Chris' Corner Videos
Erotic Death Tales by Hitomi
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                                                           "The Case of Mata Hari"                 "Discarding Armor"
No Mercy


(1)

“You can slaughter that one like a lamb” Good old Fatima whispered into my ear as she began her
routine to rub dry my skin.
She had done that for the past ten years. I made it a practice to take showers before every fight: a
steam hot one and then one icy cold i. The first one smoothed out my nerves, the second one would
sharpen my senses.
“I thought you were out. Haven’t I heard you had saved enough for a comfortable retirement out of my
toil in soil and blood?” I teased her.
“Ah, ha! Look how she speaks! Ungrateful one! Yes, I have scraped together for my remaining days
without having to hang my heart out watching you go and out and pray to almighty Allah you come
back in one piece. But can I leave, just like that, knowing you are just this one step away from your
freedom? Five points, and you are out, for good! That is two fights at the most. And if you do this one
nicely, they may give you another two points for bonus and you can throw down your bloody rapier
and go back to where you came from. You always wanted to find your sister, don’t you, Niki? What s
her name again?”
“Huma.”
“Yes, that is it, Huma, your little bird. That was what you fought for the past ten years, right? To be
free. To go back to your village and find her.”
I swallowed hard. Yes, that was my dream for every single night, the raison d’etre for my very
existence.
Ten years was such a terrible time. We were orphans of war, our parents died when my father stepped
on a mine, a residue of some past conflict. Huma and I watched them blown to pieces. We stood there
perplexed until sound of approaching gunships made us run. We fled and hid in a cave for two days. It
was so dark and we did not have food. She cried. I held her close and told her that I would take care
of her, that I would go out and find food and when I came back, I would never leave her in the dark.
I never did go back. They caught me when I was just about to run away with the loaf.
“Huma! Huma! I will come back. Wait for me!” I kicked and shouted. But she could not have heard me,
not more than ten kilometers from where they shoveled me into a caged truck.
“How do you know I will come out of THIS in one piece?” I asked.
“Allah have mercy! Do not speak like that! Look at her.” She turned me around to face the fair skin one
at the other end of the room, being prepared for the fight, no, her own slaughter. “She is no fighter.
You just look into her eyes and you know there is no fight in them. Those limbs look agile enough but
the strongest antelope cannot fight a tiger, and that is what you are, and an experienced one at that.”
I knew Fatima was right. I could smell a champion a mile away. I am one of them.
“Then why did she do such a silly thing?”
“For the money of course. It is $100,000 if victory goes to the challenger!”
“She does not look the greedy type, not so greedy as to throw away her life like that.”
Fatima sighed. “You are right. She is not. I have overheard. She needs it for her sister. The $100,000
will pay for her sister’s kidney transplant. Poor girl, she will never see her sister again.”
I turned towards my nanny, my brows knitted.
“Don’t give me that look! It gives me the creeps.” She growled.
“What happens if I cannot make it? What will you do?” I asked.
Her eyes bulged and her tongue hanged as if being pulled out. “You drive that terrible thought from
you mind.”
“Don’t worry. I was just imagining. Tell me.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Well, I will go back to my own village, I suppose. You have been like a
daughter to me. I cannot bear to live in the same city if you cannot make it. But please, please tell me
that you will come out sound. There is no way she can beat you, right? Don’t ever let the word mercy
enter this little head of yours.”
I smiled. “Of course, mercy is never an option in the arena.” I hugged her and smiled at her radiantly,
as I always had, confident of victory.
She tied my black hair into a pony-tail. Then she helped me to put on my heeled black boots. My
opponent also had a pair, white ones, as was her thong that covered her pubic hair.
We were to fight half naked. I knew the routine. The victor would strip the thong of the fallen as a
trophy, together with a patch of pubic hair shaven. Death was always the prize to pay for the one who
lost. Mercy is never part of the equation.
“I am ready.” I picked up my rapier and my dagger.
Fatima gave me a hug. If there was worry in her heart, she did not show it.

(2)

We walked side by side into the arena and the cheering crowd, she a novice, a sacrificial lamb chosen
for her foolishness to enter the fight at all, and for her beauty. And she was really beautiful. Her
magnificent blonde hair was tied into a pony-tail, as mine. Her eyes and nose were exquisite, the kind
of stuff that people gaze when they look at the advertisements for make-ups. She was of good height ,
had small but erect breasts with nipples like rose buds in early summer. Her legs were long and
beautifully calved. She could sell her body to the highest bidder and could get more than $100,000
anytime except for one thing: that ugly scar on her back. May be she got it in an accident but that
dragged down her value and so she had no other recourse but to enter this fight, even if it was
hopeless.
“I am Niki. Tell me your name.”
“Why?” she was puzzled.
“I do not want to kill someone whose name I know not.”
“Evita.”
We kept on walking. The crowd was cheering like mad. I knew huge bets were being placed: not on
who would win, but how fast I could finish her off.
“So you do this for your sister?”
She nodded.
“Where is your sister?”
“Why do you ask?” There was suspicion in her voice.
“If you die, I will take care of her.”
“Will you!? Thank you!” She was jubilant, as if I had just given her a winning ticket.
“I promise. I always keep my promises.” I assured her.
“Then I am not afraid to die. You can kill me right away.” She said.
I fought back my tears. She really loved her sister.
“No, you must fight with all you have. If you fight well, they will pay me enough bonus to pay for your
sister’s operation. Otherwise, your sister will still die.”
She nodded. “I will. But, thank you, thank you, Niki, You are the luckiest thing that happened to me in
my life.”
I chuckled. Silly girl!
We reached to spot.
At the order of the referee, we turned to face one another.
“On guard!”
I raised the dagger above my head and pointed the rapier at her left beast.
She copied me.
“Go!”
I was careful. You could not be more careful in this kind of fight. During the past years, I had
witnessed some very one-sided fights ending in utter surprise. Pride is always an arch enemy of a
gladiatrix, no matter how proficient.
We made circles, testing the other out with our rapiers while our daggers stood guard. She was better
than I thought, probably having taken some fencing lesson before. But she was no match for me.
There were too many holes in her defense. If I wanted, I could make an all out attack and plunge the
rapier into her heart. But this was not to be the case. Good performance would result in more prize
money, or points and I was determined to make this one pay.
Finally, I decided to go in. With sharp shout, I made a feign attack with my rapier to her right. She went
for it, parrying in haste. Again, I could have run her through then but the crowd would be
disappointed if I did so. So, instead, I just knocked her sideways with my shoulder. She stumbled and
made wide cuts with her weapons. That amused me, and so was the crowd.
“Go! Go! Niki! Kill her!”
I attacked again. Her blade-work was at best amateur. There was terror in her eyes now as she was
certain death was courting her and at any moment, she would lay at my feet, blood oozing from an ugly
wound, her thong stripped from her before I finished her with a stab to the heart and then her body,
left only with the white pair of heeled boots, would be carried away, feet grabbed and towed from the
bloody sand and dumped onto a cart. I would parade with her attire that shield her most private part
and would have shaven her pubic hair. The crowd would go wild and I would win my points for
freedom.
All she could hope was my keeping the promise. No mercy was ever given in the arena.
As they say: mercy is never part of the equation.
I cast my dagger away. I do not need it. And she knew that too. Her weapons were shaking and her
eyes were pleading for a quick death.
I made the planed running attack, the point of my rapier flying towards her young bosom.

(3)

The crowd fell silent.
What happened next was not something they expected to see.
My rapier sent hers flying across the send and then missed her shoulder but a fraction of an inch. Her
dagger was buried in my bare left tit.
“Argh…” I moaned and felt my knees go weak.
“Niki….”
I was now on my knees, looking up. But it was not Evita that I saw.
It was the face of another girl, the one I fought the day before. She was good, much better than this
blonde. I prevailed after a hard fight, gaining five points. Walking towards my fallen foe, I knew I was
one step close seeing my lost sister.
I was right.
When I stripped the thong from her to remove part of her pubic hair to comply with the stipulated
rules to take such a trophy, I saw the tattoo just above it..
An Afghan rose pierced by a sword…
It was my family’s tradition to tattoo a daughter on her seventh birthday.
I carried one too, one that was now hidden by the black leather thong that covered my private part.,
I should have shrieked. I did not. Years of practice as a gladiatrix had toughened me to hold back
emotions, even when my heart was breaking on the spot. I had killed my little bird, Huma. Without my
knowledge, she too had become a gladiatrix, and being recruited into another enterprise.
“I will never leave you in the dark.” I had said.
I will not break my promise again. She is waiting for me, my little one. Together we would go back to
that cave, to find our lost innocence, to rejoin our parents. There will be no more sadness, no more
separation, no more death.
You can only die this once
And for Evita, there will be hope, for her and her little sister.
I am sorry, Fatima. I let you down. But this is the fate of many gladiatrix. I was lucky to have survived
so far. I was not so lucky this time, or to be more precise, the last time. I decided to get myself slain in
the next fight, as atonement and fulfilling a promise given long ago. I was so happy that it was this girl
who vanquished me.
“Evita. Do what you have to do. And promise me, NEVER COME BACK.” I was coughing out blood. Both
she and I knew, I was dying.
She nodded, tears streaming down her pretty face.
“I will never forget you, Niki.”
I smiled and arched my waist. She cut away the thong, shaved away part of my pubic hair. She did not
even notice the rose with the sword that had been tattoed there. But even if she had, it meant
nothing to her.
The crowd roared in cheers!
“Kill her! Kill her!”
She stood above me, the tip of her rapier pointing vertically down at my exposed tit.
I made a nod and arched up to offer a clear path of thrust…..

(End)
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__________________________________________________________________

Comment from: Hitomi
Date: April 16, 2012

Another "commissioned" story.

The requirements:

1. An arena story
2. Money as trophy
3. The victor will cut off part of the pubic hair of the vanquished as trophy
(unable to understand why this must be so but, "c'est la vie", I guess)

And this is the result.

Hope you guys like it.

Hitomi
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Comment from: Nastassja
Date: April 21, 2012

I did indeed enjoy this, Hitomi, though it seemed a bit of a departure from your
usual type of story. The reason for this became clear in your comment, where
you reveal this was a "custom" tale. How fascinating! Do you do that for your
fans often? I can imagine it is a thrill to see you turn your remarkable writing
skill to illuminating the fantasy of one of your readers. That is both generous
and uniquely creative of you.

The gladiatorial theme is one that makes for a very exciting story, and you
have given it your own signature of dignity, passion and honor in the death-
choice made by your protagonist. Well done!

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Comment from: Hitomi
Date: April 22, 2012

I am so relieved that you like it.

I have always been wondering if it is a bit over the line.

Yes, I often do story request from my readers though I make it clear that not all
requests can be entertained as some of them are not really in my line of
writing, or that I feel inadequate to handle the subject.

Thanks for being so generous in your comments.

I still have to come up with a new story though I seem to have come across
vague ideas today (while listening to the theme song of the animation film
"Laputa, city in the sky.")

I hope I can bring it out shortly.

Thanks again.
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Comment from: Nighthawk
Date: April 25, 2012

Hitomi

My friend, you make my tears fall, you know that don’t you?

I am sorry my friend that it has taken so long to send this to you, I am moving
and time is hard to find, it seems that I’m packing up the whole world.

I stopped by to read this the other day, and reread it now, how beautiful, you
write, I am always so impressed with your stories, and I thank you, as always,
for giving me pleasure in the reading of your wonderful tales.

NH
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Comment from: Hitomi
Date: April 27, 2012

Nighthawk,

The pleasure is all mine.
I only hope that I can come up with another story soon and that will not
disappoint my readers.

Meanwhile, thanks.

Hitomi
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