," Then he put his hand on Jamie's shoulder and said, "Jamie is a woman's name. You should call yourself Jamano or some of these others might just think you are a woman and treat you like one."

"Jamano it is," Jamie said firmly.

The trumpets sounded again. The Emperor and Empress had completed their lap around the arena and were now walking up a narrow staircase that had been lowered down out of the wall next to the banner which said, "Chariot Races."

An older gentleman leaned in from the other side of Jamie and said, "The Emperor always races his chariot in the last race. He never cheats, exactly, but he always wins. He has a stable of the finest fillies and stallions to choose from so the others don't really stand a chance. Besides, his horses have had a chance to rest the longest before the race."

Jamie turned to face him and said, "My name is... Jamano. This is my first time in these games."

"I've been here many times," the man replied. "The name is Hector, but here in the arena I use the old Roman form of that name, Ettore."

Jamano leaned with his back against the wall like the other gladiators and waited to see what would happen next. The trumpets blared again and the Emperor called out, "Let the games begin!" He then sat down. Directly above his head, high above the crowd, a man with a large megaphone stepped up onto a platform and repeated the command, "Let the games begin."

The crowd roared its approval. Ettore leaned in very close and said over the roar of the crowd, "That's the Master of the Games."

The MG lowered his megaphone and waited for the roar to diminish. He then raised it once again and bellowed out, "We begin with Bare-Handed combat. Each combatant will fight until they are either the winner or one of the losers."

The trumpets blared again. There were now only six trumpeters standing on top of the wall over the main gate. Evidently only the Emperor merited a full dozen or whatever it had been. As the trumpets sounded, the sound of low-pitched drums could be heard and two drums, each leading a line of sixteen naked fighters walked slowly into the arena. One line was all men and the other was all women. On the back of each male combatant a Roman numeral was painted in a flat black paint of some sort. The numbers were duplicated for the women, but evidently specifying Woman XII would differentiate from Man XII when you placed your bets on the fights.

The drummers led the lines to the center of the arena. When the drums stopped, all of the men and women turned, faced the Emperor, and called out loudly, "Ave, Imperator, morituri te salutant" which means, "Hail, Emperor, we who are about to die salute you." They then loudly slapped their right fist into their chests just over their hearts.

The drummers then left the arena, clicking their drumsticks on the edge of their drums to maintain the beat and stay in step. Meanwhile a squad of men in lightweight tunics trimmed in red, each carrying a long spear-like pole, ran into the arena. They stood more or less equally spaced throughout the arena floor with the pole upright alongside them. On the top of each pole was a red flag with a gold-colored Roman numeral in the center of it ranging from I to XVI. After they were all in place, the combatants dispersed and stood next to the flags in pairs. The women stood next to poles I to VIII; the men stood next to XIX to XVI.

After everyone was in place, three trumpets sounded. The pairs then turned to face each other and crouched down slightly. The trumpets blared again and the MG yelled out, "Begin!"

"What are the rules?" Jamano asked Petro.

Petro laughed and said, "This is the arena." Then still laughing, he continued, "There are no rules."

"Oh," said Jamano as he again leaned back against the wall.

The fights in the arena looked like a mixture of wrestling, boxing, and mixed martial arts. At one of the flags, one of the women already had her opponent pinned to the ground with her knees on the woman's shoulders. The man in the tunic shouted something that Jamano could not quite hear and then lifted the pole with the Roman numeral VII on it over his head and held it crossways.

Four other men in dark-colored tunics rushed in and grabbed the defeated woman. They dragged her kicking and screaming over to the banner which said, "Chariot Races." There she was shackled against the wall facing out into the arena.

"Don't worry, little Jamano," Petro said, "that rambunctious filly will eventually come to us when she loses in the races." He laughed his deep laugh and said, "You don't blame the charioteer for the horses not running as fast as they can. The win belongs to the charioteer. The loss belongs to the stallions and fillies." He paused, smiled, and said, "And the losers belong to us."

There were more shouts from the pole bearers and more naked losers were dragged over to the chariot wall and placed in shackles. The winners walked on their own to stand under the "Bare-Handed Combat" banner. Soon only one set of fighters remained in the center of the arena.

The crowd was loudly chanting, "Homer! Homer! Homer! Homer!"

Petro leaned close and said, "Homer is the favorite, but this new guy Alphonso is pretty good. This should be an interesting fight."

Both fighters already looked somewhat bloody. Homer was standing like a boxer while Alphonso remained a short distance away, crouched over. They circled each other for a few minutes and then Alphonso rushed at Homer staying very low as if he were intending to head-butt him. Homer immediately opened his fists and clenched his hands together, intending to bash the back of Alphonso's neck as he aimed at Homer's stomach. But Alphonso had other plans. He dropped all the way to the sand and slid between Homer's legs on his side. As he slid through, his right arm swung upward so that his fist slammed into the great Homer's man sack.

Homer screamed loudly and stood straight up. Alphonso sprang back to his feet and immediately ran back around to Homer's front. Then he lowered his body once again and this time rammed his head into Homer's abdomen. With a great "Umph" Homer fell backward onto the ground. Alphonso immediately jumped onto Homer's chest with his knees holding down Homer's shoulders. The pole man shouted loudly and held the number XVI pole crossways over his head. There was a great deal of buzzing in the crowd as they watched the guards pull Homer's almost unconscious body over to the Chariot wall.

Once Alphonso was standing beneath the Bare-Handed Combat banner, the sixteen pole bearers walked slowly out of the arena.

The MG stood up, stepped to the front of his platform, lifted his megaphone, and bellowed, "You have two minutes to complete your bets for this second round." Then he sat back down.

Eight of the pole bearers walked back out onto the arena floor. They were now carrying the numerals I through VIII. After they were in place, the sixteen remaining fighters walked slowly out into the arena. Jamano squinted to more clearly see the women in position IV. One of them looked very much like Wanda Morgan who lived in the same apartment complex as him. He thought she lived in his building, but he had never had the chance... or the courage... to talk to her.

At first he thought he was just fantasizing that it was Wanda, but then he saw the dragon tattoo on her left hip. He had seen that tattoo several times when Wanda was at the apartment complex's swimming pool in her bikini. That was definitely Wanda.

Ignoring the other fighters, Jamano concentrated on the fighters beneath pole IV. Wanda, a tall, somewhat curvy blonde was matched with an average height, very thin brunette. It looked like Wanda could easily handle her, but both women had already won one match. Both crouched down slightly and circled each other. Then they lunged at each other and ended up grappling in the middle of their area. After a few minutes the pole bearer shouted something at them and they broke apart and went back to crouching and circling. It was obvious that they were pretty evenly matched and were playing for time while they sought out weaknesses in their opponent. Then Wanda stood up slightly and started shifting back and forth on her feet.

Jamano said aloud, "What in the hell is she doing? She's upright and off balance." Evidently the other woman thought the same thing because she immediately charged Wanda knocking her over on her back. But the other woman hadn't figured on the fact that Wanda had three inches and at least forty pounds on her and was an award-winning college gymnast. Rather than falling flat and being pinned to the ground, Wanda kept rolling, dragging the thin brunette over with her. It was the brunette, not Wanda who ended up pinned on her back in the sand. The pole bearer shouted again, this time with the numeral IV pole held crossways over his head.

The men in black tunics dragged the thin brunette, who was now struggling and screaming, over to the Chariot race banner and chained her in place. Wanda meanwhile walked back over to the Bare-Handed Combat banner. Jamano watched her as she walked. Her ass was jiggling slightly just as it did when she walked around at the swimming pool. When she got to the banner and turned around, Jamano smiled and almost laughed. These matches gave a whole new meaning to Bare-Handed Combat.

END OF SAMPLE CHAPTER