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Batiatus. Batiatus. Batiatus.
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A Gladiator does not fear death.
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He embraces it. Caresses it. Fucks it.
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Each time he enters the arena
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he slips his cock into the mouth of the beast.
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And prays to thrust home before the jaws snap shut.
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None of you stray dogs would last a fleeting moment.
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Except one.
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This sad battered Thracian
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stood against four in the arena.
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Condemned to die
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given nothing but a sword to wager his life upon.