The roar of the crowd urged me on. I, who wore only a thin codpiece over my privates. It was the greatest arena in Rome, the best made it here through training and other battles. The ones I fought were slaves, well trained, better than even I, who fought for the profit. I had a short sword and a thin pointed knife, the sword in my right hand, the knife in my left. I fought five and three were down on the sand of the arena, groaning and holding their severe belly wounds already. One was even being dragged off, still alive. Odd that, since the battle was not yet over.

I faced two men now, both young, the same age as I, about 19 I would guess, both taller than I but not as muscled. They had well developed bodies to be sure but not as cut or as massive as my own stocky body and belly. I would be able take whatever it was they dished out onto my belly using my hard rock abs. They wouldn't expect that but I didn't intend to let them get that close.

The one to my right wore a helmet and am arm cover over his right arm from shoulder elbow. Hah! Did he think I would go for that? No way. The belly for me. Love ripping open other guys bellies, seeing stuff come out with smoke sometimes if it were cold enough outside which it wasn't. It was very humid and all three of us were sweating profusely, some of it almost blinding each of us as it ran down our foreheads into our eyes. The one on the right, Arelius I think his name was, held a large pointed trident, the main point longer at the middle than the other two flanking it. At his waist he had a knife but he'd never get a chance to use it. Nor his trident either. He kept engaging my sword and I kept forcing the trident back by hitting the sword closer to the middle point and then trying to slash at his close by belly--he wasn't using the length of the trident. He would soon be fodder for my sword, his belly was mine, soon to be ripped, torn, cut, and butchered. Dark but not black, he seemed one of the slaves captured when we Romans invaded another faraway land. It didn't matter. I'd spill his belly contents soon enough and put him out of his life of slavery.

The other one, nearby and to the left, worried me more. He had two swords, both like mine and he had no honor. Every time I engaged the one on the right, this one, Satyru, I think he called himself, would come at me, taking the two to one advantage like the coward he is. He, like myself, wore no helmet. And he was the rare one, a blond gladiator, a blond Roman. And a slave, a thief and killer. He was more muscled than Arelius but not more than I. His stomach muscles tightened each time he came at me as if in anticipation that they would play host to my screwing points of one or both of my weapons. I was breathing heavily, not from their tiring but from the thought that I would soon be sticking them both.

The trident clanging onto my sword again made me realize he came in once too often. I had had it. I was tired of playing this game with him. I drew in close and with my left hand swiped the knife to ward off Satyru. I held the trident so that the strength of the defined arms trying to free it up, couldn't. I moved it downward and let go, expecting Satyru to do what he did next. They always did this. He drew his trident up and up and over my head. I held it up using my left hand and knife wrapped around it. The other one was too afraid to move in as we grappled with so many points. I drew back my elbow and gave my the entire length of my sword room to fit between my body and my opponent's. It was ove rin a moment. He gave a hearty deep felt groan like a man should, a groan that seemed to come from the pit of his stomach, nay, even his own lower belly and maybe even his intestines. It was a deep groan. A satistying groan. The sword point drove deep into his oval shaped belly button, which looked like an oval shaped bird's egg. It was large and the interior wasn't deep but kind of shallow, the flesh easily seen...and quickly reached with my sword. I drove it straight on in. I could have sworn Aerilus drew his upper body back in a laughing huff as this happened. Didn't he know this would make him lose his cover...perhaps he didn't care...and perhaps, he liked seeing another muscled beauty get stabbed. I Know I did. I loved it when it was me doing the stabbing. The crowd also loved it. They went wild and were yelling for his finish ...a slow finish which was impossible and they knew it. I had to deal with this other good warrior. Good but not as good as I!

My elbow moved forward, pushing, driving, sticking, straight. The steel drove into the stomach. The man being stuck grabbed at his sides, dropping his trident immediately. He wanted to hold his belly button but couldn't----my weapon was in the way. Apparently, not only was Aerilus enjoying this but so was my victim. For after the shock and the inability to grab anything that would ease his pain, he took hold of the sword which only cut his hands and I saw a lasting smile on his face, his eyes closed but he wasn't yet that close to his final breath...he was...he was enjoying being stabbed! I had seen it before, men getting it in the gut loving it so much they creamed in their thongs or out of their loin cloths. I flexed my stomach muscles to prove my superiority over both of them. It seemed to take forever to drive it out this poor warrior's bare back but it lasted only a little while. I liked the fact that he liked the feeling. Of course, I dare not understand that. Why would anyone want the pain to give them good feelings? Pain driving right into their navel and creating a metallic death bridge from their front to their back, a tunnel of unmitigated death and pain, slow pain, intense...hey, I better unplug this one and let him die in his own sex juices, he can enjoy it all he wants to. He was still standing when I removed the sword, the air sucking in as I pulled out. He held his hands over his belly but didn't touch yet. He looked, bent his neck to see the handiwork. This look at his mutiliated belly button and abs made him the happier. He then tried to touch it and fell at the same time. He fell to his knees and then doubled his back over his legs, his butchered belly sticking out and innards popping from the pressure. Since the other one didn't move in as I had expected him to, I put my knife away and scooped up the trident, "You won't take long to die. You fought okay, die!" I drove that trident right into the same blood-hole I made with my sword, using both my hands. I felt it drive through the slab of meat and into the sand below in a warming gesture. I loved it. I grew hard.

"Come coward, now you may attack unaided by the cover of your better fighting partner!"

"You will soon join him," the blond wrought up some spunk from inside and charged without waiting. I let go of the trident; Satyru finally found something to put his hands around--his own trident in his belly---heaving along with his stomach as he heaved the last six breaths and then gave up the ghost. He rolle onto his side and I, even though I was facing his partner, I..had to watch as he must have felt even more concentrated pain as the ground and trident met as he rolled. Tearing trident. Then he kicked his last.

I had other problems. Now facing his death, this one attacking me, was giving it his all, his last desperate attempt at survival. I eyed his navel. It was not as shallow as his partner. It had a definite ring and ridge and part of it seemed to go innie and part of it seemed to launch back out as if in defiance of being an innie at all. It was so cool. I used it as my target to git him. Or rather gut him.

I had taken out my sword and knife again and met his with same, knife to knife, sword to sword. We fought and he was much stronger than I first thought. Well, since he hardly engaged me this close before, there was no way to tell. He was stronger than I. He backed me toward a wall, which I hated. I turned and he turned with me so I tried to back him to the wall. In a way, we were evenly matched. I was quicker but he was stronger. We went on in this balance of power for quite some time. The crowd, bless them, was yelling for both our deaths if one of us didn't get some cold steel into a hot fluidic flesh. But as we struggled, they changed attitude. They seemed to respect what we were accomplishing. they grew to be very quiet. My mind went to the boy prostitute I would be allowed after slaying my opponent.

Perhaps he wasn't a coward after all. Through aching muscle pain, I told him so. "I submit..."

"You do? Then give up and die!"

"...that you are not a coward. I am sorrowful that I called you one!"

"Do not try to make me feel for you. You are mine! Die already!"

I laughed as we still were locked in this power standoff, both of us straining every muscle, every thing tense and my abs standing out and the indents between more evident--a river could flow between them and his were the same. "I wish now that I do not have to gut you... but it always gives me great pleasure..."

Our chests were chest to chest, puffed out and meeting. I could feel his right nipple against my left one. There was not much space between our bellies and for a moment they touched, two rocks or strings of rocks meeting for a slight time. It felt good. I then stirred myself--I wanted my metal in what I just felt. I slowly began to lower my hands, moving my weapons down his as we pressed. He managed to turn my back toward the wall again but I moved again, thus had to stop my motion downward. He didn't.

The crowd must now see me battling battling for my life. What did it look like to them really? We were sword to sword, knife to knife. Evenly matched. Even so, as our swords met above our heads, pushed together by the might of two adversaries, and our knives met between our chests, they must see and hear that one of us was stabbed fatally. Perhaps they strained to see but from where they sat, just maybe they could not tell who was victor and victim. Could only see both backs arch and both groan---one a groan of victory, one a groan of deadly pain.

The knives were apparently between us, they and we both knew that. The two of us so closely touching our bodies in the struggle the knives could not be seen. Then maybe the audicne could soon see our two heavenly bodies move apart alittle, I looked down and had a steel blade sticking into my belly button. My enemy had lowered his blade into it mightily forcing the knife down, away from my hand. I didn't even feel it. There was too much other pain going on all over my body. But seeing it somehow made it all the more real and made the pain center around it---it was outshining the pain in the rest of my tired, weary body.

Now I understood. My belly button wasn't deep nor was it shallow but it was very circular and had about a half inch rounded cup inside it with a brown beauty mark on one side, now red and cut.

I understood the smile of Satyrus. I understood why some of my victims came at the feel of my points in their navels, their upper abs, their stomachs and intestines...it felt...SO FUCKING GOOD! It was as if I had never felt anything in my life before...as if I was alive for the first time...ironic as I was slowly dying for the first time. The softness in my belly button was in stark contrast to the hardness of my man meat all around it and my opponent knew this. He huffed breaths out his nose and mouth, enjoying feeling my softness in my button while also jerking the knife a bit to feel the hardness around the belly button. It all felt so good, I wanted it to go on forever. Pain and pleasure.

Did I really understand it? No, I just enjoyed it seething through me from one end to the other and out! I felt air coming into my back as the sword moved all around.

The more new flesh it found, the better I loved that point of his in me. I even wanted his sword to join the knife point. He then took the knife out and cut a circle around my belly button...a fuckin deep circle and he seemed to try to pull the button and everything attached to it out of me! Felt damned good! Out but I also wanted it in. "Stab me dead more and more!"

He smiled at me, his eyes through his now downed long yellow locks, and knew I now knew. I foamed at the penis, My hands were wild. I was gripping my ribs, my lower sides, and my chest. I tried to grab at Arelius but couldn't. I wanted to hold the knife as Sat did before but didn't want to cut my hands. I wanted one pain, the pain of a driving piece of solid long steel, point first in my navel. Rather than cutting out my belly tunnel, the killer knew I wanted it back in me. The whole mess back in me. He gave it to me and in a way I didn't expect but enjoyed all the more!!! He pulled off my codpiece. Pre cum went with it and the beginning of an orgasm, whiteness threatened to fly loose. A few white-clear drivlets did fly but I tensed my balls and held onto it. I wanted to let it lose when...

Arelius pulled the knife out and then reentered the blade into the my chest just under the sternum. He grunted a savage victor grunt and raised his lip as he now pulled the hilt and blade with it downward--the knife found vitals all the way down. I arched my brown haired head more, grunting to withstand the pain, which of course was impossible. The man I had called a coward surged with victory. To the crowed, at first, or at least to some of them if not all, it had not been clear who was stabbed but now they would see me fall, Areilus unplugging my kid crotch. The blonde haired Arelius waved his knife in the air in victory. "Yeah!!!!"

The crowd responded as if it were glad it was not Arelius who was pumping to his end on the sandy floor of the oft timed bloodied arena. As I slowly died, I saw my opponent smile at the crowd and then back at me. They were glad of my killer's work as they had been of mine so often in the past. As I died, I saw every kid I ever stabbed with every or any weapon, some even after they were belly stuck and on the ground, their abs a massive fountain of blood and gore, their navels still somewhat intact---I plunged down into that hilly washboard, using navel as target if they didn't tell me they would relent--for as a fight for profit gladiator, I sometimes choose if my opponents would die or not. I always killed. I liked it. Liked the feel of my hands around a solid weapon as it was finding its way, guided by me, into the soft smooth belly of another formerly full of life muscle stud. Yeah! Now I was the one on the ground and being stuck again and again. I felt the knife, the sword, and the trident. Any movement I made only made the pain worse and made the weapons find new places that weren't yet molested by the point. SO i FUCKIN MOVED AS MUCH AS I COULD! I WANTED IT!

"Yeah, give it to me! Let me have it."

I jerked and soon the pain and my world stopped. I didn't know it but Arelius was so incensed and pleased by this blood lust, his bloodlust, it took him over. He grabbed up the trident out of his dead partner and put it against the wall of the arena. He placed the main point into his intact navel, deep as it would go. He ran onto it and grunted like a he-man. He kept moving closer to the wall. He died,too.

The crowd loved it. "More!"

The Emperor called out, "Clean these fools up and get more out here. I want to see them enjoy themselves." He reached under his robes and jerked himself to full whiteness, shooting but he tried to hide it. On the arena floor, before our vibrating bodies stopped, we did not try to hide it and we came more than he ever could!

A warrior's death! Felt like life!!!!