Slave Girls Of Rome

Don Winslow

Chapter One. A Modest Orgy

“Rome has become a rich man’s whore!” Lucius’s drunken musings rang in my ears as I trudged through the streets of the camp that fateful morning. The mud was hard, semi-frozen in the cold morning air of autumn. The morning mist that still clung to the hills had not yet been driven away by the sun’s early light There was a definite chill in the heavy air, but I breathed it in deeply, gulping it down, letting my lungs get their fill. The new day did much to clear my head. Despite the wine, I hadn’t slept well last night, but now I felt much better, my spirits improved for the first time in months. I pulled my cloak together and, with renewed determination, turned towards the garrison’s headquarters.

We had spent the night carousing at the house of Quintus Licus, a fabulously wealthy merchant who occasionally invited a few of us to his palatial estate for one of his endless stream of “celebrations.” I should add that this was not one of his legendary orgies which went on for days and were justifiably renowned throughout the Seven Hills. Junior officers were never invited to those events, although occasionally our general might find himself among that privileged elite. No, it was to the more modest affairs that we were invited, along with the lesser lights of Roman society-functionaries and various officials who might someday be of use in one of Licus’s schemes.

It was perhaps a measure of our lowly status that our host didn’t bother to attend himself, but left it to his wife to see that his guests were greeted and their needs met. And if those guests included handsome young officers from the garrison, then his wife Lydia, a brash, bawdy woman with big, floppy tits and a loud braying voice, would be only too happy to oblige. The lady’s propensity for soldiers was legendary in the officers’ quarters, earning her the nickname “Labia.” Even now she watched us with interest from her low couch across the room; her silk gown, cut fashionably low in front so that her tits nearly spilled out whenever she moved; the hem drawn up her long legs shamelessly to lie across the very top of her robust thighs. From time to time, she smiled her approval, waving a beringed hand. Her heavily painted lips creased into a lewd, come-hither grin whenever one of us happened to look her way.

I noticed the unmistakable gleam of lust in her eye when Gaius, deciding to get more comfortable, unbuckled his belt and slipped off his tunic, to recline once again, now clad in only his short linen loincloth. I nudged Lucius, who took one look at the leering lady and whispered with an ominous groan that now we were surely in for it! And I am certain that the matron’s attentions would have been lavished upon us, had not she, just at that moment, been diverted by her attending slave. This pretty tousle-haired lad had been kneeling on the floor beside her couch, and was engaged in licking and kissing his mistress’s shapely legs, making his way assiduously from her bare feet along their smooth lengths. And now, providentially, the pleasuring tongue had reached her upper thighs, suddenly causing the lady to gasp and then fall back weakly onto the cushions. Her thick lashes fluttered and her eyes slid closed, her lips curling in delicious ecstasy, as the burrowing head disappeared under the loose folds of her green silk gown. She would be kept busy for some time.

We could safely turn our attention away from our languid hostess and lounge about on the thick silken pillows, giving ourselves up to the tender ministrations of our absent host’s pretty slave girls: nubile wenches, naked to the hips, their svelte loins wrapped in the gauzy folds of the brief loose skirts, which was all they were permitted to wear when serving guests.

Lucius was quite taken with a long-haired girl who moved about us with her flagon of wine; a nicely curved lass with flaring hips and proud, jaunty tits. When he beckoned to her, she scurried across the room, her naked tits bouncing most delightfully. And when she bent over to fill his cup, her full breasts hung down heavily, moving seductively before his fascinated eyes-the girl inadvertently offering him that succulent fruit no man could possibly refuse. Lucius reached up to capture a dangling tit, balancing it for a moment on his curved palm and studying it Then, taking the wide, fleshy tip between his fingers, he began toying with it, while expounding on his views to us. He kept the poor girl bent over like that. And, as he played with the rich man’s plaything, his voice became a bit sad-wistful, perhaps-and certainly with a note of envy for that which would never be his: the opulence of his surroundings and the horde of beautiful slave girls owned by that crass, money-grubbing trader.

Not that Lucius was poor-far from it. He came from one of Rome’s most prominent families and, like most of my brother officers, he was provided with a generous allowance which far overshadowed his meager army pay, even if his family’s wealth was not on the massive scale of our host’s. Alas, I was not so fortunate as Lucius. The son of a poor, honest farmer, I joined the Legions at sixteen, and had learned early on to take my pleasure wherever I could find it Two days after payday, I would inevitably find myself reduced to the whores who were kept at the barracks for the use of the troops. Thus, I was only too ready to take advantage of Licus’s “generosity” and allow the lissome girl who knelt beside me to have her way with my staunchly erect manhood.

By now my companions were well occupied. Lucius was avidly exploring the writhing young body of the long-haired girl, while Gaius dallied with an olive-skinned girl with plump tits and dusky nipples, whom he had invited to perch on his lap. Looking down on the young girl on her knees before me, I let my eyes appreciate the willowy lines of her lithe body, those slender shoulders and small pancake tits whose pleasing undercurves seemed to smile up at me. The slave girl’s fresh expectant face was surrounded by a mane of thick auburn hair, tawny tresses that hung loosely down over her delicate shoulders.

I nodded my permission for her to begin, and immediately the vixen’s smile widened. She reached for me eagerly, brushing back my loincloth, which by this time was all I wore, freeing my rampant penis to spring up hopefully before her big brown eyes. A shiver of delight raced through my tense body as the girl’s small fingers closed on me.

I watched through half-lidded eyes as she sat back and held my taut sex so lightly in her cool, soft hands. With a delicate touch, the talented girl teased up and down my shaft, tracing my fierce erection with her fingertips. I clenched my teeth when she curved her fingers into talons which lightly scratched the smooth hardened length. I groaned at the fluttering pleasure of her delightfully cool fingers when they slipped into my crotch to cradle my the hairy sack of my balls. Her supple fingers cupped my scrotum and my masculine equipment and squeezed before she began gently rolling my testicles in the palm of her hand. I sighed with contentment and let my eyes close, giving myself up to the heavenly touch.

With one hand still cupping my balls, she now brought the other into play, wrapping nimble fingers around the turgid shaft, squeezing lightly, tightening her little fist till she held me in an iron grip and I was groaning and twisting in her hands. I managed to open my eyes enough to look down on the top of her head and watch her as she leaned forward, bringing her pursed lips closer so that I thrilled at the feel of her hot breath sweeping over my throbbing prick, hovering just before her face. She extended her tongue slowly until the very tip touched the sensitive underside just below the crown of my upright prick I clenched my fists and groaned, shuddering at the piercing thrill generated by the feel of that wet, tantalizing tongue as it lightly fluttered along the underside of my straining manhood.

Switching tactics, she flattened her tongue and laved with broad wet strokes, lapping up the length, swirling around the ridge of the crown, then slithering down to the base. Then she nibbled at the root of the shaft, soaking my pubic hair. Her velvety tongue slid wetly, lavishly, all over my scrotum till she reached the perineum and, once there, she buried her face between my thighs, thrilling me as she pressed nose and lips to my crotch.

I couldn’t stand much more of this maddening pleasure. My hands reached out for the girl’s burrowing head. When she came up for air, she went back to my shaft immediately, holding it in both hands, licking greedily, lapping generously all along its length till my upstanding cock was glistening with the sheen of her saliva.

Curving my hands to cradle her head, I ran my fingers through her thick hair, luxuriating in the silky tresses. I gripped her head while I rubbed my cock all over her face. Then I let her eager lips nibble on me, guiding her up and down my straining manhood, letting her lick her way almost to the top, but keeping her from reaching the sensitive underside just below the crown.

I heard my own whimpers from a distance as delicious waves of pure pleasure welled up in me, drowning out all else, as the slave girl continued her obsequious devotion, methodically covering every inch, working me over with avid lips and agile tongue, until she had me squirming helplessly, uncontrollably, driven to distraction by the exquisite feel of her unrelenting tongue. The feel of her lavish tongue sliding wetly up and down my shaft was so exquisite that I couldn’t help moaning, tossing my head back and lifting my loins toward her till I was arching my back as though offering her even more, wanting her to take my lust-swollen sex even more deeply into her hot little mouth. I arched my back; my eyes fluttered closed, a groan escaped my tightly pressed lips as I surrendered to the delicious waves of pleasure this sensual female was generating in my groin.

Then the tickling play of her lively tongue stopped When I looked down at her through half-lidded eyes, she grabbed me and tilted my rigid shaft toward her as she bent down slowly to take my cock in her receptive mouth. Inch by inch, that marvelous girl took me in, sliding the taut ring of her lips down the swollen shaft, ducking her head to go down on me. Through lust-narrowed eyes, I watched the top of her small head as it bobbed up and down in smooth, easy rhythm.

My darling little fellatrix was sucking me off with surprising skill Her cheeks hollowed as she vacuumed me with ruthless determination. I groaned, clamping my hands on her thin, naked shoulders and held on, tightening my grip, clenching my teeth as the most excruciating waves of pleasure rocketed through me. Then the clever slave girl added a new thrill. She never stopped her energetic sucking, but now she began to bring her tongue up, swirling it around in an upward spiral each time she came up. The novel sensation drove me instantly to new heights of pleasure-almost painful, unbearable, straining my endurance to its absolute limits as I held on, arching my rigid hips high into the air, clinging, with gritted teeth, to the last shreds of control.

But the powerful upsurge in my loins became irresistible under the sheer intensity of the repeated thrills, thrills which escalated wildly, till they sent me careering toward the supreme moment of climax I could hold out no longer. My last conscious act was to push the eager girl back, extracting my throbbing penis, and aiming it right at her face. At that exact moment, I exploded in a tremendous climax, sending a powerful surge of sperm erupting from the pulsating shaft to decorate her pretty face. Then I was coming with furious urgency, spurting thick wads of semen that jetted out to splatter another man’s slave girl, painting her neat features with ropy strands of creamy sperm in pulsating explosions that seemed to go on forever.

Chapter Two. The Call Of The North

Even before Lucius had given word to my feelings, I had learned that for a poor but ambitious junior officer, the Legion’s permanent barracks, just outside Rome, could not be considered the most hospitable of postings. And if that officer gambled a bit too much, and was heavily in debt, his plight was even worse. I was restless, increasingly desperate, hating my poverty, and thoroughly bored with camp life. A few days earlier, when I had been ruminating about my fate, 1 happened upon a slave caravan. Such long lines of fresh captives were quite common in Rome in those days. Day or night one could find them bound for the slave markets, wending their ways through the streets of that decadent city, a city insatiable for ever more human flesh.

I watched as two long rows of dusty naked captives, mostly men, trudged past me, their eyes downcast, their tread slow and dull. From their long unkempt hair, powerful builds, and scarred, hard-muscled bodies, it was easy to see that these must have been barbarian fighters, once-proud warriors whose spirit had been broken by defeat at the hands of Rome’s invincible legions. Now they were being led by overseers, who found no need to use their whips on their dazed and beaten captives. The shuffling men moved their feet mindlessly, hands manacled before them, chained to one another in loose coffles of eight men each.

There were lines of captured women, too. And although these were fewer, I studied them with more interest Many were stocky, heavily built barbarians, clearly destined to end up as field slaves or, at best, house slaves, although occasionally there was a well-made body that might elevate its fortunate owner to work in the bedchamber or in one of the city’s pleasure houses. The long lines of would-be slaves were broken by the occasional slaver’s wagon, with the large wheels and wide flatbeds, that held standing captives in cages. The wagons were reserved for captured nobles or for those women who were fated to become specially trained sex slaves. It was unwise to wear out the more-valuable merchandise in the long, exhausting march to Rome.

I watched the sorry parade without much interest as it made its way slowly by, when a creaking wagon came into view and with it a particularly rare prize. The jogging cage held a statuesque blonde. This must be a captive from the Northern peoples, I realized, a rare Teuton to be sure, as I recognized the striking Nordic features that Gaius had once described to me in such loving detail. This Germanic beauty was impressively tall, regal in her bearing, and elegantly made. She stood with cold blue eyes looking out over the crowd, eyes that were remote and unblinking. Most favored captives who found themselves so displayed in the tall wooden cages would shrink back to huddle in a far corner averting their eyes, or they might squat down studying the planks on the floor with head held low in the utter shame of defeat. But this woman did no such thing!

She stood boldly, squarely facing her Roman enemies, strong legs set wide as though to compensate for the roll of the wagon. Her hands clasped the bars at either side of her pale face, as she stood regarding with icy contempt those who sought to subdue her. Enthralled, I studied her magnificent naked body, the lean hard muscles sculpted into long, feminine contours, the breasts, firm, high set, and fiercely proud with prominent pink nipples that seemed to jut straight out My eyes fell to the silvery fleece of her brazenly exposed womanhood, a triangle of soft pale curls that thickened at the apex into a blonde tuft only half-hiding pouting netherlips. Her fuzzy pubic hair was paler than the hair on her head, which was long and thick, and spoke to former glories, although now it was matted and unkempt so it gave her a slightly frazzled, wild look I wondered if her new owner would have sense enough to allow her to keep that long mane of pure gold, or would he insist she be shorn to the sort of blonde stubble some slave owners thought quite fashionable in those days.

As the last of the train passed by I found myself following the parade to the slave market, eager to see if this Nordic goddess would be put upon the block today. Such a splendid specimen would certainly fetch a healthy price from any of a dozen of the best-known procurers, but it was more likely that some wealthy patron would pay dearly to add the blonde beauty to his private collection. Of course, with two coins in my purse, there was no way I could even dream of buying such a woman myself. That was out of the question!

Still, I was intrigued by her. I wanted desperately to see her standing on the raised platform: a splendid nude, presented in all her naked glory for public inspection, posed for the edification of the Roman rabble. Would her regal demeanor falter when the strong, proud female met her fate? Would the look of sullen defiance in her brooding blue eyes give way to fear when she found herself naked and alone on the raised platform before the lusty, bawdy crowd that inevitably gathered to eagerly watch the public spectacles the auctions provided?

Their destination was the largest and best of the pubic auctions run by two brothers named Maximus. By the time I got there, a good-sized crowd was already on hand, with more gathering every minute. The slaves were being lined up, connecting chains undone. They would mount the auction block singly, to be inspected and sold to the highest bidder. The slaves’ manacles were removed, and a wide leather collar was fixed around each neck A thin rawhide strip attached to the collar was used as a lead, so that the handler could bring the slave forward to be presented.

By now the captives would be properly cowed. The heavy whip that was used in the early days of captivity and retained for the most recalcitrant, could be dispensed with easily for this lot To keep their charges in line, the more skillful handlers need only employ a thin hickory switch.

The pace was smooth and businesslike. Each slave was made to mount the steps and there to suffer the indignities of being closely examined by the chief auctioneer, one of the Maximus brothers, who conducted the sort of thorough inspection one would expect to see if he were buying a valuable horse. Once he was well satisfied, the auctioneer set the starting price, and the bidding began.

I recognized this particular fellow: a skinny bald gnome named Glutus, and I watched the obvious pleasure he took in his task I saw the leer than came over his lips when women were about to be placed in his hands. He would make them do his bidding, adopting all sorts of poses to show off their best features while he went over the fine merchandise meticulously with his hands, lingering especially with the females, feeling here and there, probing this or that. The man obviously loved his work!

Bidding that day was hot and heavy, and the line moved quickly. I pushed my way through the crowd, eager to see more as her time came and the big blonde moved to the head of the line to have her manacles removed. She stood with eyes front, ignoring the rough handler who fitted the wide leather collar around her neck, then paused to run a callused hand down over her left tit and grab a quick feel before he attached the rawhide lead. Now he led the stately blonde to the steps.

The burly handler held the girl’s lead in one hand. The other held a thin, pliant rod, no thicker than a finger at the blunt end and tapering to a point at the other. He wielded the rod skillfully, careful to use it only on the fleshy hindquarters of the more attractive slaves so as not to damage that valuable property. He was not a particularly cruel man, but he was impatient. I saw a flick of his wrist, and the girl’s hips jerked forward as the rod struck her handsome rump solidly, impelling her to step lively in spite of herself. He led the naked young woman up the steps and brought her to the center of the high, square platform.

The crowd seemed to quiet down as though sensing something special was about to take place.

“Stand at attention! Clasp your hands behind your neck! Elbows back…head up!” Glutus snapped, stepping up to the tall blonde till he was close to but not touching her, to stand with his eyes just inches from the side of her pale face, appraising her long, clean lines coolly.

At first the blonde barbarian didn’t move a muscle, but a sharp whack on her bare bottom reminded her of the imperative of instant obedience. Her shoulders shot up in abrupt recoil, and she turned to look at her handler with a look of definite disdain. But the wicked rod in his hand rose only slightly. It was enough to cause her to turn back immediately and to bring up her arms slowly to assume the required pose, throwing back her shoulders, thrusting out her firm breasts proudly, locking her eyes on some distant horizon.

There was a lively murmur of approval from the crowd.

The lecherous old goat licked his chops as he passed his hands up and down that magnificent form, feeling up the captive woman freely, savoring each feminine curve and contour, caressing the taut mounds of her breasts, sampling her nipples, slipping his hands between her legs to fondle the soft folds of her blonde sex, greedily exploring the mounds and crevices of that splendid nude body. He looked in her mouth, pushed back her lips to examine her clenched teeth as if she were a mare, and ran his hands up and down her sleek haunches.

Then the randy auctioneer stepped back to put the big blonde through her paces. He had her widen her stance and then drop her arms and lean forward with head raised and hands placed just above the knees, so that her rich, full breasts swung forward to hang in two succulent mounds while she looked out over her audience. Now he brought up his pointed stick and used it to trace a line up the side of her curved body, starting at the nearest sturdy thigh and moving up over the generous cradle of her hip, then onward up her flank till the traveling point slid around under her bent torso and found a dangling tit. Now he used the stick to stir the helpless woman’s tits, flicking them up so they jiggled most delightfully, as laughter ran through the crowd. He traced a line from under the hanging breasts over a hard nipple and up the slope, outlining the generous curve of ripe feminine pulchritude.

A nod to his assistant had the stocky man step up and grab a fistful of the blonde hair at the back of the girl’s head, forcing his captive to raise her shoulders and deepen the curve in her back And then, while she was being held like that, she was ordered to bring up her hands to cup her ample breasts and offer them to the hungry audience, in a pose that got an immediate roar of lusty approval.

Now her tormentor used the rod to toy with the proffered tits. The devilish instrument pressed in, indenting the soft flesh, testing the resiliency of the breast, the softness of the enticing flesh, the underlying firmness. He spent a long time teasing her nipples, moving from one to the other, scratching lightly at the hardening points, then flicking the pliant little tip that seemed to stand up so hopefully under the mild stimulation till he had the big pink nipples blossoming. Another roar of approval swept though the restless crowd.

I marveled at her control as she held herself perfectly still while the wicked pointer invited the crowd to appreciate the strength of her long, finely muscled legs and robust thighs. Enjoying himself thoroughly, Glutus was clearly playing to the excited mob. After a few minutes of this, he had her drop her arms, rise up to her full height, and stand once more at attention, hands loosely at her sides, legs firmly together. Then he had the young woman turn around so that her back was toward the audience. We were greeted by our first view of her long, gently sloping back and the comely form of her shapely rear end. Looking closely, one could make out two faint pink welts that crossed her buttocks, traces of the whipping rod that had been laid so smartly across her bottom earlier. The pointer traced down her back and over the twin swells of the woman’s lush bottom.

She was ordered to bend down once more, assuming the same pose as before, but this time turned around so that she was offering up her jutting behind to be admired. Not quite satisfied with the results, the meticulous auctioneer forced the girl to bend down even lower, arching her back with hands braced on her thighs, thus boldly thrusting back that choice rounded rump of hers. His next command must have been even more obscene, even more humiliating, for this time the proud barbarian shook her blonde mane in mute refusal. Like lightning, the whipping rod shot out to whack her crisply across the tautly-drawn curves of her jutting arse, causing the bending girl to jerk upward at the viciousness of the stinging blow. It was enough to prompt her to obey even the most perverse demands readily. She responded by squirming her hips and shaking her tail from side to side in a delightfully provocative gesture. Waves of raucous laughter greeted the sight of this proud Germanic woman wiggling her ass like a Babylonian whore!

To add even further to her humiliation, the poor girl was next made to rotate her ass in a lewdly suggestive manner, eliciting a spate of bawdy offers from the increasingly excited rabble. After a few minutes of this amusing diversion, her tormentor allowed her to straighten up, but it was only so she could be put in an even more humiliating pose. For now he had her turn around once more to face the mob. She stood before them with chin held high, her pale face expressionless. She stood there, a big blonde animal, powerful and sensual, and still coldly remote despite the lewd poses she was forced to adopt for the pleasure of her masters.

Cautioning her to keep her hands on her hips and hold herself erect, he ordered his captive to her knees. The pointed wand was used to nudge her knees apart, giving us a clear view of the blonde fleece of her vulva. In the most humiliating gesture of sexual subservience, he had her reach down and pry open the thick lips of her vagina to show her gaping sex to the cheering multitude. The crowd went wild!

After exhibiting herself for what must have seemed like forever, the kneeling woman was allowed to rise up and resume the first pose: hands clasped behind her neck The bidding was about to begin. At last, satisfied that he knew the value of what he had, the wily auctioneer stepped back, mounted the stage, and announced the starting price. The sum he mentioned to begin the bidding for this proud beauty took my breath away and got an audible gasp of admiration from the gaping crowd. And that was only where the brisk bidding started!

After that, I couldn’t get the powerful image of that big blonde out of my mind. It stayed with me by day, and it haunted my dreams at night. The achingly beautiful blonde girl forced to submit, to adopt the erotic poses demanded of her before the rabble of Rome. Her image came to me obsessively as I had first seen her splendidly tall, naked, and chained, her hands clenching the wooden bars of her cage as she looked out with icy disdain on the leering louts who would seek to tame her. And when Lucius spoke disparagingly of Rome, the reason for my restless discontent came to me in a flash. Thus the idea began to grow of going to that place where one might find and capture one of those rare blonde beauties. The idea took shape slowly, and it grew with my unexpected excitement I must go north!

For someone like me, there was much to recommend such a post First of all, it was said that with only a few denarii in his purse, a man could live like a king among those half-civilized tribes. Then there were rumors, vague but persistent, of hoards of gold kept hidden by the savage chieftains, there for the taking, the rich spoils of the war on the last frontier. It was true that all such booty belonged, in theory, to the emperor, but it was widely known that many an enterprising officer found ways to line his pockets along the way as the spoils of war made their way, not always intact it seems, back to the imperial treasury. And finally there was the legions’ generous practice, at some of these remote locations, of allowing a portion of the captives to be given to the soldiers as personal slaves.

Of course, the choice of any captives taken in battle would first go the officers. That thought inspired me. Did I dare to dream of owning such women as that caged Nordic goddess? Was it so inconceivable that someday I might possess one or more of those proud beauties? The thought fired my lust and convinced me, if indeed I needed any further convincing, that I would request a reassignment as soon as I could get to headquarters.

I knew there were those who would question my sanity when they found out that I had actually requested to be posted to the frontier. I would go to Gaul, where troops kept watch along the northern frontier; a place that seemed to many Romans like the very ends of the earth itself. Everyone knew the northern lands to be largely composed of dense gloomy forests peopled with semi-civilized but unkempt Gauls, savage Saxons, and that fiercely independent Germanic tribe known as the Teutons, who lived along the very fringe of empire. True, these barbarians had been tamed, at least for the moment, but it was widely agreed that renewed fighting might break out at any time. Surely no sane man would forsake the enticements of Rome for so desolate a place! But Lucius had been right. The alluring pleasures of Rome were not for such as us. Sadly, I realized the truth of his words: The finest delights would always remain the exclusive preserve of the rich and powerful.

Once I had decided my course of action, I never looked back, but went straight off to find Flavius, my commander, and then the company’s adjutant. Publius looked me up and down, squinting, studying my face with narrow brutish eyes, highly suspicious as to why anyone should make such an outlandish request. But I stood facing him calmly, Flavius’s written approval in my hand, waiting patiently, my expression totally noncommittal. He saw that I was determined. With a shrug and sad shake of his head, he signed the parchment and stamped it, sealing my orders officially.

Chapter Three. Let The Games Begin

And so it was I came to find myself at a place called Bernesium, the only officer in command of the 200-man garrison stationed at a small, but well-built and comfortably solid compound. Our fort stood on a hill, guarding the only approach to the town below. To be sure, Bernesium was still a garrison town, the sort of place that inevitably grows up under Roman protection. First came the fort, and then a small colony sent from Rome, and finally the local Gauls had drifted in to cluster beneath the sheltering walls. I was surprised at how large the colony had become. There was even a handful of merchants’ and craftsmen’s stalls in the marketplace. Peace had been good to this bustling frontier town. At the far end of the town was a large lake with plentiful tasty fish. The crops were surprisingly lush here, and a brisk trade had grown up as I soon discovered, because the town was at the crossroads of three minor trade routes.

Altogether, not such a desolate place after all, I soon decided. Although that was not my impression when I first laid eyes on the place, as my horse crested the top of a gentle hill. Spring had not yet come to Gaul and the landscape was stark, the trees bare. There were little signs of life in the still, cold air, and smoke rose from some of the huts. The prospect before me seemed rather bleak, and my first view of the place caused me to I wonder if I’d made a terrible mistake.

By the time spring came that year, I had settled in nicely. Bernesium became green and rather pleasant, the air caressed with soft breezes, and the budding fruit trees promising an early, warm summer. My men were a rough and rather dull lot-hardly the Praetorian Guard, but on the whole no better or no worse than any other company of common soldiers. Fortunately, my sergeant was a competent enough fellow who pretty much ran things, leaving me with considerable leisure time. Somehow, Sergeant Metellus managed to take care of things, seeing to the daily affairs of the company, assuring that the men were reasonably satisfied, fed adequately, and paid on time. Bernesium is a small town, and small towns abound in rumors. I soon heard the rumors concerning the good sergeant: that he had a lucrative side-business, offering extra protection to the local tradesmen, whose caravans were constantly coming and going through the wild countryside. I never troubled myself about these matters. After all, we had quickly come to a sort of understanding, one that seemed to work for both of us.

And so, with time on my hands, I set out to explore the pleasures of Bernesium, and these-for an officer of the legion, at least-were to be found in only one place: the house of Gratius. It goes without saying that wherever there are soldiers there will be women and wine; some enterprising entrepreneur will always see to that As you might expect, there were several taverns in our town clustered around the fort, and even a surprisingly large inn; but the pleasures of the flesh were provided almost exclusively by one man: Asinus Gratius.

Gratius was a former politician. Sensing a shift in the political winds, he had departed from Rome hastily and stealthily under rather questionable circumstances. He managed to take with him a considerable fortune, which he used to ease the discomforts of his self-imposed exile by opening a high-class house of pleasure at his villa by the lake at Bernesium. Business flourished and the old rogue prospered. I found that Gratius also held the contract with the army to run the women’s house next to the barracks. Supplying whores to the army was a lucrative business, and apparently my predecessor had allowed him to set the terms for a generous contract Along with the written agreement, Sergeant Metellus assured me with a sly wink, was an understanding whereby a bit extra might come the way of the garrison commander, “for services rendered”-another arrangement that seemed eminently sensible.

Naturally, the common whores who service the troops are seldom visited by the officers, even in remote outposts like ours. Instead, I was invited to avail myself of the tasty treats placed at my disposal at the luxurious villa of the wealthy procurer.

A word about Gratius’s pride and joy seems in order.

He chose to build his pleasure palace on the picturesque lake, re-creating a splendid Roman villa in this remote province. Except for the fort, it was the largest compound in Bernesium. A sprawling low building with extended wings enclosed beautifully manicured grounds surrounding lively fountains and flowing water gardens. A wide spacious porch, set with tall columns in typical Roman style, welcomed the visitor. Inside, the house was furnished exquisitely with treasures spirited away on the hasty flight from Rome, along with expensive tapestries and Oriental rugs that had found their way along the trade routes to our little outpost. In addition to his private rooms, one wing held the women’s quarters, where Gratius kept some of finest sex slaves in the province-beautiful, talented young women who were exceptionally well trained.

Gratius’s girls were made available to local merchants, visiting traders, and notables like the provincial governor, as well as a few of the town’s more important personages, among whom I, as garrison commander, was afforded a very special place. Indeed Gratius saw to it that when visiting his house, I would be entertained like a king, although only my initial visit was free. I remember that visit fondly, the first time I walked along the shady tree-lined paths that meandered down to that idyllic garden of heavenly delights.

I was met at the door by a pretty little slave girl whose big brown eyes smiled up at me from under her bangs. I couldn’t help smiling back as my eyes took in her slight girlish shape, the gentle slope of her narrow shoulders and, through a translucent bodice of ivory silk, the shallow curves of her little breasts-a pair of tautly rounded globes, tipped with surprisingly pert nipples. Brashly uptilted, the little nubbins poked back impertinently against the thin fabric, simply begging to be touched.

As befits a proper sex slave, the young woman who greeted me was clad in nothing but a thin Grecian tunic. Made of white diaphanous silk, this short sleeveless garment bared her supple limbs, exposing a generous expanse of smooth girlish chest. The thin bodice covered-but did not hide-her maidenly breasts, before it fell in soft folds, to be gathered at the waist by a thin belt, thus forming a brief skirt-one that barely covered her hips and the top of her youthful thighs. Sandals and a high leather collar (that ubiquitous symbol of her servitude) completed her scanty outfit. The inspiring sight of the slave girl’s nubile body as she stood in the doorway, her dusky triangle dimly visible, brought on a familiar surge of lust and an immediate responsive stirring from under my own tunic.

As I stood there gaping at her, this vision of loveliness lowered her eyes, tilted her head respectfully, and asked me politely to follow her. Then she turned on her heel and led the way down the hall, her small, trim behind swaying most delightfully. The little skirt was barely adequate to cover the girl’s nicely rounded bottom. As she walked, the hemline rode rhythmically, threatening to expose more than the undercurves of her cute ass, a hint of which peeked out from below the shifting hem with each step. Would I follow her?! Without a doubt, I would have followed that delectable little morsel to the very gates of Hades itself!

My charming escort led me through the main hall to where my host awaited my arrival in the large circular atrium with its high domed ceiling that formed the center of the house. Gratius was a big, fun-loving bear of a fellow with a roaring laugh and a lusty appetite. He thoroughly enjoyed playing the role of the province’s wealthiest citizen. A lifelong bachelor, he was like a jovial uncle to his bevy of slave girls, one or two of whom seemed always to be draped about his person.

I came upon him seated like an enthroned monarch on a low-backed camp chair, wearing nothing but a towel draped over his loins, thighs spread wide, and sandaled feet planted firmly on the tiled floor. Behind him, a comely lass stood with both hands on his big shoulders, kneading his soft naked flesh slowly, while on the rug at his feet a second slave girl sat with knees drawn up, her head resting against her master’s hairy thigh. One of his hands had dropped down along the side of the chair and his thick fingers were idly playing in the silken mass of the lissome girl’s rich auburn hair. He greeted me with a friendly wave and beckoned me over to recline on a nearby sofa. Magically, a slave girl appeared at my elbow, instantly ready with a generous cup and a flagon of fine Latium wine.

“So, Marcus,” he began expansively, “how do you find our little corner of the empire? Dull, no doubt, after the fun of Rome?”

As the slave girl bent over to pour the wine, she offered me a splendid view of her taut, conical breasts, hanging within the billowing neckline of her tunic. I tried to respond to my magnanimous host as best as I could. Although somewhat distracted, I heard myself assuring him that the present company, at least, was the equal of any to be found in Rome. He beamed in appreciation of the compliment It was true, he admitted with a thoughtful nod, that in some ways we had been able to retain “a bit of old Rome” here in the hinterlands. He paused, and then brightened up. For example, there were the games!

“When was the last time you saw a couple of famous gladiators going at it?” He grinned with amusement.

I’ll admit I was a bit bewildered, but I couldn’t help smiling at his obvious enthusiasm. It had been a while, I allowed, remembering those disastrous games where I had lost a more than a few denarii betting on the blue team. But there were no games in Bernesium. Surely, my host didn’t maintain a stable of gladiators! Now I discovered he had a different contest in mind. For, after a teasing pause, he enlightened me, grinning broadly. He had arranged to have a special entertainment staged in my honor. As a man who appreciated the ladies, he leered, he felt sure I would enjoy his very special “gladiators.”

Now the master of the house clapped his hands and shouted triumphantly:

“Let the games begin!”

Intrigued, I watched as two hooded figures appeared from between the circle of columns surrounding the room. They were barefoot, their bodies shrouded in long wine-red cloaks with cowls that turned up to cover their heads. The mysterious figures came to a stop just in front of their seated master. They stood side by side, awaiting his orders.

At an imperious gesture from him, they threw back their cowls dramatically. I found myself staring at two slave girls, young women whose heads were all but shorn, their hair clipped to a short stubble, as was sometimes done to slaves in Rome. They stood at attention, their eyes fixed somewhere over our heads. Gratius nodded when their hands went immediately to unclasp the collars of their cloaks. The two garments slithered down to the floor, revealing two naked female bodies, young and taut-muscled, glistening with a fine sheen of oil. As I watched awestruck, they bowed low, saluting their master.

Gratius said not a word, but kept them standing there, knowing that I would want to be able to compare these female wrestlers who would be entertaining us. As Gratius appreciated, one likes to size up the contestants. We sat in silence for a moment, evaluating the healthy young females who stood motionless before us.

Then Gratius leaned over to me.

“The girl on the left is Leia.” He called my attention to the rather stocky curvaceous girl. Her features, like her body, had a softly rounded girlish quality. I could only guess from the light brown stubble that had been left to her what she might have looked like with a full head of hair. I next studied her hefty tits. Generous though not excessive, they drooped slightly to swell into two sloping pendants crested with wide, thick nipples. Not only was the hair on their heads shorn, no doubt useful for wrestlers, but for some more obscure reason, the girls’ pubic hair had also been shaved clean. Totally bereft of its natural fuzz, Leia’s plump little pubis was pale and shaved clean, so that it stood out boldly from between the full curves of her powerful thighs.

“And this,” my host continued expansively, “is Uta.” He pointed to the other girl. A bit taller than her more muscular rival, Uta had a lean, tightly knit body, slim-hipped and more angular than curved. Her breasts were narrow and pointy, capped with small dusky nipples. Her features were crisp and neat. With her nearly bald head, she had a clean-cut look enhanced by her trim lines and her denuded sex, a narrow triangle of shiny white flesh tucked between her sinewy legs. Though she would have been outweighed by her more substantial sister, she had the hard, wiry build of an athlete. She would be a very tough opponent, I surmised.

“Well, what do you think?” Gratius asked at last, breaking my reverie. A note of eagerness crept into his voice.

“About evenly matched, I should say.”

He agreed. Both were strong, determined young women. It was his idea to take advantage of their intense rivalry by pairing them off. The winner would be allowed to complete her triumph over her adversary in a very unique way, he assured me with a mysterious wink.

“But come, you must be a betting man,” he hinted.

“I would give the edge to Leia.” I took the safer bet.

He smiled. “A modest wager, perhaps?”

I had the sinking feeling that I was being taken, but there seemed no gentlemanly way out. I accepted his hand and the bet was made.

With a flourish of his hand, Gratius dismissed the wrestlers, who bowed in acknowledgment, and turned to go to take their places on the field of combat The room we sat in had three wide tiers, with a sunken circular pit in the middle of the room. Gratius and I were seated on the topmost level. Now the girls turned their backs to us, and I watched the rare view they presented as they descended the three levels to the sunken arena. Leia had the more generous ass, plump and voluptuous, while Uta sported a pair of narrow hard-muscled buttocks. A set of pillows had been placed in the center circle. Stuffed with down and covered with hard, smooth linen, they made the ideal surface for a slippery wrestling match, my host assured me proudly.

Now the two naked women separated and stood across the arena from each other, eyeing each other intently, poised and alert, like gladiators sizing up their opponent for the point of weakness. At a word from their master, they crouched and began circling each other warily.

I watched my favorite with interest Leia’s feet were planted firmly. The sturdy girl moved slowly, with extreme caution, always sideways, her eyes locked on her opponent, searching for the right opening. Her full breasts fell forward and hung temptingly as she widened her stance and crouched, her hands extended, the gleaming muscles of her arms and shoulders moving liquidly as she circled her opponent grimly. Meanwhile, Uta was also moving slowly, her lean body poised like a cobra about to strike. Her slight breasts swung from side to side when she crouched and began to move with slow menace. My eyes studied her face: the narrowed eyes and the determined set of her tightly drawn lips. The girl was ready to spring! Her tense body coiled tightly, sleek calves straining, as she rose up tiptoe, one hand beckoning, taunting her rival.

But Leia would not be drawn to make the first move, and the two continued to circle till I wondered if they would ever close.

Suddenly it happened! With a savage shout, Uta bounded forward, her head lowered, aimed right at her opponent’s belly. Leia reacted just in time to deflect the shorn head, although she took a glancing body blow that propelled her backward, so that she staggered and almost lost her balance. But she recovered in a flash and instantly the two women were locked together in a death grip, arms grabbing each other’s slippery body, grappling and twisting, straining desperately to keep their balance.

Leia managed to get a leg between Uta’s and pressed forward. She used her strength to slowly bend the slender girl back under her superior weight But somehow Uta managed to slip away with a quick slashing move that brought her slithering out of the bearlike grasp. Both girls were finding that getting a purchase on a writhing oil-slicked body was obviously very difficult. Now the action became hot and heavy as the two combatants closed again, twisting in a brief but furious blur of limbs. Once again, the embrace could not be sustained and the two obviously excited wrestlers, sweating and panting from their exertions, fell apart once more, to begin once again their slow, cautious circling.

I shot a quick glance at my host to find him leaning forward, his eyes keen with excitement. His gaze was riveted on the sweaty scene, fascinated by the slow, deadly dance. My own excitement was rising at the sight of these naked girls squirming hotly in the heat of combat, and now my need was making itself felt by pressing against the front of my tunic with alarming urgency.

A warrior’s yell drew my attention back to the struggling combatants. Uta had somehow managed to get herself behind her opponent and had her arms wrapped around her from the back As Leia struggled to shake her off, Uta fumbled for a better grip, groping wildly till her clutching fingers closed on a handful of her opponent’s tit. Her fingers tightened, clenching the slick mound of flesh in a fist. Leia cried out in pain and shook even more furiously to dislodge her attacker. Leia managed to bend forward and reach between her legs to grab Uta’s outthrust leg, pulling it to topple her foe, who fell with a resounding thud.

In a flash, Leia pounced on her, pressing the squirming girl down to the pillows. For a moment, the two oily bodies wriggled together, oily breasts grinding against oily breasts, legs intertwined. Suddenly, Uta managed to squirm out from under the pinning weight of the heavier girl, but she didn’t press her advantage. She seemed to pause. She appeared to be a little dazed. Perhaps she had the wind knocked out of her, for now she only managed to draw herself up on hands and knees. Before she knew what hit her, Leia fell on her. Draping herself over Uta’s crouched form, she slithered up the oily back and grabbed the skinny girl’s jiggling tits and paid her in kind for the savage mauling she had received at Uta’s hands. Uta threw back her head and clenched her jaws against the pain as Leia squeezed the soft slippery breasts till they bulged angrily between her clenched fingers.

The rough treatment seemed to enrage Uta. Her desire for revenge must have given her superhuman strength, for she suddenly slipped out from under the draping form of the heavier girl. Leia spilled down onto the pillows, falling flat on her belly. Moving with frantic speed, the wiry girl flipped her opponent over and sat on her, straddling her hips, planting her bare bottom firmly on Leia’s twisting loins. While Leia bucked desperately, Uta took aim and swatted the heaving mounds of Leia’s tits, giving Uta’s breasts three or four vicious slaps. Leia was screaming and tossing her head from side to side as Uta slapped her repeatedly. Then Uta fell forward, covering Leia’s nude form with her own well-oiled body and pinning her dazed opponent to the mat. She threw back her head and shouted out a triumphant count of three.

She had won a clear and convincing victory.

Chapter Four. A Reconciliation, Of Sorts

The two combatants untangled themselves slowly and struggled to their feet. They stood facing their master, panting heavily, their chests heaving. They collected themselves for a moment, bowed low, and then stood at attention, awaiting their master’s pleasure, recovering their breath slowly. Flushed and sweating profusely, rivulets of perspiration mingled with the oil in the glistening sheen that coated their exhausted bodies. Leia’s quivering bosom still bore the angry red imprints where she had been slapped, but all traces of anger seemed to have dissipated from both girls now that the contest was over.

“Ah, yes, to the victor go the spoils!” Gratius cried, winking at me. “Come here, Uta, and accept your prize. But no, wait!” His gesture was that of a man who suddenly remembered something. “We forgot! First, you must kiss and make up. Let us see that there are no hard feelings.”

The slave girls turned to one another obediently, and opened their arms to take each other’s gleaming bodies in an embrace. Uta kissed Leia on the open mouth, delivering not exactly a sisterly kiss; but they both knew what their randy master wanted of them. For a moment, the two stood locked in a deep kiss, swaying slightly as their arms tightened and their warm bodies were drawn together. When the kiss broke, the two sweating girls still held each other and glanced up at their aroused master.

“Uta, I think perhaps you’ve hurt your friend, the nasty way you treated her lovely breasts. Say you’re sorry now, and give them a kiss to make them feel better,” my host urged with a devilish gleam in his eye. The thin girl mumbled an apology and ducked her head to bring her lips to the bruised tits. The kisses she bestowed were dry and perfunctory-a quick brush on each throbbing mound.

“No, better than that!” Gratius demanded. Again Uta lowered her head and nuzzled Leia’s nipples, while her companion stood with arms at her side, letting her head fall back, arching up her chest to accept the soothing relief offered to her ample feminine charms. Now Uta was kissing all over those tautly rounded curves, dragging her tongue after her lips, licking the oily tits lavishly, while Leia sighed and closed her eyes against the waves of pleasure.

“The nipples-suck on her nipples!” Gratius order in a voice that was choked with passion.

Leia arched back even farther, raising up those choice tips for the loving attentions of her rival, while Uta nosed into a soft mound of flesh and drew a big pink nipple between her teeth. She brought a hand up to cup the bulging tit, holding it as she worked the nipple gently between her lips, drawing on the pliant tip, sucking softly, making Leia squirm in sensual delight. When both nipples had been given considerable attention, Gratius intervened again. This time, when they broke apart, Uta kept one arm slung loosely over Leia’s shoulder, while Leia slipped an arm around her rival’s waist Gratius smiled to see the subtle signs of sisterly affection. He couldn’t help observing that Uta’s efforts must have made them better, for Leia’s nipples had grown under all this tender attention. Indeed, we could see that her aureoles had expanded; the tips were stiff with excitement.

“Well, Leia, it seems you enjoyed that. You must thank Uta for being so generous as to soothe your hurting tits. For remember, it is she, after all, who had defeated you. Surely, you must be the one to pay your tribute to your conqueror.” The lusty rogue was clearly enjoying himself now. “Come, now, it is time you paid your proper obeisance. On your knees!”

Leia slipped free from the loose embrace and fell to her knees before her rival. For a moment, Uta looked down at her, unsure as to what she was supposed to do.

Her master’s next words made his wishes abundantly clear.

“Turn around, Uta. Spread your legs and lean over.”

The bent-over pose with her hands supporting herself braced on her knees had the effect of protruding her rear end so that it stood poised just in front of the eyes of the kneeling woman.

“Go on, Leia!” Gratius ordered with an impatient hiss. “Kiss her ass!… Nicely, and generously, now,” he warned. “Show your victorious mistress that you’re equally gracious in defeat as she was in winning.”

Leia followed his orders, leaning forward to bring her lips to the proffered ass of her rival. There she planted a long lingering kiss; and, at the words of delight and encouragement from her master, she began to kiss and lick that jutting bottom, while Uta arched her back and wriggled her shoulders in agitated delight.

Fascinated, we watched as Leia’s gleaming head, with its faint stubble, moved closer to the hard shiny swells so the girl could slavishly lick the hard, taut curves of Uta’s jutting asscheeks. I felt a powerful surge of desire well up in me as a knot of lust formed in my belly. My responsive manhood rose to the occasion, twitching with swelling excitement.

Once she had that narrow butt covered with trails of saliva, the randy whoremaster instructed the kneeling girl to clasp Uta’s hips and thrust her tongue deep into the narrow crevice. The probing tongue sent Uta jerking upright; a quiver of pleasure shot through her shoulders and rippled down her back as the seeking tongue slithered in to explore the hidden valley. Still not content, my insatiable host ordered the girl to open up the clamping asscheeks and expose Uta’s tiny anus to our eyes. She was to suffer the ultimate humiliation of being forced to bring her lips to her rival’s asshole. And this, too, she did humbly-not with the distaste one might expect to see, but with increasing enthusiasm, for by now both women were squirming in heat, their arousal evident.

Uta had her eyes clenched tight. Her shorn head was bobbing back Her hands tightened on her knees as she clung to hold on against the onrush of pleasure being generated by that loving tongue. Leia dug her thumbs into the deep division and pried the mounds apart, licking assiduously, diving in between the splayed cheeks with enthusiasm, so she soon had her rival moaning and writhing helplessly.

Suddenly the old satyr, with his perverse sense of timing, abruptly ordered a stop to the action.

Leia fell back and sat on her heels, shoulders slumped, her head hung low, her breathing ragged. Uta was summoned to take her place before her lord and master. As she mounted the stairs, the serving girl came to her master’s side holding the prize that had been designated for the victor. I was amused to see that what she held was a well-formed phallus, long and narrow and made of smooth ivory. The slave girl was oiling the shaft, running her curved fingers up and down its length to apply a generous coating of oil. I also noticed that the rod appeared to be set into a sort of harness, from which a set of straps dangled down.

At a nod from the seated monarch, the serving girl proceeded to equip the victor with her award. She helped Uta step into the leather loops and drew the contraption up her legs, where it was buckled snugly into place around the girl’s thin waist Leg straps were tightened around the curves of her butt while a strap that hung down in front was passed between her legs and attached to the belt in back Finally, the straps were pulled tight, cinched into place, leaving the girl with the weird phallus jutting out from her Venus-mound in a perverse parody of masculine equipment.

Gratius looked very pleased. He beckoned the girl to him so he might personally inspect the tightness of the fit. He ran his fingers along the straps that cinched her waist and the snug leg straps that curved under her tight butt He pulled up on the center strap, tugging the thin leather strip even deeper between the girl’s labia. Turning her around, he gave her a friendly smack on the bottom that sent her back down to the sunken ring. I watched the protruding rod bobbing obscenely as she descended the wide stairs to where her kneeling rival waited for her.

Uta knew what to do. I got the distinct feeling that this was not the first time that these slave girls had been made to put on such a show before their lecherous lord. Stepping up to the kneeling girl, she reached down and paused to fondle Leia’s right breast. Leia looked up at her. When their eyes met, Uta placed a hand flatly at the top of the girl’s chest and pushed steadily, shoving her backward so that Leia fell onto her back, propped up on her elbows, legs sprawled out on the pillows.

Uta knelt down beside her, the phallus bobbing and swaying as she did so. She lowered herself gradually so the two slave girls lay snuggled together side by side. I expected to see a swift businesslike penetration and perhaps some perfunctory and disinterested fucking, but these girls had been well trained and they knew their master’s preference for slow and loving foreplay. And so they embraced and kissed, warmly and tenderly, holding each other and moving together as lovers often do. Their oily bodies were intertwined, the kisses getting longer, deeper, as they squirmed hotly on the pillows. Heated hands moved up and down each other’s bodies, exploring the slippery curves with increased urgency.

I glanced at my host quickly to see that he had summoned the girl who sat at his feet. She must have known her master’s unspoken wish, for this lissome girl proceeded docilely to lay herself down across his lap, draping her slim, supple body over his widespread thighs so that her head hung down at one end, and her legs angled down to the floor at the other. The pose served to present her randy master with her upturned bottom. His hand brushed up the little skirt of her tunic to uncover a splendid feminine behind: a superb bottom ready to be admired, stroked, and fondled as he watched the sweaty, girl-girl action unfolding before him. For a moment, he paused to consider that shapely little butt. Then his hand moved, cupping the tautly rounded skin at the back of a thigh and following that smooth column till it slid up to capture a pert little rearcheek There it lingered, squeezing lightly and enjoying the feel of that pleasing curve.

My own need was becoming explosive. I rushed to follow my host’s example. Pulling the little serving girl to me, I brushed back my tunic, and placed her oily hand squarely on my swollen penis.

Now the two lovers were writhing in the full bloom of raging passion. Uta was massaging Leia’s substantial tits, while Leia had managed to get a hand between them, and currently had a finger inserted up Uta’s bald vagina. I watched them moving slickly over one another, till Uta had gained the dominant position, her body placed along the length of her lover’s.

Uta reached down to throw open Leia’s legs. Leia became strangely passive, letting her slack limbs be rearranged, looking up at her dominating lover with lips parted and expectant. Uta passed a hand between those loose legs and fondled her rival’s denuded sex, making the poor girl whimper in her desperate need. Then, getting up to kneel between the splayed legs, she reached down to hold the phallic rod and guide it to the gaping lips of her defeated lover.

Enraptured by the fiery lesbian action, I couldn’t take my eyes off the hot performance. But the exciting feel of those little slick hands sliding all over my masculine equipment made me shut my eyes as I savored the delicious moment. When I managed to swallow the sudden upsurge of pleasure and open my eyes again, I saw that the rod had been inserted between Leia’s slick lips. Uta drove in, falling forward, plunging the carved phallus right into the churning depths of her lover’s sex. She started to move immediately, her hips bucking in smooth, even rhythm that had the shaft pistoning in and out of the hot, clinging cunt. Leia groaned and tossed her head from side to side, being driven mad with pleasure as Uta fucked her with the ivory shaft.

I tried to ignore the hand on my prick, but the exquisite feel of those little oily fingers wriggling their way over my erect masculinity sent me soaring to ecstatic heights. I had to fall back weakly on the couch. With a surge of effort, I worked to repress the urge to come, struggling against the rising tickle of excruciating pleasure, vowing to hold on a bit longer.

Through half-lidded eyes, I saw that the expression on Uta’s face matched my own grim determination as she drove in ruthlessly, savagely violating her fellow slave with an intensity that surprised me. Leia was moaning openly now, thrashing about on the pillow, her hips undulating in time to the heavy pounding she was being given. I watched Leia’s widespread legs rise slowly, her body responding instinctively to invite even deeper penetration, till her feet were fluttering high in the air and her thighs were grappling Uta’s thrusting loins.

Uta bucked furiously, deriving whatever pleasure she could from seeing her lover helpless and moaning below her, fucking her conquest till the girl screamed out in ecstasy and came with a mighty shudder. When she dismounted, leaving her defeated rival in a depleted heap, the insatiable phallus was still sticking straight out from her loins, bouncing eagerly as if looking for new conquests.

At that moment, the little minx who held my manhood loosely in her curled fingers chose to close her fist and yank viciously on me. The sudden stab of pleasure brought my hips high up off the couch. I twisted there in the wind, caught in the tight grip of that little hand. Again and again she jerked mercilessly. I came in an explosion of intense pleasure.

You would have thought that Leia’s climax might have ended the performance, but the voracious sexual enthusiast who ruled the manor had not yet reached his own satisfaction. He had one further surprise in store.

He was happily spanking the little ass of the slave girl who writhed in his lap, shouting his encouragement to Uta all the while, when Leia came with a mighty thud. He paused in his efforts to warm the girlish ass. He was pleased, but not quite yet ready to dismiss his prized “gladiators.” He had one final demand to place on them. A thoughtful expression came over his face as his hand slowly rubbed the heated rearcheeks of the girl who squirmed on his lap. Turnabout was fair play, he pontificated.

Uta had to unbuckle the contraption and hand it over to her rival so that it might be secured around Leia’s robust loins. The vanquished would be encouraged to take her revenge on her conqueror. The next command showed how fiendish that old satyr really was: the phallus was to be used as a back-door weapon. She would be ordered to savage the other girl’s skinny ass, an order she carried out with considerable relish.

Chapter Five. Curious Pleasures

Among the unique delights of the house of Gratius were the many novel and imaginative ways devised by the inventive proprietor to display his girls for perusal by his many guests and customers. I well remember the day when the pretty slave who met me at the door escorted me straight through the big house to where my host waited for me on the back porch, a generous semicircle that jutted out, opening onto the grassy lawn below, giving a superb view of the lake. A line of tall columns was set along the outside rim of the sweeping porch.

And now I saw that our ingenious host had affixed a slave to each column! Each girl was secured with her hands against her side, her back to the column, and kept in place with three thin leather strips. One cut into the soft flesh just below her breasts. Another belted her loins snugly by spanning her hips. The third pressed tightly into the flesh across a line at mid-thigh. On a leisurely summer day, one could stroll along the porch, enjoying the view, pausing here and there to admire these living statues that adorned the vista, perhaps to run your hands freely over a firm young body, or to sample a conveniently placed nipple.

Guests were encouraged to enjoy the wares. And sometimes games and contests were held, each more perversely erotic than the last. One of the favorite games of the male guests (and the occasional female guest as well) would involve arousing the slave girls’ passions, fondling their healthy, responsive bodies most shamelessly, till they had the young women squirming in the heat of desire. The object was to see who would be the first to bring his “statue” to climax. For this game, the slaves were blindfolded and then tied in such a way that their legs were stretched open, giving free access to their splayed pussies. Gratius, who had thoroughly explored the many uses of olive oil, had a generous coating of that versatile lubricant poured over the tightly bound slaves, so that their lustrous bodies gleamed in the sunshine.

Quite naturally, I had the opportunity to try my hand at this contest. I selected a slightly built girl whose breasts sported plump little nipples that stuck out impudently, just begging to be touched. I came up to her now, as my fellow contestants (there were four of us) took their respective places along the curving line of columns.

I stood only inches from the slave, admiring her close-cropped hair. Most of her features were hidden by the wide silk swath that formed the blindfold, but I could tell that she was fair of skin, her hair a soft golden brown, her neatly chiseled lips pursed and expectant. The slave girl stood alertly, small pointed chin held high above the collar that banded her throat, lips parted, her young body keen with anticipation. My eyes took in her splayed-out form, the vulnerable womanhood pulled open between the sinewy muscles of her extended thighs, the trim ankles and narrow feet. I watched her shallow breathing: her chest gleaming with oil, the slight swells of her young breasts glistening, pert nipples shining in the noonday sun.

When I put my hands around the girl’s banded neck, she flinched, drawing in a sharp gasp of surprise at the first contact. I had approached her stealthily, and the blindfolded young woman didn’t know that a silent admirer stood watching her only inches away. I moved my hands up her neck to hold her face between my hands. Still holding her, I drew one finger across her small mouth, pressing back the fleshy lips. She opened her mouth obediently to accept my impertinent finger, suckling on it. The girl was well trained! I moved my finger in her hot little mouth, exploring the palpitating tongue, tracing the gums, the ridge of teeth, while she sucked and moved her restless tongue under and around my probing digit. Extracting my finger, I slid my hands over the collar and down her neck, to rest them on the girl’s oily shoulders.

Now I let my hands appreciate the subtle contours of that fine lustrous body, moving down and up the lines of her supple arms while her small hands clenched in mounting excitement. Clasping her shoulders, I flattened my palms and brought my hands together at the top of her girlish chest. Then I drew my hands down slowly over the faint ridge of her collarbone, sliding over the slick skin onto the soft rises of her young breasts, pressing the heels of my palms into those pliant swells, no more than slightly raised disks, whose exact centers were delineated by those impertinent nipples. The girl stiffened and held herself rigidly still as I pressed my palms into the yielding softness of her small pancake tits.

I brought my hands down slowly till my fingertips felt her pebbly hard nipples. I pressed my palms into the surrounding softness, moving them in tiny circles. The little slave curled her lower lip and bit down with a row of tiny white teeth, trying to stifle the whimper that managed to escape as I massaged her nipples. It didn’t take much of this till I had her moving her shoulders, squirming with the rising heat.

Excited by her growing arousal, I plucked gently at the stiffening buds, pinching the oily nipples between thumb and forefinger, rolling the little nubbins as I tugged on the elastic flesh, pulling to stretch her nipples till she groaned under the sweet torture. I soon had those tips swollen with excitement, the aureoles expanded, tiny stems protruding saucily. The girl tried to arch back against the pillar, raising her bosom, begging silently to offer me even more, but I had other territory to explore. And so I left those pretty tits heaving raggedly, their excited tips throbbing and proudly erect. I moved on, sliding my palms along their shallow under-curves and down her slippery body, over the traces of her rib cage and beyond, down her taut belly. The slave girl sighed; a sigh of disappointment, or perhaps a sigh of relief. I couldn’t tell which.

Now my hungry hands glided along the tightly drawn skin of her belly, moving back and forth between the ridges of the jutting hipbones, delighting in the smooth feel of that satiny skin. My fingers were soon edging along the light haze of fuzz, darkened with oil, that started low on her belly and trailed down to form the thicket of moist curls spreading over her splayed underarch. Crouching down before her, I looked-but did not yet touch-the girl’s vulnerable pussy. Instead, I placed my hands on her hips, and slowly followed the flaring contours of her haunches over the cradle of her hips and down onto her tapering thighs. I traced along her straining thigh muscles. The tendons stood out, sculpting and shaping the sinewy contours. I followed the resulting plane that sloped into the silken flesh of her inner thigh. I ran my fingers up and down her inner thighs, edging always closer to the center of her arch. I saw the tautly drawn tendons twitch as I stroked her opened thighs.

A demanding surge of lust shot through me, and I got to my feet abruptly. Stepping close to the bound girl, only inches from her taut body, I pressed down along her belly with the heel of my hand and was soon palming the slave girl’s pubic mound, rubbing it gently at first, then more firmly fondling that fleshy Mount of Venus while the girl leaned back and let her jaw drop. A soft moan came from her open mouth.

I held the girl by her sex and closed my hand, cupping the arch of her pubic bone, curling my fingers up into the soft folds of flesh between her legs, squeezing the bulging lips of her vulva, feeling her incredible inner heat. My fingers felt along her protruding nether-lips, pressing in, the middle one slipping into the delicate folds to probe her slick depths and getting a shuddering moan of pleasure. As my finger slid wetly up all the way into her cunt, the girl groaned long and low from somewhere deep in her throat.

I watched her blindfolded face, saw the twinge of urgency crease her brow; saw her twitch, squirming helplessly, her hips moving sensually against the column. Arching back, she rolled her head from side to side as I jiggled my finger, now buried to the hilt in her slick little vagina. She strained back, raising her hips and grinding her hot sex against my palm while the tendons of her thighs grew rigid, the muscles tightening as she thrust upward. The erotic sight of the young girl burning with sexual heat sent my pulse racing, the fire of lust surging up in me, driving me to take her. To hell with the contest!

Tingling with excitement, I tore at my clothes, snatching off my tunic and loincloth, till I stood in nothing but my sandals, my turgid penis proudly upstanding up in bold salute to the naked woman writhing before me. Positioning myself right between her arched legs, I guided my straining penis to the edge of her gaping pussy and took her abruptly, lunging forward, driving up her wet, pulsating vagina in a single powerful thrust that caused the girl to stiffen and draw in a sharp hiss of breath through clenched teeth. I clamped her slick hips and, holding onto her with both hands, wiggled my loins while thrusting upward, burying my engorged prick up her cunt to the hilt The impaled slave threw back her head and let out a low shuddering moan of deep satisfaction.

The heavenly feel of the girl’s tight young pussy was exquisite. I fucked her with deep, full thrusts, speeding up till my hips were bucking with furious abandon, powering my prick into her with maddened lust, crazed to see the slave girl’s hot, twisting body thrashing about in erotic frenzy. She was making tiny little grunts now with each thrust of my loins, a crisp staccato that told me she was getting close to the edge. I held on, grimly determined to match my release to hers. I felt the tremendous upsurge of my climax, and rammed into her, holding myself in place, buried in her churning depths as she gasped and stiffened. She cried out in long, lingering moans as a tremor rippled through her thin frame, followed by a more definite shudder, deeper and more massive. I came in a thunderous explosion of pure pleasure while the slave girl shook and trembled in the throes of orgasmic delight, and then went limp, sagging in her bonds.

After the contest, the exhausted girls were released and allowed a few moments to rest and collect themselves, before being sent to the lake to wash off all traces of oil, and whatever other fluids might be decorating their bodies. They followed this routine with enthusiasm, racing down to the edge of the water, plunging in from the outcrop of rock, swimming and cavorting in the shallow lake, their close-cropped hair wetly plastered down, their hard young bodies glistening with a sheen of streaming water as they climbed out onto the rocks. To see the bevy of nude beauties shrieking and frolicking in the lake like spirited water nymphs was truly invigorating, and already my recovering manhood was raising its head in a definite renewal of interest. I don’t know who first started toward the inviting lake; suddenly the handful of naked male guests were running pell-mell in a mad rush to join the girls. Soon we were joyfully splashing and swimming among them, making mock attacks and being attacked in turn as small feminine hands found our vulnerable parts, exciting us with slithering underwater caresses.

Over the next several months, I got to know Gratius quite well. I became a regular guest at his frequent orgies. He was a man who partook fully of the joys of life, wallowing in lust and indulging his unflagging passion shamelessly. I have observed that every man has some secret obsession, some particularly perverse whim, that were he able to freely indulge, would send him to unimagined heights of the sheerest ecstasy. Gratius was no exception.

Almost twenty years older than I was, he had a wealth of experience in a lifetime devoted to the decadent pursuit of pleasure. But even though he may be slightly jaded in the ways of the flesh, Gratius still found youthful delight in one aspect of the feminine anatomy. He was totally smitten by the well-made female posterior! Gratius was a man who absolutely adored a shapely bottom, and he maintained that there were few pleasures greater than that derived from merrily spanking a choice, well-placed rear end. Enthusiast that he was, he had raised spanking to an art form. It was a sport I had tried once or twice in Rome, but never fully appreciated till I learned the finer points at the hands of Gratius of Bernesium.

I had seen him take the occasional playful swat at the tail of a passing slave girl as she was sent scampering to do his bidding. And of course I had noticed that he was happily engaged in spanking the little slave who had positioned herself over his lap during the battle of the well-oiled “gladiators.” But on that occasion I had been much too preoccupied myself to pay a great deal of attention to my host. It was not really until one day in the baths when I saw the maniacal gleam in his eye as he walloped a bouncing bottom, that I realized the intense pleasure the act of spanking gave him.

Among the many Roman customs Gratius had transplanted to his provincial villa were the pleasures of the bath. A true Roman, he believed strongly in cleanliness, insisting that his girls bathe daily. And of course he liked to join them. On one occasion, we sat in the warm languorous air, naked, being attended to by a handful of female slaves in the short hip-length tunics that were the livery of the house of Gratius. In the thick steamy perfumed air, the flimsy tunics had become moistly transparent, and the wet fabric clung to every contour of their hard young bodies. We had drunk a few cups of wine, and Gratius had grown expansive. I said little, only nodding now and then, while he went on, waxing philosophical. His monologue was on one of his favorite subjects: the pleasures of the flesh.

As he rambled on, I kept one eye on the fetchingly clad slaves, especially a tall, splendid girl, long-limbed, with raven black hair that fell to her shoulders, and a pair of the most startling blue eyes. She noticed my attention, and lowered her eyes, smiling slightly, as though not displeased at all by my obvious interest By now I was intimately familiar with all of Gratius’s slaves but I had never seen this one before, for surely I would have remembered her.

Not for the first time, Gratius was rhapsodizing on his favorite sport, the playful spanking of a delightful female behind, all the while idly watching the little slave whom I had last seen upended over his lap. This was Rhea, one of his favorites, and she was gathering up some towels. As she bent down, her tunic skirt slid up to lie wetly plastered over the top of her exposed buttocks. The gesture was enough to stop my host in mid-sentence. A sharp word of command caused the girl to freeze as she was, her trim rear end half-turned in our direction. It is the irresistible allure of a well-made bottom that appeals so invitingly to the hand, he explained, his gaze fixated on the elegant curve of the girl’s haunches, the seductive roundness of those pert twin mounds. To experience the fullest pleasure, the lecherous connoisseur continued, one must learn to absolutely savor the moment. So saying, he invited the bending Rhea to his lap. He would be glad to show me how it should be done properly, should I care to see a demonstration. I might even want to practice myself on one of the handy slaves, he continued; perhaps the new girl, Maya, he allowed, noting the obvious interest I had in the tall dark-haired slave.

Soon we were both seated with knees widespread on separate benches placed across from one another, with a slave girl sprawled over each lap. The raven-haired girl lay over my spread thighs so that her inverted head dangled down over my left leg, her long hair falling to the floor, while her extended legs angled down till her toes touched the floor on the right I felt her weight on my bare thighs, the press of a hip that rested solidly against my upstanding penis.

Gratius began by running his curved hand up and down the back of the girl’s bare legs; I followed suit, enjoying the smooth feel of those long tapering thighs, while Maya wiggled to get more comfortable. I watched him slip his hand up higher to ride up onto the little skirt and slowly rub the slippery fabric over the taut mounds, all the while brooding on the brevity of man’s life. Then the randy philosopher slid the thin fabric up and over the twin slopes, baring Rhea’s neat little bottom to his insatiable eyes. I thrilled at the pleasant prospect of unveiling the lovely swells of Maya’s upturned bottom. Firmly cupping a handsome cheek through the slippery silk, I gave her a reassuring squeeze. I smiled to see her asscheeks clench instinctively as I savored the feel of her hardened ass.

I spent several minutes squeezing and massaging those lovely rearmounds through the wispy damp fabric, watching them tighten and slacken, savoring the delicious feel of those soft, firm mounds, admiring the perfect symmetry of those lovely twin swells quivering under my hand. With delicate precision, I pinched the gauzy film away from her hips and held it between thumb and forefinger, exposing an elegant pair of rounded domes, smooth and sleek, and divided by a dark narrow center-crease. The fig of the girl’s pursed vulva, adorned with wispy tufts of black pussyfur, peeked out saucily from between her loose thighs. The sight sent a surge of shimmering excitement racing through me. I couldn’t resist bringing a finger up, lightly touching her there, getting a reflexive twitch of the hips as the girl shifted uneasily in my lap.

These were the preliminaries which Gratius assured me were of the utmost importance, the toying foreplay, so necessary to assure that the smoldering excitement would build in both the seated master and the laid-out slave. And so I spent some time playing leisurely with the slave girl’s naked ass, letting my host set the pace. I watched as he slid his flattened hand up to rest it firmly on the small of Rhea’s back, pinning her in place. I did likewise, spreading my knees to better balance the long-bodied girl’s languid weight, placing a hand on her back to steady her. I saw Maya’s butt muscles clench tight as the fearful slave girl tensed up in anticipation, the sleek sides of her cheeks hollowing out, the dark channel squeezed to a narrow slit. She knew what was about to come!

Together, my host and I raised our right hands. At his nod, we struck.

“Whap! Whap!” two shots rang out almost simultaneously and two girls bounded up, kicking up their heels and yelping in startled reflex. Before she had time to recover, I struck again, whacking Maya’s bottom with crisp authority, using the flat of my hand to deliver a glancing blow that set her rearmounds jiggling. 1 heard the girl cry out; her legs swinging up behind, scissoring the air frantically. I smacked her bounding bottom merrily again and again, relishing the bouncy resiliency of her jiggling assmounds.

The girl jerked forward with each impact, her legs kicking wildly now, while she twisted and squirmed across my lap. 1 immediately clamped my left hand down even harder on the small of her back, pinning her solidly in place across my open thighs while I spanked her soundly, thoroughly enjoying the sight of her quivering mounds as they danced under my repeated slaps.

I walloped the trembling swells with grim determination, watching them redden under the unrelenting assault. Maya was yelping now, each sharp cry punctuated by the resounding echo of a crisp slap as I smacked the quivering, blushing bottom mercilessly.

For a while, she tried to deflect the blows by twisting her hips. When that didn’t work, she tried to steel herself by tightening her cowering cheeks in anticipation. But under my steady smacking, she soon realized the futility of trying to resist. In time, she simply went limp, allowing her butt muscles to slacken, yielding to the continual assault, accepting her spanking with passive resignation.

After several exciting minutes spent walloping the slave girl’s delectable bottom, my hand was tingling, throbbing with a dull ache which forced me to stop and rest. I used the pause to admire my handiwork. The flushed cheeks of Maya’s handsome bottom throbbed with a rosy hue. I couldn’t resist caressing that well-spanked behind, savoring the pleasant warmth I had generated in her burning rear-end A plaintive whimper came from the inverted head of my long-legged slave girl, and she squirmed her hips in a sensual wiggle, signaling to me that the heat she was feeling as a result of the spanking was not confined to her bottom.

Chapter Six. A Day At The Races

As you might well imagine from the preceding passages, my first summer at Bernesium was not altogether unpleasant. I spent many a leisurely day whiling away my hours there while enjoying the many delights of the house of Gratius. My official duties were hardly burdensome, although we were called upon increasingly to provide additional patrols to escort the passing caravans of slavers. It seems that a particularly nasty little war had erupted with the always-contentious Scythians, closing the normal trade routes so that the slavers were forced to divert their caravans through the mountains and past Bernesium. As a result, slave caravans began arriving in town, sometimes as many as two or three a week The slavers would set up camp on a grassy plain just on the edge of town. They would have arrived weary and content to spend a few days resting and refreshing themselves and their charges after the grueling march through the mountains.

The arrival of a fresh batch of slaves was always an occasion of excitement for the town. While their masters rested, the training of the slaves continued unabated, and this provided a unique show indeed! A crowd of townspeople would gather eagerly on those warm summer afternoons to watch the slaves being exercised, sweating and straining as they were put through their paces under the firm hand of their strict overseers. This interest was especially high if the lot were being trained as sex slaves, as was the case whenever Kimar’s caravans came to town, for this worthy always had the prettiest slaves, and they were inevitably exercised wearing nothing but their high collars and the wide leather straps that banded their wrists and ankles.

The training began early and was continuous throughout the march. The young women must learn many things in order to be able to serve properly. They must learn to be obedient, to meet any need that might be placed on them. They must learn the etiquette, posture, and deportment expected of a well-trained slave. They must be taught to adopt the proper pose for presentation: to stand at attention with hands behind their necks, to kneel in offering. They must be taught to walk properly, and to step lively. I often saw girls being put through their paces, forced to run in circles, knees raised high, heads thrown back, chins held high, as they raced around the arena, breasts jiggling and bouncing freely, much to the delight of the avid onlookers.

Races were run and various contests staged wherein the girls were said to learn the importance of discipline and teamwork though I suspected that the real reason for such games had more to do with the amusement of the slave drivers. I often stopped to watch these games, especially the “chariot races” that were staged with slave girls harnessed to the traces in teams. Of course, these were not the heavy war chariots found in the legions, but specially made lightweight traps, nothing more than a frame of saplings with two spoked wheels attached.

Teams of four or six girls were placed on hands and knees; harness straps laid upon their shoulders and belted to their hard young bodies. The chariot’s traces were then attached to the harnesses along their flanks. Smooth dowels of soft wood were placed between their teeth to serve as bits so that reins could be attached to steer. Since the onlookers liked to bet on the winners of these contests, one team was designated the “red” team; the other, the “blue.” The team colors were displayed by “tails” provided by the helpful slave drivers. These were plumes made of horsehair, dyed in vibrant colors, and sprouting from squat plugs at one end. The plug was oiled and inserted into a girl’s anus, the plume allowed to flop down over her bare bottom. I thought these “tails” a most delightful touch.

The team was now ready for the start of the race. But first, the drivers had to be chosen. For this task younger, slender, wiry girls were preferred. The drivers were given light switches which they used with considerable enthusiasm because the losers-drivers as well as teams-faced inevitable punishment once the race was over. So a simple flick of the light whip was all that was need to get them going, sending the naked slave girls scrambling over the grass, hips shifting and buttocks churning merrily as they crawled as fast as they could on hands and knees, pulling the little chariot behind them while the crowd cheered its favorites.

After the last of the day’s races, punishment was meted out, an event that had the crowd jostling forward and scrambling to find a place with a good view of the proceedings. The losers were lined up in a row side by side with enough distance separating them so they might widen their stance. As one of the slave drivers took his place behind the line, a wicked paddle in his hands, each girl in turn was made to spread her legs, bend over, and clasp her ankles. With well-trained slaves, the punishment proceeded like clockwork The first girl leaned over obediently, bending from the waist to reach down and grab her ankles. A single resounding “Smack’” rang out as the leather paddle met the jutting bottom, sending the girl jerking in recoil. At the sound of the solid blow, the next girl was to lean over immediately and assume the position, promptly offering up her tight young bottom for similar treatment.

Thus the overseer worked his way down the line. And woe to the girl who failed to hold the pose, for if the recoil should drive her to release her ankles and bound upward, hands flying back instinctively to rub away the hurt (as sometimes happened, particularly with novices), then she would be in for five more. Should the breach of protocol persist, the miscreant would be tied in place over a trestle to receive further instruction in perfect compliance.

As commander of the local garrison, I was made most welcome in the slavers’ camp. I quickly learned to allow Sergeant Metellus to negotiate with them to arrange for an escort, while I took advantage of their often-lavish hospitality. No man was more generous with his hospitality than Kimar, a prosperous slave dealer well known in certain circles in Rome, who specialized in providing the very finest sex slaves. When I first met him, I discovered how the wealthier slave dealers traveled in luxury.

I remember my surprise when Kimar, hatched-faced, with a perpetual lean and hungry look, first welcomed me to his spacious, pleasantly cool tent Expensive rugs had been thrown down on the floor of the tent, pillows were strewn about, and couches arranged around low tables heaped with fine food on golden plates so that one might wine and dine in comfort, all the while allowing one’s eyes the pleasure of visually caressing the naked bodies of a brace of attractive females. Slave girls were summoned regularly to enhance the surroundings, for Kimar dearly loved to show off his wares. And he did so in the most astonishing ways!

For example, an amazing sight greeted me as I entered the dimly lit tent. There-hanging by her wrists from a rope that ran over a pulley set at the very the top of the high tent post-was a naked woman. She was tall and slender, with long, dark hair spilling down over her shoulders. She had been gagged with a strip of red silk, and the rope which held her wrists high over her head had been pulled taut till her sleek curves stretched out in elongated sinuous lines.

The demanding pose might quickly have become painful had she not been strung up in such a way that her straining toes could just barely touch the rug, thus relieving the weight from her arms. A more demanding pose, my host confided, would have the girl trussed up with one leg raised, bent at the knee, the foot tied behind. This would have forced her to balance her weight on one foot only, poised on the very tips of her toes. He seldom used that particular pose, although it had its uses, he assured me with a cryptic smile.

I remember how, on one occasion, the inventive slaver had a girl hanging from the ceiling in a most unusual way. She was a small-breasted girl, built like a gymnast, with a lanky body, compact hips, and slender thighs. She had been suspended as “punishment” for some minor offense and, as was often the case, her master decreed that her punishment should serve as entertainment for his guests.

It so happened that I arrived just in time to see her being trussed up. She had been laid on the center of the rug on her belly, her legs pulled apart, arms pulled straight up over her head, and wrists bound together. The ropes that hung from pulleys placed at each corner of the tent’s ceiling were attached to the ankle and wrist bands, and the lines were tightened, hoisting her up till her body hung swaying a few feet off the floor. Her lithe torso bowed in a shallow curve, legs held open and pulled back, tits hanging down, and ass upturned and placed conveniently at hand.

Her master was not quite satisfied with the arrangements. As an additional refinement, he ordered that her slumping head be raised and her long auburn hair pulled back and the hank of hair looped with a cord that was attached to a thin belt that encircled the girl’s waist and pulled taut. The effect was to keep her head well up so the poor girl was forced see the guests who came to admire her, and they, in turn, could watch her eyes as they greedily savored her healthy young body. Finally, she was gagged, a wadded rag stuffed in her mouth and held in place with a silk scarf wrapped around her head. The gag would stifle any cries that might emerge as her tautly curved body was admired freely and lavishly by her master’s randy guests.

The esteemed visitor to Kimar’s tent was always graciously invited to sample his wares. There were several of us in the tent that day, and we each politely took our turns passing our hands slowly over the taut curves of that youthful swaying body, cupping the small hanging tits, running a flattened palm down over the shallow curve of the torso, pressing along the slope of the midriff, the undercurve of the belly and on up between the splayed sinewy legs to fondle the slightly gaping womanhood. The pert upturned ass beckoned seductively, simply inviting the masculine hand to feel the small tightened mounds, to squeeze and manipulate those firm little cheeks with abandon till the girl shook and we heard her stifled moans escaping from around the gag.

One fellow stood between the outstretched legs and took advantage of the gaping pussy placed before him to slide a finger or two between the pinkish lips of her vulnerable vagina. He tickled her innards and diddled her cunt with short tiny thrusts, till the gurgling moans rose in intensity, and he had the girl whimpering in short plaintive cries. Then he pulled back and waited while she tried desperately to close her thighs on his hand. And he teased her like that, toying with her highly responsive body till finally he took pity on her and decided to finish her off. We watched him finger-fuck the suspended girl with short furious strokes that had her mewing urgent cries and thrashing about in her bondage.

Kimar always accompanied his large slave trains on their journeys to Rome, and when he traveled, he traveled in style. For each journey, he selected a handful of the finest women to be his private harem for the length of the trip. He had a discerning eye, and the female slaves quickly learned to vie for his attention. Being chosen by the slave master meant a welcome respite from the long hours of marching.

The fortunate women whom he chose for his personal use to ease the rigors of the journey were most magnanimously permitted to ride on the wagons. They were well fed and well treated. Because their master insisted on cleanliness, they were given the opportunity to bathe frequently. And though they, like the other slaves, were kept naked when in camp, they were allowed to groom themselves and use cosmetics and scents that might serve to increase their appeal to their master. These slaves were shared generously with local dignitaries who were given special invitations to visit Kimar’s tents.

Once we were settled on the couches and given cups of wine, a handful of these attractive young girls would appear at the entrance to the tent, pleasingly naked save for the bands of leather at their necks, wrists, and ankles. Silently, and without a word from their master, they would enter and immediately arrange themselves shoulder to shoulder, standing in a row before the reclining guests. One could hardly help comparing the bare bosoms thus displayed, breasts of all shapes and sizes to be offered up in a comparison that was endlessly and inexplicably fascinating. And then there were the many variations among the furry vulvas tucked between their firm young thighs, all presented so freely in this open show of feminine charms. After a moment or two, the naked slaves dropped to their knees and bowed down, saluting with their foreheads pressed to the rug in the Persian manner, as they had been taught.

Then they rose to their feet, turned around in place, presenting their backs to us, and knelt once more to press their foreheads to the rug a second time, this time offering up their tempting naked bottoms to the assembled guests. They held the subservient pose until released. And sometimes their master made them hold it for a long time indeed, while the guests nibbled at their food, sipped their wine, and made casual conversation. In time the girls were released and the guests picked their companions for the evening in sort of lottery, two slave girls usually assigned to see to the needs of each male guest.

Increasingly, I was being invited to visit the tent of Kimar, only to find that I was his only guest. As always, he was gracious and most generous, but I couldn’t help getting the feeling that he was evaluating me, as though he wanted something from me. In some ways, the slaver and I were kindred souls. We shared an endless fascination with the joys of the flesh. Clearly pleased, he would acknowledge with a frank smile of understanding my genuine compliments of his ability as a true connoisseur of the well-made feminine form. During one of those conversations, I had expressed my soulful desire for a Nordic woman. We found that this, too, was a passion we both shared, though for different reasons.

On this particular night, Kimar seemed to be getting closer to something that had obviously been on his mind He told me how he had always found me a most reasonable man, a man of the world. I waited expectantly. Then it came. Since we both appreciated those rare Northern beauties, perhaps some arrangements might be made to our mutual benefit?

Of course, I had heard the rumors of war with the tribes on the frontier? I nodded, not wishing to appear ignorant in matters of military intelligence. It was common knowledge that the crafty old slaver had many spies, and I listened most intently to what he had to say on the subject Should hostilities once again break out with the Teutons, he went on, we might both profit He then proposed that I might make special efforts to see that our raids yielded as many of those choice beauties as possible. Moreover, I would then hold these captive women for Kimar, dealing with him exclusively.

In those days, it was common practice for enemy captives to be turned over to interested slavers, who waited on the edge of the war zone and appeared instantly after a raid to buzz around the camp like bees until they were given the opportunity to bid for the lot The proceeds of these sales went to the Emperor’s treasury in Rome, and it was well known, though not officially sanctioned, that sometimes a few denarii would find their way into the purse of the commander of the legion. But Kimar was proposing that certain captives be withheld from the open auction till the next time his caravan came to town. For each of these exceptional blonde beauties who might be turned over to him exclusively, a handsome sum would be reserved for me-a sort of commission. He called it a “finder’s fee.”

Of course I saw immediately the wisdom in what he proposed, and I gladly gave him my hand on it. The deal was struck. Smiling broadly over his exclusive triumph, Kimar then announced that now he had a very special treat for me. In honor of our pact, he had reserved an exceptional pair of slave girls just for me.

At the clap of his hands, the two women appeared, presenting themselves before me, standing side by side. They might have been sisters. These two had the pleasing good looks of certain Gaulish women, and had similar soft brown hair, worn pulled back from the face, then bound with a leather thong so that it fell in a length that was long and silky like a horse’s tail It was the style much favored among the Gauls. Although both were rather young, one looked quite definitely the other’s junior. She had a lean, almost pubescent body, with small crescent-shaped tits, and a thin haze of down on her slight Venus-mound; her companion had the nicely proportioned body of an attractive mature woman. She was well endowed with generous breasts, full rounded with just the slightest bit of sag to them, and a plump, thickly furred vulva. This was Sylla, Kimar said, the younger girl was named Tomi. They were given to me for the night.

On being presented, the pair instantly assumed the subservient position on their knees and bowed low. Then they got up and turned to repeat the ritual, offering their naked bottoms: the full, rounded, fleshy buttocks next to the pert set of asscheeks. Summoning a couple of slaves to attend to him, my host then settled back With his business being concluded so satisfactorily, he was now prepared to enjoy a bit of leisure. I bade the kneeling women rise and ordered them to attend to me, allowing them to remove my uniform while I stood there and let myself be undressed. Once naked, I invited my two attendants to join me on the couch. Then I set about exploring their considerable Gaulish charms.

I found myself pressed between the warmth of two delicious female bodies as we twisted and squirmed together on the couch. I lay rubbing myself all over Tomi’s nubile body while Sylla’s bountiful bosom burned into my back, all soft and warm and lovely. Things were heating up and threatening rapidly to get out of control, when I broke apart to pause so as to prolong my pleasure as much as possible. I swung my legs down to sit on the edge of the couch, my prick rigidly upright and throbbing with lust between my hairy thighs. I went to reach for my cup, but Tomi, wishing to please, reached for it at the same time and somehow managed to splash wine down my lap.

For a moment, she froze, horrified at what she had done! Had she displeased her master, and would he order that she now be punished for her clumsiness? But I was not that kind of master, and besides the girl could easily make amends by licking up the spilled wine. I had her kneel before me and merely pointed to my wet thighs. Obediently, her little tongue peeked out from between her small pursed lips and started licking. Meanwhile, Sylla hovered behind me, kneeling on the couch at my back Now she threw her arms around me and pressed her body to mine, squirming sensually, grinding her firmly rounded tits into my back My eyes slid closed and I sighed at the heavenly feeling of those twin delights.

Meanwhile, Tomi’s silken tongue was sliding wetly over my thighs, licking along the contours, delving down between them to get at the soaked pubic hair. I eased my thighs apart, spreading my knees and easing forward to give the slave girl greater access to my hanging balls. The flutter of her slavish tongue as it licked all over my furry scrotum electrified me. Then she was licking at the root of my shaft, sucking up the wine from the spongy pubic hair, before slowly lapping her way up the quivering length of my rigid penis. The feeling of her slowly traveling tongue was absolutely exquisite. Having arrived at the crown of my massive prick she leaned forward prepared to take me in her mouth, for that was what she thought I wanted. But I reached down to grab her by the hair and stop the sweet torture of her loving lips and devilish tongue.

“No, just lick! Lick it all up…every drop,” I managed to get out in a voice choked with passion.

And as the girl bent her head to follow my injunction, I got a sudden burst of inspiration. I pulled Sylla around to kneel beside me. Picking up the still-half-filled cup, I splashed the remainder of the wine right on her well-endowed chest. She gave a girlish giggle and shook her shoulders in surprise as the wine trickled down the slopes of her jiggling tits. Sliding my cupped hands down her flanks, I curled my fingers around her hips, digging into the pliant flesh of her asscheeks. Tightening my grip, I pulled the girl toward me and then I dove in, nuzzling those wonderful tits, pressing my face into the soft cleavage, nudging the taut mounds with lips and nose, all the while licking, lapping up the sweet-tasting wine, drawing my tongue up and over the lush contours while the woman writhed up before me in pure sensual delight.

She arched back, offering my greedy lips even more of her feminine pulchritude while I drew spiraling circles, zeroing in on the fat caps of her pink nipples. I kissed the sensitive tips, taking the protruding stems between my teeth and pulling on them till Sylla gave out with a low growl of pleasure. Then I suckled on those prominent nipples, drawing on them slowly and steadily, with the girl arching back and writhing in my arms all the while.

My recollection of events after that is a little confusing. Somehow we all three ended up on the rug. I remember Sylla’s comely body laid out before me as I straddled her hips. I leaned forward, bringing up my rigid prick to rub along its length her wet tits. I had her squeeze them together, imprisoning my rod between the squashed mounds of flesh, while I moved my hips and spent a little time fucking her tits. Then, just as I was about to shoot off, I moved higher, easing my stiff prick up over her chin and lips, to rub it all over her face.

Meanwhile, agile Tomi had slid behind me and, as I crouched down over the other girl, she began paying tribute to my upraised posterior, bringing her lips to my ass and licking lavishly while I clenched my butt against the maddening tickle. The sudden surge of electric pleasure when the probing tongue touched my anus sent me shooting off all over the pretty face of the supine woman, who closed her eyes but didn’t turn away. It was an unforgettable night.

Later Kimar asked me if I had enjoyed my fetching companions. When I responded most enthusiastically, thanking him profusely for his generosity, he asked me if I had ever before had the rare privilege of enjoying both a mother and her daughter at the same time! Perhaps, he added with a sly wink, I’d care to see them make love to each other? Someday he would arrange for the two slaves to perform with each other for my private amusement. It was, he assured me, truly a stimulating sight!

Chapter Seven. The Lords Of Discipline

One warm, lazy afternoon, as we lounged about in his tent, Kimar began to tell me about his unique line of work He was a lonely man, with no one to talk to for long months on end, except for the slaves and the rather dull overseers he employed. So when he was in his cups with me, an “intelligent man-of-the-world,” as he called me, he wanted to talk. Kimar was justly proud of his reputation as purveyor of the finest sex slaves to the greatest city in the world, and he wanted me to understand that maintaining that reputation was a constant struggle. Sometimes it was an intolerable burden to keep up the increasing demands for both quantity and quality that were insisted upon by the demanding clientele of that insatiable city.

It was bad enough that raiders might pounce on the caravans at any time, that there was the need for constant vigilance, added to the increasing costs of expensive protection, the rigors of the long marches, but through it all he was expected to maintain a quality product. He commiserated with himself, shaking his head at the injustice of it all. It was even harder now that the war had cut off slaves from the East. Having learned submission at the hands of some minor Oriental potentate, they needed very little training. They would just as readily bend their knee to a Roman master. But with this source of pliable slaves temporarily cut off, and with the demands of Rome increasing, he was forced inevitably to turn to the north and west for new slaves, and these were a very different lot! Wild and unruly, these western barbarians had never learned true obedience. It was up to him to teach them. Now he lowered his voice and confided that there was but one true key to success: discipline. House slaves and field slaves must learn to obey. They were expected to follow orders and carry out their duties promptly. But sex slaves were another matter. They must learn instant and total submission!

Kimar’s slaves were sought so eagerly in Rome and commanded such exorbitant prices because they were so well trained. Kimar was a great believer in very strict discipline, and he had very definite ideas about training slaves. Their relentless training began from the first day, when the fresh captives were turned over to him by the army. The new slaves learned that he would tolerate nothing short of perfect obedience. The slave who learned quickly found that her master could be generous; but the slave who refused to submit and accept her new status graciously discovered that Kimar was a harsh master of discipline, well versed in many ingenious ways of enforcing his iron will.

The old slaver had quite definite-if rather unconventional-views on punishment. Of course, all slavers made extensive use of the whip to bring their charges into line, but Kimar did so only with the greatest reluctance. The whip was used sparingly, if at all, especially in the training of the attractive young women who had been earmarked for eventual service to the masters of Rome. Kimar much preferred the use of a stout paddle to enforce discipline, and though his overseers usually took care of such matters, he sometimes chose to take a personal hand in meting out the proper punishment.

“Some men whip their slaves, but I much prefer the use of the paddle. It gives me a great deal of pleasure while enforcing my will effectively in a way that is painful, but without lasting scars,” he explained matter-of-factly.

The firm hand of discipline would be eased only after the girl proved pliant and well-mannered, her obedience having been put repeatedly to the test and judged to be satisfactory. Warming to his subject, the old slaver invited me to witness one such punishment about to be carried out on a particularly recalcitrant slave, a Saxon girl whom he had acquired just recently. It seems she was a rather rebellious young lass, her obedience given grudgingly, her attitude downright surly.

He now invited me to accompany him to the exercise yard, where the slaves were being trained. As we approached the fenced-in grassy area that was used for this purpose, a gaggle of naked slave girls pounded past us, forced to run in the prancing step favored by their handlers, hands clasped behind the neck, knees pumping up high, their frisky breasts bouncing most delightfully as they passed by. I followed their progress past us and around the track, fascinated by the intriguing view from behind. I was still watching the rear view, entranced, when my attention was abruptly torn away by the shrill cry of a female in distress.

Across the yard from us a tussle had broken out as two of Kimar’s men struggled to subdue a squirming female. This was the Saxon girl, a stocky young woman with a riot of pale tresses that fell around her face and shoulders. She was a well-built girl with muscular thighs and firm high-set breasts, each hefty tit a full handful. Her heels were planted defiantly. Her shoulders twisted, trying to shake off the grasp of her guards, while her conical titties jiggled in furious agitation. She kept up her noisy opposition until she was gagged, and then she continued to struggle in a silent-but futile-attempt to avoid her fate. The burly men had little trouble in manhandling the naked woman. Each one taking an arm, they half-dragged, half-propelled the shrieking slave girl to the trestle frame.

Sometimes called the “horse,” this sturdy frame consisted of a padded crossbar supported on thick wooden legs. The crossbar was set at waist height so that a recalcitrant slave could easily be bent over the thickly padded wood. And it was over the crossbar that the businesslike overseers now deposited their charge unceremoniously, upending her so that I now saw why Kimar thought I might wish to witness this paddling, for this girl sported a meaty bottom that was perfectly made for just that purpose. Hers was a firm, sturdy ass, solid and nicely rounded. It was an ass that could absorb much punishment.

One of the overseers held her in place over the bar with a large flattened hand placed firmly on the small of her back while she wiggled her rump and strained upward. The other man dropped to one knee and, clamping her wrist, pulled down on her dangling arm. The girl flailed her legs in screeching protest, kicking her heels, but the men who held her stepped back quickly, and the heavy hand that pressed against her kept her pinned firmly in place. Now they held her legs and bound them together with strips of leather tied around her thighs and again around her calves.

The crouching man was working with swift efficiency now, running twine from the leather wristbands to a convenient wooden stake sunk in the ground to serve as an anchoring point Taking up the slack in the line had the effect of drawing the girl still farther over the crossbar till her tightly bound legs hung straight down on the near side, toes pointed down and stiffened so they barely touched the grass.

Now that she was stretched over the bar and held in place, the two overseers stood up and turned to bow briefly to their master. One of them unhooked a paddle which hung from his belt and handed it over to Kimar. It had a short handle and a wide, flat blade of thin, pliable, stiffened leather. The two capable assistants were now dismissed, as the master would no longer need their services. The Saxon slave would be his to do with as he would!

Kimar approached the upended miscreant from behind, beckoning me to his side. Quite deliberately, he placed a hand on the served-up buttocks, curving his fingers to fit the mounded crests. The feel of his hand sent his victim mewing into her gag, twitching her hips in anxious protest, the only movement left to her in her perilous situation. The continuing protest brought a smile to the weary face of the old slaver, who took his time feeling her up, running his hand over the twin contours, testing the firm resiliency of those generous asscheeks. Obviously pleased in contemplating the task he was about to undertake, the old slaver stepped back and stood eyeing the squirming behind while tapping his palm lightly with the paddle.

Now he took up his position behind and just to the left of the dangling legs, tapping the blade of the paddle squarely across the nicely presented bottom so that he was assured of the proper range to his target He smiled to see her buttocks cringe under the first light kiss of leather. Now he widened his stance, setting his heels in place. Slowly, he drew back the wicked paddle and with a sudden snap of his wrist sent it whipping toward the girl’s jutting bottom.

“Thwack!” The snapping blade splattered those gelatinous mounds, drawing a muffled yelp from the girl, who jerked upward on her bonds as the impact shuddered through her stretched-out form.

Now Kimar settled into a steady rhythm, spanking the slave girl-not hard, but with short, choppy strokes, administered rapidly, until he had those choice wobbling rearmounds dancing wildly under the repeated slap of the flexible paddle. The relentless smacks soon had the girl twitching in fiery agitation, muffled yelps coming from her inverted head with each decisive slap of the quivering mounds.

Eventually, Kimar slowed the pace, pausing somewhat longer between each repeated smack.

“Thwack!”…Her asscheeks flattened and rebounded, leaving a red welt to spread across the twin curving surfaces… “Thwack!”…The blade whacked the bouncy mounds solidly… “Thwack!”…Another firm, decisive stroke, delivered quite dispassionately by the master slaver, whose eyes were hard and whose lips were set in a tight, determined line.

The girl’s fearful asscheeks cringed, clenching so that the sides hollowed out as the young Saxon woman steeled herself to meet the next attack. Her butt muscles contracted tightly, coiling down to harden the rearmounds and constrict the centerline to a deep, narrow slit.

“Thwack!” Kimar walloped her hardened butt, smacking it squarely across the twin contours with a crisp snap of the wrist. There was an unmistakable howl of outrage, an urgent braying muffed by the wadded rags they had stuffed into her mouth, the gag that was held in place by the silken scarf that bound her head.

Now the slave master paused and stepped up to squat down near her inverted head as it dangled between taut, outstretched arms. He reached out to her, cupping her chin and holding it in his fingers as he lifted her head so that he might look into the wide, moist eyes that met his over the silken scarf. I don’t know what he saw there. Perhaps it was the hurt, or abject contrition, or maybe a silent plea for mercy; but whatever it was he saw there, it brought a smile to his lips. He reached under her to feel a dangling breast quickly before rising and stepping back to take up his position again. Without further ado, he swung the paddle back in a wide, full arc and brought it forward with vigor, ending the swing with a crisp, authoritative snap of the wrist.

“Thwack!” The solid blow landed heavily, ringing out across the exercise yard. The muffled shriek it brought was long and wavering. At that, Kimar was apparently satisfied. Obviously pleased with his handiwork, he nodded in grim satisfaction and ran a hand over the girl’s warm, flinching rear end. Turning to me, he asked politely if I would like to try my hand. While watching the Saxon girl get spanked had resulted in quite an unsettling effect on me, and my swollen penis hung heavy beneath my loincloth stirring at the sight of those well-punished buttocks, I declined politely. Perhaps I felt some twinge of pity for the chastised slave, who surely had learned her lesson. Kimar shrugged his shoulders and suggested that perhaps someday I would like to take a more active role. 1 need only say so, and it would be arranged!

To complete her punishment, the girl would be left on display in the hot sun for one hour, held in place stretched over the bar so she might contemplate the lesson she had been taught. Her fiery buttocks, smarting from the angry sting of the wicked paddle, would serve as an object lesson to her companions who would be marched slowly past so they might view her throbbing ass and reflect on the price of disobedience.

As Kimar had promised, I was to witness many such exhibitions over the next few months, and to play the disciplinarian’s part in more than a few of them. But of these various entertaining spectacles, none was so unforgettable as the time Kimar arranged to have four of his slaves punished simultaneously. His overseers had uncovered a plot: the four young women hoped to run away and hide in the woods. There were some transgressions that the slave master would tolerate, viewing them as only minor indiscretions; but attempting to escape was another matter! It was an offense that was taken quite seriously. Any girl caught trying to escape was inevitably dealt with most severely, so that she might be made an example of to those who might be foolish enough to entertain similar notions. As a measure of my growing status as a very special guest, Kimar arranged for a private disciplinary session for the quartet of would-be escapees to be held in his tent.

That evening, when I entered Kimar’s tent, I saw that the furniture had been rearranged. The small couches and pillows had been pushed back along the canvas walls, leaving plenty of room at the center of the huge tent for a sturdy cushioned bench that was low, long, and narrow. A padded board, the same size and shape as the bench, was hinged to it at one end so that the board could be lifted and swung up out of the way.

The purpose of this ingenious arrangement was demonstrated for me. Sandwiched between the padded surfaces were the four naked malefactors, who knelt on hands and knees, their lithe young bodies draped over the bench, bellies pressed down on the leather-covered padding. The top board had been lowered to cross along the shallow curves of the lower backs, and then locked down at the far end, thus clamping the row of kneeling maidens in place. Imprisoned between the two padded surfaces, each girl found herself on hands and knees, her shoulders and hips snuggled cozily to her mate’s. She presented her naked buttocks for our edification and approval. I noted that each girl not only had been gagged with a wide leather strap tied behind her head, but she was also blindfolded. This latter refinement of the wily slave master’s served to increase their helplessness and, by depriving them of knowledge of the approach of their chastisers, introduce the element of surprise into their punishment. A girl might shudder at the thud of the paddle, cringe to hear her friend’s muffled cries, sympathize as she squirmed in distress. It increased her own fearful expectation to know that her time was about to come, but never to know exactly when the paddle might strike her vulnerable behind.

I eyed the charming row of girlish bottoms with genuine delight, resonating with a rutting surge of lust that had my manhood responding instantly, quickening, inflamed with the urgency of desire. Momentarily speechless, I beamed my approval, flashing my host my most appreciative grin. He acknowledged my silent compliment with a tilt of his head and put a single finger to his lips to assure my silence. Then, with overblown courtesy he bowed and offered me a paddle, presenting it with a flourish. For this evening’s session, two wooden paddles had been selected by that consummate connoisseur, sturdy ones with short handles and wide oval blades. Leather paddles imparted more of a sting, but the wooden paddles, with their greater heft and stiffer, less pliant blades, delivered a more solid bone-jarring impact.

Still silent, we moved stealthily, stepping up to take up positions at either end of the row of kneeling women. I stood behind the fourth girl, a slim-hipped slave whose pert rounded bottom pointed back at me temptingly. My host went down on one knee to conduct a detailed examination of the first girl in line, enjoying himself by lewdly fondling her helpless ass. I followed his example, squatting down to inspect the girl who was positioned at my end. I adored the symmetry of that small bottom, the way the undercurves were well defined so that the mounds jutted out from the tapering thighs. She kept her legs together, squeezing a lightly furred pussy so that it bulged out between the smooth columns of her lithe young thighs. The sight sent my penis soaring to its full height as it came to me that, aside from being ideal for chastisement, the pressing bench would allow a master to take a slave in any number of interesting ways. As I crouched down behind her, contemplating the girl’s helpless bottom, I couldn’t resist placing a hand on her conveniently placed rump, curving my fingers to fit one of the contoured rear-mounds, squeezing lightly.

The sudden and unexpected touch of a masculine hand on her bare ass caused the blindfolded girl to twitch nervously as a tiny whimper of surprise came from her mouth. Her agitation fired my lust, and I slipped my fingers down to touch the softly furred vulva that peeped out at me from between her clenching thighs. The girl shifted uneasily as my fingers sampled the tiny coils of pubic hair and pressed tentatively at the closed fleshy gates.

Intrigued, I drew my stiffened index finger along the fur-edged seam and straight up into the deep division between her spasming asscheeks, giving the helpless girl a sharp thrill that energized her abruptly, making her twitch her ass in a most enticing way. My host watched me, smiling, giving me an encouraging nod. We were in no hurry to begin the punishment; he saw I was clearly enjoying myself, and nodded. Smiling back at him, I turned to the slave at hand.

I clutched her tight-cheeked young bottom eagerly in both hands, curling my fingers along the sides, slipping my thumbs into her rearcrease so I could pry apart the firm orbs to reveal to my eyes her most intimate secret, the pinkish rosette of her newly exposed anus embedded in that shallow valley. I contemplated the soft pink of her asshole. The thought of taking her there fired my lust! The tiny ring of muscle seemed to spasm, winking seductively at me as I watched. I touched her there with one fingertip, pressing lightly, encountering stiff resistance, and getting a muffled grunt from the other end of the slave girl. I smiled to myself. There would be time to force the tiny gate later, after a proper paddling had made the girl more tractable. I eased out my fingers and let her straining asscheeks snap shut, leaving the kneeling slave with a friendly swat on her protruding behind.

Now, still on my knees, I shuffled over to place myself behind the next ass in line, for this one would also be mine before the night was through. Unlike the first girl, whose bottom was small and perfectly rounded, the next girl’s posterior was more shapely, sculpted with fuller flowing curves that formed a heart shape. Her plump ass seemed to jut back in saucy defiance. I traced the rich swells, drawing my fingertips over the magnificent sweep of those feminine buttocks. I thrilled to run my fingers along the curves, savoring the smooth, velvety feel of the tautly curved skin, sensing the underlying muscular tension of that well-made bottom. To test its resiliency, I dug my fingers into the softness, pressing till I encountered the underlying firmness of those heavenly mounds. The girl’s hips twitched under my loving ministrations as I fondled those supple fleshy mounds.

Continuing my examination, I crouched lower and let my cupped hand feel its way along the sculpted contour of one elegantly shaped thigh, starting just behind the knee and letting my fingers shape the swelling lines till they came to the top of the smooth thigh. Then I slid my hand around to sample the flesh of the inner thigh, silken smooth and warm with sexual heat. The girl shifted uneasily to feel my questing hand move up between her legs. I slid my hand up to fit my curving fingers to the plump bulge of her soft, furry vulva, a love-purse that was quite warm and inviting as I let my fingers play over its prominent swell. The girl’s hips writhed with a sensual excitement that she couldn’t possibly control as I fondled the soft folds of her sex. I heard a low moan escape her lips and felt a trace of moisture. I rubbed my fingers together, sampling her love-juices. The girl was clearly becoming aroused.

I slipped a finger between the slightly protruding lips and found her to be surprisingly wet. A quiver of excitement ran through her body, and she whimpered as the slick lips clung to the finger that was exploring her cunt. Her copious flow and excited reactions signaled that the healthy young girl might well be on the edge of coming. But my aim was to explore, not to excite her to orgasm. So, like any good explorer who has made his reconnaissance, I moved on, seeking new territory.

I slid my hands up to clasp those magnificent orbs and rudely pry them apart, opening her like a ripe peach to expose a cringing anus that tightened reflexively upon being revealed to the world. Holding her open with one splayed hand, I applied the fingertip of the other to the flinching rear portal and pressed, persisting in spite of the resistance I felt there, probing with my fingertip, indenting the tight ring of unyielding flesh. An urgent whimper came from the girl as no more than the tip of my finger was inserted up her ass gently but persistently. I diddled her there for a few seconds, while she strained and wiggled, and then I withdrew the offending digit and let the elastic cheeks snap shut, well satisfied with my inspection of her intimate parts. I smiled to myself, pleased at the thought that I might visit that hidden place once again, perhaps after her spanking, for the girl was entirely at my disposal. Having examined the miscreants thoroughly, it was now time to get on with the main event.

I noticed that my host had gotten to his feet to take up his position. He stood eyeing his cringing targets, slapping the wooden blade lightly against his palm, his face set in grim determination. I rose to my feet and took up a similar position behind and a little to the side of the second girl’s jutting posterior. From this position, I could easily reach both tempting targets. Setting my booted heels apart in a widened stance, I sized up the distance to each target, bringing my arm back in a shallow arc to test the range, tightening my grip on the paddle.

Now I took aim at the impudent bottomcheeks on the far end and swung.

“Thwap!” The wooden blade struck the jutting mounds-not hard, but decisively, for I never took Kimar’s “punishments” too seriously. I had no wish to hurt the girl, but only to leave her with a sharp reminder that would have her sitting down most gingerly for several days. The slave girl screeched her outrage into the gag at the sudden shock of the solid impact. I heard a duller thud come from immediately behind me. Kimar had found the range on a girl whose big, curvaceous buttocks had clearly attracted him-a most generous ass that I knew would give him the greatest of pleasure as each solid impact was followed by a keening yelp.

The resounding blows rang out repeatedly, punctuated by the muffled cries, as the two paddles came swinging down to flatten the sets of twin mounds, the first smack followed rapidly by another as we alternated between our dual targets. I watched the way the resilient mounds of the fuller ass bounced back, rebounding nicely at each swiftly delivered slap. And I saw the blade bite deeply into the hard little ass that waited anxiously on the end.

“Thwap… Thwap!… Thwap!… Thwap!” The whipping paddle repeatedly assaulted the solid impudent ass, sending the small mounds wobbling.

“Thwap!… Thwap!… Thwap!… Thwap!” The blade smacked the lush soft mounds, making them quiver wildly.

Thus we paddled the slave girls, lightly but methodically, using a series of rapid-fire shots that had the slaves mewing urgently into their gags. Their muted cries rose in syncopated rhythm with the crisp smacks, resulting in a regular cacophony that filled our tent.

Chapter Eight. The Eagle Turns To The North

Late that summer, ominous reports began to reach our ears of stirrings among the barbarous tribes of the North. Teuton raids on the slave caravans were increasing. Tax officials had been set upon, and now those worthies were refusing to visit the villages without an armed escort. The more civilized tribes were being threatened by the wild men from the North, who promised that the peaceful tribes would pay a heavy price for cooperating with their Roman overlords. The situation got so bad that it was no longer possible for us to remain idly sitting by, so I was not surprised when our orders came from Rome. The legion was to take to the field!

I was not looking forward to the hardship of a campaign after the long, leisurely days spent so pleasantly at Bernesium. It now seemed inconceivable to me that at some remote time, far away in the safety and comfort of Rome, a young lieutenant had actually complained of boredom and yearned for martial glory. Now, facing the imminent prospect of confronting the dreaded Northmen, I felt far less enthusiastic. Still, a Roman soldier must do his duty, so I ordered preparations be made for our first sally from the comforting security of our cozy, well-fortified home.

We hoisted the eagle and, with banners flying, we set off heading north; first to the farthest rim of outposts, and then beyond, to enter into the deep, forbidding forests. It was dark and gloomy under the huge trees, and the men trudged on in eerie silence. My horse seemed unusually nervous, twitching and snorting as if he sensed the danger that was all around us.

Less than a day’s march into the forest, our column was attacked.

The raid was sudden: a fierce, brief attack that came upon us in a flash as we were making our way patiently along the floor of a shallow valley. A piercing, bloodcurdling scream rang out, and we looked up to see a band of raging pale giants racing down the hillside through the trees, blond hair flying wildly as they flourished the axes and the heavy clubs these savages preferred as weapons. We barely had time to draw our swords and fall automatically into the defensive turtle, shields interlocked. Standing firm, we prepared to meet stoutly the pell-mell charge of the fierce barbarians.

In an instant their charge broke over the wall of shields, and they were upon us. The fight was fast and furious, a wild melee of war clubs thudding down on bending shields, and Roman broadswords slashing out at the barbarians’ flailing limbs. After only a few minutes of vicious fighting, the Teuton leader cried out, and the band fell back, melting away to disappear back into their forest haunts.

It had not been a very determined assault-more of a skirmish, really-one that didn’t appear to be well planned, but broke upon us helter-skelter. Perhaps a small raiding party had seen our column and decided to bloody a Roman nose or two before scampering off; or maybe they’d been sent to find us, to feel us out and test our strength, to see what Rome had sent against them. We bound our wounds and rested. And then we moved on.

The next day, our scouts reported smoke coming from a valley up ahead. As we crested the hill, we looked down on the smoldering ruins of a devastated village. The few dazed survivors who crawled from the woods when they saw the Roman standard told the tale of the vengeance of a mighty Teuton chieftain named Unix, who had demanded tribute and wreaked havoc on the village when they were unable to pay, slaying the men, burning their huts, and taking their women.

In broken Latin, one of the survivors assured us that he knew where Unix had made his camp, and he offered to lead us there. I talked it over with Sergeant Metellus and we agreed that the man seemed trustworthy enough. Moreover, it was obvious that we would have to come to terms with this Unix eventually if we were to subdue his revolt, so we decided to lay plans for an attack. We would move quickly but cautiously, throwing our scouts before us and stealing toward the barbarian encampment, hoping that the element of surprise might be on our side this time.

We marched that day and well into the night. Sometime after noon on the second day, our guide cautioned us to move more quietly as we were getting closer to the enemy camp. I had the men wait while the sergeant and I accompanied our guide, scrambling through a narrow defile and onto a rocky ledge that looked down on the sprawling enemy camp. We crept up behind some rocks and raised our heads cautiously.

The scene below was peaceful. Campfires were burning; blonde women clustered about them while children played at a stream nearby. At one end of the camp, there were carts piled high with loot, and a band of defeated captives sat dejectedly, heads hung low, guarded by a single warrior. Probably taken in some recent raid, these hapless men and women were now the slaves of this upstart and his men. We noticed that they had the same crude dress and blond complexion as their captors. Unix was obviously making war on other Germanic tribes as he struggled to establish his supremacy over them. We counted several dozen warriors, most of them unarmed, although their arms were stacked nearby. These fighting men were not deployed for defense. Here and there an occasional guard had been posted, but the camp was clearly not on alert.

It seemed inconceivable to me; the gods must be with us! Surely by now the raiding party must have warned them of the presence of a Roman column in their own backyard, but there was a curious air of lax tranquility about the barbarian encampment It was as though they were oblivious to any danger; or perhaps they were so confident of their strength that they had become arrogant, rashly disregarding any warnings they may have had.

We stole back to where my men waited hidden behind the rocks and planned our attack Because the camp lay in the middle of a large plain, we would be seen as soon as we emerged from the rocks, thus giving our enemy plenty of time to spread the alarm and grab their weapons. Therefore, we would split our force.

I would lead a contingent down the defile, tumbling across the plain, brandishing our swords, shouting and charging with a great clamor. As soon as the Teuton warriors rushed onto the field to meet us, we would turn, as though in sudden panic, and flee back toward the rocks. Once we had the overconfident enemy strung out and racing eagerly across the plain, we would stop suddenly and turn on them, while at that moment Sergeant Metellus, leading the main body of our men, would fall on them from their flank The maneuver took disciplined timing, but my troops had practiced it many times, and they knew what to do.

The charge went as planned; the alarmed barbarians scurried for their weapons and rushed out onto the plain. We feigned cowardice at the fierceness of their charge and let them chase us. Then, at my signal, we dug in our heels and wheeled about, preparing to meet our onrushing enemy. We clashed and immediately found ourselves in a furious fight, swords flashing and clubs swinging wildly as we fought toe-to-toe. I managed an anxious look at the surrounding rim of rocks just in time to see Metellus with the main body cresting a small hill to begin their charge.

At that point, my attention was fully occupied by a blond giant who grabbed my ankle and pulled me from my mount I hit the ground with a thud, momentarily stunned. He screamed and swung a murderous mace at my head, which I managed to duck away from at the last second. It hit the ground next to my ear with a bone-jarring thud. I spun over and leaped to my feet just as the second blow came swinging my way. This time he swung in a high circle, leaving himself open. I saw my chance and I took it, lunging with my blade to catch him under the arm and stab upward straight into his chest With a sharp cry, the big man went down, nearly tearing the sword out of my hand as his massive body twisted and fell. My head was singing as I pulled the sword free in a fountain of blood and swung around, bloody sword at the ready.

I was much too busy to keep track of the battle, but I saw that our comrades had joined us. Now we had the enemy in our pincers. A horn sounded from somewhere. Suddenly, a second force of the enemy appeared-hidden reserves, perhaps, who were now rushing to join the fray. Maybe we had been tricked, but I had no time to think about that. I found myself slashing furiously, severing limbs and felling blond warriors left and right as I hacked my way through the press of desperate fighting men.

For a while, we struggled in a battle in which neither side would yield. Then we began to surge forward slowly. The barbarian line faltered and then began to break up. Suddenly it cracked, dissolving into small islands of savages, still fighting desperately even as their comrades began to desert them-at first a few, then in droves, falling back, turning and running from the terrible battle. My men sensed that victory was ours and, shouting triumphantly, chased after the stricken foe, scattering them as they ran for the safety of the woods.

I saw the blond chieftain holding his own under his standard of animal pelts and made my way toward him as his guards fell around him, one after the other. The noose of legionnaires was getting tighter around the Teuton standard, when somehow the mighty warrior managed to tear himself away from our grasp and, taking a few of his men with him, fled toward the defile and possible escape. I motioned for a party of legionnaires to come with me, and we went off in hot pursuit. It took us a while chasing the little band through the hills, till at last we managed to corner our foe with his back against the face of a cliff.

I stood facing the powerful, well-built warrior. I had no doubt that this was Unix, their chieftain. He stood taller than the other men, his loincloth torn and bloody, the hard muscles of his torso sheened with sweat and dripping with blood that trickled down from a sword wound that had been opened at his side. But he was not defeated. His eyes were fierce and blue, and he trembled with excitement as he wheeled around to face us. His hands and arms were bloody from the slaughter and he had lost his shield, but his right hand still held the wicked battle-ax, its deadly blade gleaming red. I shouted for him to yield, even though I knew that this proud barbarian would never allow himself to be taken alive to be hauled back to Rome in a cage.

He looked at me for a moment above the fray. Then, with a fierce shout, he plunged toward me, swinging his ax wildly. It was no contest, for by now the Teuton chieftain had lost his few remaining companions and the big man went down alone under the weight of our numbers, swinging defiantly at his pursuers till the very end.

By the time we made our way back to the scene of the battle, the last remnants of the enemy were being dispatched. We heard the pitiful cries of the wounded as the swords came down; the smell of blood was strong in the air. Parties of soldiers had begun looting the enemy camp, gathering the captured booty that was now ours, rounding up the women and children, sorting out those that would be taken to serve Rome. I found my trusty sergeant in the middle of organizing the mopping-up operations.

He stood talking to a Teuton girl: a slender reed of a girl, fair featured and small-breasted. Her name was Minta. The young woman had been a slave of Unix, and now she would be a slave of Rome-perhaps a most valuable slave, as the clever girl spoke Latin, as well as Gaulish and the Germanic tongue of the Teutons. For the first time since the onset of the battle I looked at my sergeant and smiled, and he smiled back. We stood there saying not a word, smiling at one another, bloody and dirty and weary but triumphant at this, our first victory, and a most decisive one at that!

As we were congratulating ourselves, a shrill scream made me spin around just in time to see a crazed woman flying at me from behind one of the wagons. She was brandishing a nasty dagger over her head and would surely have struck me, had not Metellus alertly stuck out his foot to trip her and send her sprawling across the grass. Her weapon was knocked from her grasp by the impact, and she quickly got to her hands and knees to scramble after the knife when two of my men pounced on her. She howled her rage and struggled under them, screaming all the while in that guttural tongue of the Northmen. I knew only a few words, but I recognized the Teuton words for “Roman pigs.”

She was subdued expertly. One of the men who knelt on her with his knee pressed between her shoulders gathered up a fistful of long blonde hair and pulled back her head, exposing her throat, while he drew his dagger. He would have dispatched her on the spot, had I not stopped him with drawn dagger in midair. At my command, the soldiers dragged the would-be assassin to her feet and brought her to me.

She was a magnificent blonde animal! Even though her face was contorted with sizzling rage, she possessed the proud Nordic features of her kind. Hers was a face of rare beauty, the angular plane of her cheeks defined by fine high-set cheekbones, a long sculpted nose with flaring nostrils, precise lips, and big eyes of icy blue that, flashing in insolence and cold anger, penetrated to the soul. Her hair was wild and matted, but it had the quality of pure spun gold. Hanging in silvery blonde sheets, it fell in bangs across her forehead and framed her long oval face, as she stood before me, twisting in the painful grip of her grim guards.

As she was brought face-to-face with her new Roman master, she screamed her defiance, repeating the same words again and again. Minta translated. “Kill me! Kill me!” the young woman demanded. She wished only to die, for she swore she would rather face death than submit to a Roman. Of course, I had no intention of granting that proud beauty her wish. It would be a tragedy to slay a such a magnificent creature who so obviously had been made to give men pleasure.

Now I regarded her blazing eyes and let my gaze deliberately drop to take in her tall, handsome, blonde body. Her single garment was a crude tunic of animal hide that hung from her shoulders to mid-thigh, belted at the waist with a thin strip of leather. I asked her name and waited while Minta translated. She said nothing, but eyed me coldly. I nodded to the guard who stood behind her. By applying pressure to her arm, we got to her spit out her name: Helva.

I nodded, then ordered the men to strip her, pulling off the tunic, ripping off the loincloth she wore underneath, so that she was left standing before me in nothing but her sandals. For a moment, I stood regarding her long-limbed body. Her breasts were not large, but their gentle swells were so taut that they stood out like thickened disks, circles of bare relief standing out on her exquisitely made chest with wide pink nipples, precisely centered. Between her long, lean thighs, a softly mounded pubis waited invitingly, sporting a thick fleece of silvery gold that only half hid the thick pink labia that nestled in a profusion of tiny curls.

I had the guards force the big blonde to her knees. Then I strode closer, to stand over the naked woman as she knelt there before me, head hung low. I was pleased to feel the silkiness of her fine blonde hair and couldn’t resist taking a strand to rub between my fingers. Then, digging abruptly into the silken mass, I clenched a fistful and pulled back her head, forcing my blonde captive to look up at me. I looked down into her resentful blue eyes and I told her of her fate. Her feelings in the matter were of not the slightest concern to me, I explained, while Minta translated my words.

She would live, but her life would no longer be hers. From this day forward, she would be a slave of Rome. As such she must learn to serve at the pleasure of her masters, to do without question whatever was demanded of her. Above all, she must learn obedience. And if she learned well and became a good little slave, she would be treated well. But if she was a bad girl, then she would surely be punished. Then I twisted the handful of hair, bringing pain to her eyes.

The girl spat at me!

I laughed and tightened my grip, hurting her, till she cried out Then I tossed her head down, and had the men stake her out This fiery hellcat must be tamed, her pride broken, her will bent, her body taken and enjoyed by the Romans she so thoroughly feared and despised.

The men made quick work of it, even though she continued to struggle in vain. There were four of them, one at each limb, and they held her down easily while the stakes were driven into the ground and her arms and legs stretched out and tied in place. Her constant screeching annoyed me, so I had her gagged. That helped, although her muffled keening continued unabated for a while, till it trailed off eventually in helpless frustration.

Now she lay quiet. The sight of the naked blonde, spread-eagled on the ground, every sinew of her long, streamlined body pulled taut by the restraints that bound her wrists and ankles, fired my loins. A surge of lust shot through me, and my cock twitched with eager expectation. The sinews of her arms and legs took much of the strain, drawing her sleek torso taut and stretching her tits into two elongated, slightly flattened, swells crowned with choice nipples, pert and erect. The bottom ridge of her rib cage was dimly visible under the tightly stretched skin. Below that, a slight hollow had been formed as the skin of her belly was pulled taut as a drum between the points of her prominent hipbones. My eyes were drawn to the triangle of pale silvery pussyfur that marked the mounded pubis, the little fleshy pad that sat there so soft and inviting, the stretched-open vagina, dark fleshy lips agape, showing the brighter slick folds of pink inside. I wanted to curl my fingers up between her outstretched legs and shove them up her splayed-open cunt while palming her Venus-mound, pleasuring her till she was maddened by lust. I wanted to see this proud savage squirm in helpless arousal. The very thought had my prick stirring, swelling, and blossoming forth in full erection, as I contemplated that superb vulnerable body. But I would reserve that sweet pleasure for myself for some later time. For now, she would entertain the troops.

This method was used to initiate the captured women who were destined to spend their days in army brothels. On several occasions, I had seen an entire cohort of legionnaires serviced in just this manner. But this slave must be used more carefully. I meant to use our prized captive as a reward for my heroes. Metellus was given the task of selecting those lucky men who had especially proven themselves in battle. Naturally, I allowed him to have her first, rewarding him for his loyalty and courage. Of course, he deferred to me, but I told him I was content to wait. I meant to have her, too, but not just yet… and not in the same manner as my men.

Now the lusty legionnaires began to line up, grinning and laughing in ribald good humor, greatly pleased with their unexpected good fortune. And when our captive fully realized what was about to happen, her blue eyes grew wide with alarm over the gag and her muffled crying started all over again. She yanked on her bounds and squirmed, but there was very little she could do. Her agitated movements only served to further inflame the randy men who huddled around her, sporting mighty erections.

The good sergeant dropped on his knees between those magnificent wide-spread legs. He lifted his tunic in front and drew out his well-endowed equipment, letting her see his splendid manhood in its fully aroused state as he knelt upright before her. He reached up to run his hands over her splendid body, mauling her served-up tits and then, too excited to wait any more, he guided his prick into her gaping pussy and fell on her. Helva received his full weight, and the big thick prick that simultaneously slid up her cunt, with a deep throaty groan.

We watched him fuck her while she threw back her head and shut her eyes, receiving the savage pounding as the randy noncom worked himself up to a lust-driven frenzy, bucking furiously. It took only a few seconds of this intense fucking till he tossed back his head, his body arching and, straining upward, came with a long strangled cry. We watched him dismount wearily, depleted and breathing heavily. His softening prick, still throbbing, carelessly dribbled the last trickles of ropy sperm on the girl’s open thighs. He staggered away to collapse in a heap, while the second man knelt down eagerly to take his place. And so it went, one after the other, until the sex-ravaged woman had accommodated my sergeant and six of my best men.

Now I stood over her, looking down into those dazed blue eyes, and realized that all the savage anger had been beaten out of her. There was no loud crying now, no frantic twisting in her bounds. Her splayed cunt twitched, the pinkish folds throbbing in the aftermath of her multiple orgasms, oozing a trickle of Roman seed mixed with her own copious spendings. I placed a sandaled foot between her pussylips and nudged her well-used sex with my toes. The blonde girl groaned, but otherwise lay inert, thoroughly drained, without the least shred of resistance when my men loosened her bonds, only to flip her limp body over and retie her, this time stretched out facedown.

At last, for the first time since she had been taken prisoner, I was able fully to appreciate the beauty of Helva’s lush naked bottom-a splendid, sculpted ass, nicely curving twin mounds that swept up prominently, with shallow depressions at the sides of her cheeks. It was my turn to get my hands on that fine young body. Kneeling between her outstretched legs, I used both hands to explore the sinuous lines of her long, streamlined body, running them up the backs of her taut-muscled calves, relishing the satiny smoothness of her elegantly curved legs. I followed the sleek contours up to the hollows behind her knees and beyond, traveling up the smooth skin at the back of her tapering thighs. My fingertips sampled the silken band of flesh along her inner thigh, and then I traveled a few inches higher. My questing fingers explored the soft purse of her thick wet pussylips. I pressed along her love-cove, feeling my way along the rubbery, slick lips, sticking a finger in there, and getting a soft, shuddering moan from the blonde, before I ran my teasing finger up the perineum and then drew it along the center crease of her handsome ass while Helva twitched in a simmering excitement She thrilled to the stab of pleasure when my finger touched the center of her crotch.

And now I spent a few leisurely moments delighting in the warm satiny feel of Helva’s splendid ass. I fondled it lovingly, caressed those twin curvaceous mounds, so neatly symmetrical, so soft, yet so deeply resilient. I couldn’t resist cupping my hand and whacking her ass, delivering a solid slap to test its spongy resiliency. Helva’s head jerked up in shocked reflex, and she yanked on her bonds, clenching her fists in spasms of rage. I calmly laid my flattened hand on the small of her back and, with a deep caress, brought it up the sweeping slopes to clutch a single rubbery orb and squeeze firmly, digging my fingers into her valley and holding her rearcheek in a tight grip. I played with Helva’s superb bottom, feeling her up, mauling, kneading those twin mounds to my heart’s content, while the girl herself squirmed in rising sensual heat, writhing in spite of herself as her healthy young body responded yet again to the touch of a man.

Her excited squirming had made me hard as a rock, my prick aching, demanding satisfaction. I moved my clothes up out of the way and brought my erect manhood up along the crease of her rear, pressing my loins down against those heavenly pillows, my prick snuggling happily between them as I rubbed it up and down her hot, tight valley.

Easing off, I clasped her butt and slipped my thumbs into the crease. I pried her open to get at her anus. I touched my finger to her there to find her warm and dry and incredibly tight. The little rosette stubbornly resisted my probing finger.

Suddenly angry, I slapped her on the rump, hard.

“You have a lot to learn, my beauty,” I muttered, my lips close to her ear.

Now I made some extra preparations for my next attempt to storm that tiny gate. First I called for rolled blankets to be placed under her loins. This additional padding had the effect of pulling her outstretched limbs even more tightly and elevating her lifted rear end to even greater prominence. Next, I had them bring us some oil, and this was poured in a generous stream down her rear divide while I pulled her straining asscheeks apart. I worked some oil into her cringing rear portal and rubbed a bit on my hardened cock.

Now I was ready to resume my place between her legs. Holding her open with one splayed hand, I guided my prick to its target With increasing excitement, I held her open and pressed down on her anus. She cried out at my determined assault. Suddenly furious, I stabbed at the clenched ring of muscle, struggling with the tiny gate, fiercely determined, till I felt it begin to yield. I slapped her rearcheek again and again, smacking her smartly as I kept up my unrelenting pressure. My captive howled her outrage into her gag as I slipped in and gained an inch or so. I felt the tiny ring of muscle loosen and immediately contract as I gained entrance, but I was in! Now I fell forward, letting her take the fullness of my weight, while driving my rigid cock smoothly right up her ass. She shook her blonde mane frantically, and a soft gurgling sound came out from around the gag.

I savored the sweet tightness I found there, the way her savaged asshole clenched me, the way her buoyant mounds felt pressed solidly against my hips. I let my hips rock forward, delighting in the bouncy resiliency of that wonderful ass while a strangled groan escaped from the impaled woman.

Soon I was fucking the blonde barbarian’s asshole in slow, even strokes, pulling out almost to the very tip and then lunging to bury my sword to the hilt up her rectum. Her little anus clung tightly to my shaft, sucking me in, as I drew back. Fired with lust, I speeded up, drilling her more quickly now with brisk, short strokes. Soon I was bucking furiously, crazed with lust and fucking her ass with wild abandon while my men cheered me on. I felt the teasing trickle of pleasure rising up in my loins, felt it gather power till it became a mighty surge of lust, a raging, unstoppable river that erupted into the Teuton’s undulating ass, sending jets of Roman seed deep into her bowels. The explosion of pleasure shook me as I fired my essence into her bounding ass. I felt her inner heat, her tightening on me as if her asshole were milking my throbbing cock dry. I fell back, extracting my still-pulsating prick to let the last dribbles of my sperm decorate her pretty rear end.

Well-satisfied that our new slave had been properly introduced to her subservient status, I felt that one further refinement might be added as I stared thoughtfully at her twitching ass. Calling Minta over, I had her crouch down by the head of the pinioned slave and translate my words. I told her that her Roman master would undoubtedly want to revisit that choice rear end of hers, and there was considerable room for improvement there. Therefore, I would see to it that a proper buttplug was inserted to exercise that portal and remind her that she must be much more accommodating in the future.

At my command, a squat wooden plug was fashioned, oiled, and promptly inserted in the ravaged anus of the outstretched blonde, while she whimpered plaintively from behind her gag. And that was how she spent her first night as a Roman captive. Spread-eagled and tied down, the rude buttplug lodged well up her behind, the squat end left to jut out from between her clenching asscheeks, moving each time she contracted her buttocks, the well-fucked woman could do nothing but contemplate her fate. The other captives were brought over to see her in this sorry state so that they, too, might reflect on the price of obstinacy to the will of Rome.

Chapter Nine. Taming The Blonde Barbarian

In Bernesium it is said that the people still talk of my triumphant return. It was a glorious day, with banners flying, crowds cheering, slaves marching in bondage and, trailing behind me, the fairest captive of them all, a magnificent blonde barbarian, trussed up and swinging from a pole. When we were a day out of town, I had my men prepare Helva for the last few miles. She was made to lie facedown on the ground; her arms were pulled back and her legs bent at the knees so that her wrists could be bound to her ankles, one loop of rawhide binding all four limbs together. The method of tying her up pulled her body back till it was lightly bowed. Now a long smooth wooden pole was passed under her bound wrists and ankles, and a soldier at each end hoisted it up, raising our captive so that her long body hung swaying beneath the pole, nipples pointing to the ground. In this ignominious manner, my blonde beauty was paraded through the village behind my horse, her place in the column a sign of her special status, telling the world that the commander had claimed her as his own personal sex slave.

Next came our victorious troops, smiling and waving to the crowd of townspeople. Bringing up the rear were the rest of the slaves, marching naked with hands bound before them, a sprinkling of young men and boys, and then a score or more of female slaves-blonde Nordic women whose fair features were much admired by the gaping crowd, who murmured in wonder as they passed by.

The slaves were taken to the penned-in area used by the slavers just west of town, where they would be sorted out further. They would be held there to await the arrival of Kimar, for they would be sold to him (and to no other passing slaver, in accordance with our agreement). For this exclusive consideration, I would receive a princely sum, over and above the sale price which would, of course, have to be reported to Rome. It goes without saying that a few captives might be held back, saved from the old slaver’s clutches to be reserved for my personal use. I also meant to make a gift of one or two to Gratius for his kind hospitality in the past. I had not mentioned it to him, but I knew he was hopeful of such largess once he had laid his greedy eyes on the lines of fair-haired slave girls.

Upon my triumphant return, he had been the first to rush out and greet me, welcoming me back with gushing enthusiasm, and placing his house at my disposal quite generously. In fact, he went so far as to insist that I move out of my modest quarters at the fort to take up residence in one wing of his palatial home, for I was truly a hero of Rome and he would be much honored to have me as his guest. I knew he had at least one eye on my prize captives, but I accepted graciously, sure that some sort of deal was in the making.

I selected three of my newly acquired slave girls to accompany me to my new quarters: Helva, of course; clever Minta, who had proven to be quite useful as a translator, and who, it turned out, showed surprising enthusiasm as a sprightly sex slave; and a third girl, a slender Germanic beauty named Iryna. Of the same delicate-boned and long-limbed race, Iryna was a bit younger and not quite as tall as the statuesque Helva; but there was something about her slim thighs and trim youthful body that stirred me powerfully. I noticed her cool beauty as she marched in line, head held high, pale blue eyes on some distant horizon. The small blonde face with neat, precise features. The bright golden hair that fell in smooth sheets to her shoulders. The slender limbs and lithe torso with the most appealing little breasts, two small, taut globes with slightly upturned nipples that stood up, perky and expectant. This was the trio I took with me when I left the cold, drafty fort and moved into a spacious suite of rooms overlooking the lake.

That evening I had my new sex slaves brought to the baths. We all needed to be cleaned up after the march home, and spending a few leisurely hours in the scented air of Gratius’s baths seemed the ideal way to ease away the aches of the campaign. Steam was rising from the shallow pools, the air rich with the aroma of fragrant oils and perfumes as I entered to find my girls waiting for me. As I had ordered, the three waited on their knees, sitting back on their heels, lined up in a row. They had been scrubbed and cleaned and, as befitted their new status, each wore the high leather collar, along with the wrist and ankle bands, of a sex slave.

Helva knelt erect on the left. Her hair was still wet, and the crown of her blonde head, which was tilted down, gleamed like burnished gold. She knelt with eyes downcast, for she would not meet my gaze unless 1 demanded it I watched her circular breasts rise and fall in gentle undulations, pink nipples moist and taut. Beside her, Iryna waited, her head held high, her damp blonde hair richly dark hung lank to her neck and softly sloping shoulders. She was watching me alertly, her blue eyes following my every move. Like the rest of her slim torso, her breasts were curiously white against the even tan of her limbs-two small white globes, each neat handful capped by impertinent nipples.

At the other end, Minta knelt, her head bowed respectfully. In light of her willing and cooperative attitude and her status as my official translator, she had been given one of the gauzy tunics worn by Gratius’s house slaves, while her two fellow slaves, unruly and not yet trained, were kept totally naked. I had come to appreciate this sprightly girl on the homeward march. She was eager to please and, far from sharing the other girls’ hatred of Rome, she was warmly affectionate and always willing. I learned that although she was a German, she was from a different tribe than the others. She had been captured in one of Unix’s raids and given to the imperious Helva, who had treated her with contempt. Naturally, she was overjoyed to find that her proud mistress had been reduced to the level of a mere sex slave, both of them now equal in their subservience to their Roman master.

Now 1 studied that slightly built nubile body with its firm titties, small crescent-shaped breasts that invited the touch. I delighted in sampling those skimpy little tits by rubbing them between my fingers, pulling on the elastic flesh till the girl squealed. I savored their dreamy feel, for the pale pliant skin was as smooth as silk. Her little breasts were tipped with neat caps and protruding nipples, precisely made nubbins, tiny stems that stuck out boldly. Her rich blonde hair was also damp. She wore it pulled back and tied in the Gaulish manner. Her filmy tunic was plastered to her body. Not for the first time, I felt a definite stirring of lust.

I ordered the slaves to kneel with their backs perfectly straight, hands behind their necks in a presentation position that Kimar often used to best show off a girl’s charms. Then, while the other two held the mandated pose, I summoned Minta to attend me. She had quickly learned the proper way to undress her lord and master, and I delighted in the feel of her soft, knowing hands as they passed over my body, undoing clasps and drawing off my belt. She removed my tunic and undid my loincloth, careful not to touch my swelling manhood, for such a move without my expressed permission would amount to gross impertinence! Then I eased back onto one of the couches, while my dutiful slave bent over me to untie my sandals and slip them off my feet.

Once naked, I stepped down into one of the inviting pools of warm water. I invited Minta to join me. She drew off her tunic swiftly, stripping her narrow form to bare the clean lines of the smooth front and the slight rises of her crescent-shaped titties that perched so proudly on her chest Her small, inviting pussy was a lightly furred mound hazed with a pale soft down; the pink lips small and puckered. I also summoned Iryna to join us in the bath. The two slave girls would bathe me while I kept Helva on her knees before me so that I might enjoy the pleasure of seeing her nude beauty as I gave myself up to the tender ministrations of my handmaidens.

Wading up to my knees in the water, I turned my back to Iryna while offering my front to Minta. The girls started to work on me, rubbing all over my body, first with invigorating stiff brushes, then with soft wet washcloths. Minta worked with her usual enthusiasm, covering every inch of skin methodically. I watched her scrub her way across my chest, taking her time there, pausing to play with the wet chest hairs, toying with my nipples, her nimble fingers working their way down my flinching belly, teasing along to skirt the edge of my pubic hair. I allowed her to wash my masculine equipment, but cautioned her to be quick about it, as I was already stiffening and I didn’t want to be brought to climax so soon in the game.

Meanwhile, Iryna was moving her hands over the knotted muscles of my back and shoulders, pressing lightly. Her hands, moving dutifully but indifferently, lacked the enthusiasm of Minta, who was kneeling before me, lifting my scrotum impishly to scour under my balls, her small wet face upturned and smiling at me. Even when I leaned down to present my butt for Iryna’s attention, her hands simply passed over my proffered cheeks in a perfunctory manner. The girl could benefit from a good dose of salts under her tail, and I would see to it!

I climbed out of the water and had the slaves wrap me in scented towels and then dry my body methodically. Next I reclined naked on the couch, lying on my side while the slave girls brought scented oils to rub into my skin. Iryna knelt behind me, massaging my back, while Minta’s clever fingers once more explored the front of my body. As these small feminine hands worked their wonders on my tired and aching muscles, I gazed at the kneeling blonde who knelt before me, arms raised and elbows back, brazenly showing me her breasts while her pretty face remained and passive and expressionless.

“Beauty,” I called her, for that was the name I’d chosen for her, “play with yourself!”

The blonde head turned in my direction at the sound of her nickname, which she recognized by now. Her pale blue eyes held a look of loathing, implacable hatred mixed with cold insolence. She had picked up a few words of Latin, and I had ordered that she was to learn our tongue quickly. But just to be sure she understood, I now had Minta translate for me.

“Tell her I want to see her play with herself,” I ordered jovially. “Her tits…and her pussy, too! 1 want to see how she does it.” I knew my proud captive would find the orders distasteful. She might even refuse. But I meant to press her, to test her obedience constantly till she learned to obey even the most perversely outrageous orders and to do so with alacrity. Minta seemed to thoroughly enjoy repeating my orders in the harsh Germanic tongue.

For a long moment, I met the smoldering anger in her steely blue eyes. We held each other’s unflinching gaze. The blonde moved first, lowering her head under my unrelenting glare. I heard a tiny sigh of resignation. Then she brought her hands up to place them over her softly mounded tits. Pressing lightly she began to move the mounds of flesh with her joined fingers, rubbing them in slow circles, doing what I had ordered, but obviously without much enthusiasm.

“Better than that! Go on, feel yourself up!” I shouted impatiently.

Obediently, the long fingers closed on those lovely breasts and she curved her palms to cup herself, fondling the titty-flesh, moving it more passionately now, though her movements still had a certain mechanical quality.

I found the sight of the pretty blonde fondling her own tits to be highly erotic, even though she did her best to suppress any sign of excitement on her part. She mean to prove to me that while she could be made to perform for me, she would take no pleasure in such perverse acts. However, her healthy young body was starting to betray her. Her tender nipples were beginning to emerge from their circles of crinkled flesh, stiffening under the mild stimulation they enjoyed.

“Your nipples-play with your nipples!” I urged vehemently. My voice, heavily laden with passion, had suddenly gone hoarse.

I watched as her long slender fingers delicately took each pink tip in turn. The blonde pinched her nipples, rolling the little buds between thumbs and forefingers.

“Pull on them!”

Still holding herself erect, the blank expression on her pale face never wavering, the young woman obediently plucked the burgeoning stems, pulling the pliant flesh, twisting the captive nipples that darkened and blossomed under all this attention. I ordered her to wet her fingers in her mouth and to continue her efforts till she had her nipples fully erect. Only then did I allow her to quit.

“Enough! Now your pussy! Spread your legs, Beauty, and play with yourself!” I managed to get out, though my voice cracked under the strain. Minta’s translation held an unmistakable note of glee.

The agile fingers quit the sensitive nipples. I smiled to see those fully expanded tips standing proud, glistening and hard with arousal. I watched her shift to widen her knees and bring both hands down as her fingers nosed along the sides of her blonde triangle. Her slithering hands become bolder as they edged closer to her sex. Her right hand moved in so that she might hold her left hand cupped protectively over her blonde pubis.

Her hand moved slowly, rubbing sensually, stirring the first waves of self-pleasure. I studied her Nordic features more closely, alert for the first signs that all this self-stimulation was getting to her. There was a definite tinge of pink along the ridges of her cheekbones as she experienced the first flush of arousal while she rubbed along the converging sides of her pubis. Her eyes were half-lidded now, the pretty lashes lowered. I saw her lick her lips, her tongue peeking quickly as her right hand slid down between her legs to capture her blonde sex. I watched her hand closing and opening rhythmically as she palmed her pubic mound. Her breathing deepened under the delicious waves of pleasure she was generating in her hot box.

I passed a hand across my brow to find it hot and damp. Her steamy performance was also getting to me. My cock stood upright, throbbing with eagerness, straining taut as a bowstring and aching with desire.

“Sit back on your heels, and open your legs…wider, all the way, like the whore that you are!” I ordered harshly. The girl hesitated; but she did as I commanded, shifting back, spreading open her thighs to show me her pink pussy.

“Now, get a finger in there, two fingers…! want to see you fuck yourself!”

Her head snapped up, her eyes fluttered open, and she looked up at me. Suddenly I saw her questioning eyes harden. She hesitated, teetering on the verge of outright refusal. But even if she thought better of it and decided to comply, it was too late. Even her slight hesitation was enough to condemn her to a proper dose of punishment. For a moment we waited, and all time stood still Then she let her head drop and her hands fall uselessly to her side, passively refusing to accede to my perverse wish. This was what I had been waiting for.

“You refuse?” The blonde head never moved “Then I’m afraid you must learn the cost of disobedience. Kneel now… hands behind your head!”

Once more the exquisite young woman assumed the presentation position, closing her knees slowly, straightening up, bringing her hands up to the back of her neck I called Minta over and whispered my instructions in her ear, watching her smile widen into an evil grin as she realized what I had in mind. She was surprisingly eager to carry out her task. Gathering up some rawhide strips, she stepped up behind the kneeling blonde, pulled her arms down, and tied her hands behind her. This was done efficiently as the slaves’ wristcuffs had a set of brass rings sewn in them. A line running through the rings could be knotted quickly to secure the wrists together.

Next the captive was gagged, her mouth stuffed with a damp washcloth. Minta pinched her nipple, and when Helva gasped in surprise, the wadded cloth was forced between her gaping jaws. A wide leather strap tied around her head held the gag in place. Helpful little Minta was beaming, extremely proud of her handiwork as she pulled the kneeling girl to her feet and led her over to present her to me.

Helva seemed surprisingly docile as, with hands tied behind her back, she let herself be led to me by the smaller girl Yet even though she seemed to accept her fate passively, the cold anger in her eyes still smoldered with the same implacable hatred For a moment, I studied her hard eyes above the strap. Then I nodded curtly. Minta turned her captive around and forced her to her knees, so she was kneeling in front of one of the low couches. With a rude shove, Minta toppled the big blonde forward to lie upended over the couch.

It must have been the memories of her own abject slavery at the hands of Unix, when Minta was forced to serve the haughty blonde, that brought such obvious pleasure to her small astonished face when I handed her a paddle and ordered her to use it on her former mistress’s served-up ass. The girl could hardly believe her good fortune!

Now, while she took her place behind the bent-over blonde, eyeing the inviting ass with pleasure, I beckoned the fair Iryna to me. She came with her usual indifference and let me take her by the hand. With just the slightest trace of reticence, the lissome blonde allowed herself to be drawn down to lie across my widespread thighs. She shifted her hips to rest more comfortably, her tall, thin body fully stretched out over my lap, hip pressed against my hard penis, her long hair sweeping down to the floor on one side, while her slender legs angled down with her toes touching the floor on the other. I sighed in deep admiration of the ass she presented to me: that choice upturned bottom, two sleek hemispheres, elongated ovals that begged to be caressed…or to be spanked!

I fitted my curved hand to those taut little mounds and moved it slowly, absently stroking her rear end, up and down those delectable twin curves, while I turned my attention to Helva’s punishment. Minta had taken up her position, careful to stand to one side so that she would not block my view of Helva’s well-made bottom, the mounds stretched taut and offered up so nicely. I watched the wiry girl tighten her grip and slowly draw back the wooden paddle. Then she brought her weapon down with surprising force in one smooth, well-aimed swing.

“Thwap!”

The resounding slap of the pliant wood paddle as it met Helva’s pale flesh was reassuringly solid. Helva’s shoulders quivered as she received the full shock of the impact. Minta grinned and I noticed an excited gleam in her eyes as she widened her stance and brought back the paddle, eager to deliver the next smack.

“Thwap! Thwap!… Thwap! Thwap! Thwap!” The punishing paddle bit into the vulnerable rearmounds with a dull thudding cadence, sending the girl squirming furiously, twisting her loins in a futile effort to escape the businesslike walloping. Angry cries came from around the gag as Helva shrieked her outrage.

Watching Helva’s spanking had my rockhard prick throbbing with the ache of desire. I dipped a hand between Iryna’s loose thighs and explored the mysteries I found there, shamelessly fingering her sex while she writhed helplessly in my lap. I took her netherlips between my fingers, feeling her heat and sampling the wetness of her pussy while Iryna moaned and my fingers played with the soft folds of her rapidly moistening cunt. Now Minta was toying with her victim, pausing to study the reddened throbbing cheeks, running the wooden blade up and over the swelling prominence, tapping them ever so lightly just to see them clench in fear.

Wildly excited, my eager hands greedily fondled Iryna’s firm young loins. Minta was waiting for just the right moment. When she saw the tense mounds relax, she hauled back to deliver a decisive smack…followed by another and another.

“Thwap! Thwap! Thwap! Thwap!” The continuing thud of the wood splattering those fleshy mounds, the sight of the wiry slave spanking the big blonde, heating her ass till she cried out and wriggled frantically, drove me wild. I fitted my hand to the sweet curvature of Iryna’s tempting little butt and squeezed, digging my fingers into the meaty mounds, kneading those swells till I had her twitching uncontrollably, whimpering with passion. I kept my eyes on the captivating scene before me as I began spanking the writhing girl in my lap, smacking her taut little butt lightly, pausing to caress the blushing mounds with the cupped palm of my hand, then spanking her some more.

Enjoying myself thoroughly, I kept alternating between these two approaches-caressing her ass and punishing her ass-teasing the lithe blonde with mixed feelings till I got a soft moan of pleasure from her inverted head. A shiver of desire rippled through her shoulders, followed by a hot little wiggle of the hips that told me this reserved, quiet girl was undoubtedly aroused, energized by the masculine hand that warmed her bottom.

Minta had paused once again. She stood with her hands on her hips, admiring the angry pink blush that had formed across the smiling undercurves of Helva’s handsome ass. Her thin smile widened into a truly evil grin as she saw her former mistress work her butt muscles, the mounds clenching as she tried desperately to harden herself to receive the next punishing slap. Her poised butt was tense, the skin taut, the sides hollowed out, and the centerline reduced to a narrowed slit, as her victim held herself fearfully, waiting. Minta also waited, letting the anticipation build. Then she struck, whacking those hardened asscheeks with a glancing slap topped off by an extra snap of the wrist.

“Thwap!”

Now she settled into a smooth easy rhythm, spanking her victim, not terribly hard but methodically, pulling her hand back only halfway, but giving a little snap to her wrist as the wooden blade bit into the cringing mounds. The blonde threw back her head and shrieked her protest.

The little slave seemed driven, delivering short, choppy strokes, alternating her attack from one side to the other, precisely smacking each rearcheek of her former mistress. As she watched the wobbly mounds dancing under her relentless blows, her eyes narrowed into gleaming slits. Her lips were drawn back, and her jaw was set as she attacked the blonde’s agitated rear end with almost maniacal fury. Muffled grunts, at first interspersed with the solid thunk of the wooden paddle splattering the fleshy mounds, quickly became continuous as they escalated into high-pitched keening cries, effectively muffled, but shrilly insistent while Helva twisted in anguish.

I was walloping Iryna’s ass hard now, spanking her vigorously as she yelped and kicked up her heels, twisting excitedly in my lap. I relished the feel of her heaving loins as she bounded up and down in my lap to the steady rhythm of my hand. As she writhed in fiery agitation, her naked haunches pressed against my upright prick, sending a deep shudder of pleasure through me. Before I realized what was happening, there was a startling surge of ecstatic delight I came, my seed spewing forth in thick creamy spurts that shot up into the air to rain down on Iryna’s delightfully bouncy ass.

Chapter Ten. A Slave Of Rome

I spent the next few days in leisure, testing my new slave girls in various ways, taking all three in every conceivable manner. Minta was proving to be a real find: a pure sex kitten, endlessly inventive, boldly seductive, and positively reveling in lusty decadence. There was nothing this fun-loving, spirited young vixen wouldn’t try. And her appetite was insatiable! Cool Iryna still retained much of her Teutonic reserve but she was gradually thawing out and becoming more pliant. She still showed little enthusiasm for her new role, and her passivity continued to irritate me, but at least she would obey. But Helva refused to accept her subjugation. She did nothing without being forced to, and then she performed only grudgingly. In spite of the blistering her ass had taken at the hands of the vengeful Minta, she remained unruly and obdurate. When I took her, it was like fucking a board. Her hard, silent eyes seemed to say: ‘You might have my body, but you will find no pleasure in it.’ I found her insolence a bold challenge, and I resolved to conquer this proud beauty till I had her raging with sensual lust, begging to be fucked.

Naturally, I sought Kimar’s advice. He stood regarding the two recalcitrant slaves as they knelt together before us. Minta, her hard young body dimly visible in her sheer tunic, was attending us, serving wine, and just being available. I watched her bend over to pour the wine, and studied her slender boyish butt while I waited for my guest to offer an opinion. Kimar let his shrewd, experienced gaze pass over the merchandise, for that is how he saw all slaves. Summoning them to approach on their knees, he took his time conducting a critical examination of the naked bodies of the two blonde women, evaluating them only with his eyes. He never touched them, and would not without asking my permission first, for that would hardly be polite. But as much as he might desire to run his hands over those splendid blonde bodies, there was no need. He had inspected thousands of slaves in his time, but I could tell he was impressed with these exquisite possessions of mine.

When he turned to me at last his face held a thoughtful expression. “I have a suggestion, Marcus,” he began decisively. “As you know, I have certain methods that have proven useful in training slaves. Why not turn them over to me for a while-say, three or four days, a week perhaps. No more will be needed. In no time I will have these fillies straining at the traces in a spirited chariot race where, I’ll wager, they’ll make a good show of themselves. I can promise that when I return them to you, you will not be able to find more compliant and willing sex slaves anywhere in the Empire! Once I am through with them, these women will jump to carry out your every wish, and they will obey with alacrity and unbounded enthusiasm.”

It was an offer I couldn’t refuse. I gave the girls to Kimar. The next day, two of his overseers showed up to take them in hand. With hands tied behind them, ankles hobbled loosely, they were led away by leashes attached to their collars, drawn along to stumble after their handlers on their way to the camp of the master slaver.

True to his word, exactly one week later, Kimar had arranged a sort of bacchanal to which I was invited, along with a handful of select guests. Wearing nothing but loincloths, we lounged about on fine silken couches, while before us tables set with silver dishes were piled high with rich and exotic foods. The hearty wine flowed freely, and it was pleasing to find that one’s slightest needs were attended to instantly by a bevy of comely slave girls, whose naked presence amongst us helped to add to the simmering sense of excitement, the growing anticipation as we eagerly awaited the appearance of the stars of the evening: my two blonde slaves, about whom the guests had heard so much and were now most keen to see.

Eventually, Kimar gave the long-awaited order. A pair of slaves threw back the flaps of the big tent to treat us to a most astonishing sight! An overseer stood in the entranceway, a massive fellow who stood with legs boldly spread, bare-chested and otherwise naked but for the leather thongs of sandals that snaked up his muscular calves and a brief kilt of animal skins slung low on his sturdy hips. Hanging loosely at his side, his left hand fingered the handle of a leather paddle, while wrapped around his right hand was a rawhide leash. At the other end of the leash was the collared throat of a stunning blonde slave girl! She knelt beside him, hands at her sides, sitting back on her haunches, her blonde head bowed in docile submission. An awed hush came over the lustful crowd.

At his curt command, the girl was drawn up onto hands and knees and forced to crawl after her handler as he swaggered boldly into the tent. I thrilled to see Helva, my proud Nordic beauty, forced to adopt this humiliating posture, made to crawl naked like some big blonde beast before Kimar’s wide-eyed guests. As the pair entered, we now saw that a second overseer was standing partially hidden in the shadows behind the first. He, too, held the leash of a blonde slave: a slender young woman whose sleek body moved like a large cat’s, her narrow butt swaying from side to side as she strove to keep up with her striding handler. We watched in silence while this little procession made its circuit in front of the open circle of couches upon which reclined Kimar’s ogling guests.

My elegant beauty crawled with her head hung low. Noticing her poor posture, her handler snapped a crisp command. When she didn’t comply quickly enough to suit him, the wicked paddle shot out to slap her pale asscheeks with a sharp retort that had her instantly jerk up her head and continue crawling with chin raised, face forward, as he had ordered to do. The girls were paraded back and forth before us while we let our eyes feast on the delightful display. Their blonde manes had been fixed identically, combed into long silken strands, pulled back from their pale faces, and tied behind them.

The big blonde moved with animal grace, her flanks flowing with rippling muscles, her asscheeks shifting most seductively. I admired the smooth, clean narrow lines of Iryna’s nude form as she crawled by, her straight flanks swaying liquidly, small bottomcheeks moving provocatively. As she came closer, I noticed a very thin golden chain encircling her waist. From it a single gold thread hung down the back to disappear between her shifting asscheeks as it passed between her legs. I saw that the fine links were embedded in the bulging fig of her vulva, which peeked out at us from between her moving thighs. Apparently, the narrow chain had been drawn up between her netherlips and continued its way up in front, where it bisected her blond triangle before meeting the center of the waist chain. I saw that both slaves’ bodies were adorned with identical gold chains encircling their slim waists just above their hips. It crossed my mind that it must have been uncomfortable to be forced to wear such a chain pulled so taut that it bit into the softness of their hidden clefts, the embedded links chafing the tender labia as they moved Perhaps it was that irritant that accounted for the occasional wince of distress I saw pass over their pale brows as they crawled before us. But I knew only the half of it!

After several laps of being paraded around before those, my appreciative connoisseurs, Kimar clapped his hand. The handlers drew up their charges till they faced us, side-by-side, still on hands and knees. From this front view, with their heads raised well up, it was possible to see each girl’s breasts beneath her lithe torso-Helva’s breasts hung soft and inviting, the tips pointing straight down; Iryna’s small globes, drawn by gravity, swayed succulently beneath her bent torso.

Now, at a word from the master slaver, the leashes were jerked and the girls straightened up to sit back on their haunches while the leashes were untied from their banded necks. They made a lovely pair kneeling there side-by-side: the classic Nordic beauty in the full flower of mature womanhood, the silvery blonde hair, the full, firm curves of her proud breasts displayed so openly; and the slighter version beside her, the hair a pure flaxen, like summer hay, the gently sloping shoulders of that lithe willowy form with its small understated tits that perched before us with such enticingly audacious nipples. The slave girls held the pose for a moment or two till, at the nod of the master slaver, they fell forward, crouching down on their elbows, their foreheads on the rug.

They held that pose for minutes. Then, continuing what had obviously become a well-practiced routine, they rose to their feet in unison and turned in place, so that they stood with their backs to us. Without a word of command, the obedient slaves fell to their knees once again, pressing their foreheads to the rug in humble subservience while promptly offering up their pretty behinds for our approval. One of the handlers muttered something, and the two girls shifted a bit, pulling their knees up under them and arching their backs in even deeper curves, thus raising their bottoms so that their appealing buttocks jutted back at us in lewd presentation.

“You see before you a pair of well-trained slaves,” Kimar began proudly, keeping his eyes on the uplifted feminine behinds that waited patiently to be of service.

“They have been taught to obey. They have learned how to be good little slaves. They have learned to crawl on their hands and knees on command, buttocks up and forehead to the ground; and in that way to present themselves for mounting should their master wish to take them in that manner.”

He now moved closer to Helva’s out-thrust ass. “And lest they should lapse, we have given each certain reminders of her place: the neck encircled with the high stiff collar, wrist and ankles banded, and-oh, yes, one further reminder-one the slave cannot see, but one whose presence will be sorely felt. A minor irritant, perhaps, yet one that will keep her constantly aware of her subservient status.”

He placed a confident hand on the tautly drawn domes of Helva’s upturned rump, patted her lightly, affectionately, then slipped his fingers under the delicate chain, following it to where it was lodged deep between the girl’s rearmounds. Prying open the shapely hemispheres, he displayed the gold chain, passed through the eye of a rounded buttplug, drawn tight so that it held the anal intruder securely in place.

“She will wear these chains while going about her ordinary household duties during the day, and for other duties at night as well. They can, of course, be removed easily should the master wish to take his slave in that particular place.”

So saying, he proceeded to demonstrate by detaching the chain and pulling it from between her legs. Now, as he held her straining cheeks apart, he dug his fingers into the soft flesh around the flanged end of the ivory plug, making the girl’s hips to squirm uneasily. He began to draw out the plug, extracting it slowly as her distended anus clung to the ivory shaft as it emerged. It bore the shape of a long, smooth phallus, thin and tapering.

Almost the entire length of the ivory phallus had emerged when Kimar noticed the agitated little wiggle that passed through the girl’s rump. A thin smile curled his lips, as he twisted his hand viciously, screwing the rod deeper into his impaled victim. She gave a tight-lipped grunt and kicked up her heels at the suddenness of this unexpected violation. For a moment, the master slaver played with the slave, diddling the girl’s ass for our amusement, jiggling the wicked intruder that was lodged once more well up her squirming bottom, while she writhed in silent agitation. He toyed with her a bit more, moving the shaft in and out, till finally, tiring of the game, he withdrew the long, thin rod, getting a moan of relief from the upended slave. Kimar laughed, and gave her rebounding asscheeks a lusty slap as he watched them clamp shut and clench down.

“We use a lotion to ease the way during insertion,” he explained. “You should have seen them move their tails when we mixed a bit of hot spices with the lubricant.” He chuckled, turning his back on the submissive woman.

Now Kimar moved over to Iryna and stood contemplating her uplifted behind for a long moment. He couldn’t help running a hand up and over the twin swells. Her little “reminder,” he told us, would be left in place, ensconced cozily up her rectum. She would have additional restraints applied for this party, while a special treat was being arranged for Helva. At his order, the two young women were released from the subservient pose they held and allowed to resume their previous position, kneeling, sitting back on their heels.

A nod from Kimar brought his overseers, who came forth to prepare Iryna for her duties. First she was gagged. I knew from experience that Iryna hated the gag, and yet now she accepted the wadded silk they stuffed in her open mouth docilely. The wide band of leather pressed against her teeth, keeping the wad in place. The ends of the strap were tied together behind her head, imprisoning her soft blonde hair. The two men worked quickly and efficiently. They had done this many times before. Next, the girl’s hands were drawn before her and the cuffs attached to one another by a thin gold chain. Finally, a length of chain was used to couple her ankle bands in a similar fashion. Shackled like a slave, although with light golden chains, she would be forced to shuffle along, her movements hampered, yet left free enough to allow her to perform her duties if she were careful, all the while being constantly made aware of her servile status. Meanwhile the rude intruder remained in that hidden place, lodged well up her behind so that, as she performed her serving duties, every movement would remind her of certain other obligations she might be called upon to fulfill at the whim of her master.

Now I had her fetch the wine. I smiled as she brought the jug, shuffling with an oddly comical gait Beckoning her closer, I held out my cup. As she bent down to pour the wine, I couldn’t resist reaching up to finger a dangling tit; the soft satin flesh hung so temptingly before me. Urging her a step closer had her bring her tempting breasts down to my open mouth so I could take her dangling nipples between my lips and suckle on her while I ran a hand up and down her haunches and felt up her small pert rearmounds..

This delightful dalliance brought my manhood to rigid attention. I dismissed her with a friendly smack on the tail, sending her off to see to the other guests, while I turned my attention back to Helva, who knelt quietly before us.

My beauty knelt with chin held high and eyes straight forward As my gaze fell to her breasts, I noticed that her nipples had become erect, the hard points protruding from the taut expanded aureoles! Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed me looking at her; and as she turned ever so slightly, I was sure I saw a trace of a secretly seductive smile. Astonished, I smiled back and saw her eyes drop to my crotch and the tip of her tongue emerge to rim her lips quickly. There was a surprising eagerness there, a definite gleam in her eye that I had never seen before. I saw a twitch run through her shoulders. Her thighs clenched as she rubbed them together in a tiny movement no one else could observe.

Now she was ordered to her feet so that she might take her place under a wooden frame that had been erected at one end of the tent a wide crossbar supported by two sturdy columns from which four evenly spaced ropes hung down. The slave girl scrambled to her feet, eager to take her place. Without being told to fling herself down on the rug, she offered herself up enthusiastically for a sexual ordeal. The very thought seemed to get her juices flowing. I noticed this new spirit of cooperation in the way she helped as the men prepared her. She moved without being told, extending her limbs willingly, offering them the cuffs freely, all the while biting her lower lip as if in keen anticipation. The transformation was remarkable. Had it been simply the results of Kimar’s training, it would have been truly astonishing. But I learned later that this newfound desire to please sexually had been abetted by a secret potion that the old slaver sometimes used to heighten the sexual awareness of his sex slaves, an elixir that turned them into wild, lust-driven animals.

It was obvious to me that the girl was already excited as she sprawled impatiently on her back, her pointy nipples sticking straight up. She lay spread-eagled on the floor while her wrist and ankle bands were being attached to the ends of the four ropes that hung from the high crossbeam. She was not gagged, for Kimar wanted her to be able to use her mouth to pleasure as many guests as possible. With her limbs secured, they began to tighten the ropes, raising her outstretched body till she swung suspended from the sturdy crossbar. The ropes on her ankles were raised slightly more than those holding her wrists so that her loins were tilted up. In this vulnerable position, her legs were widespread, her body slightly bowed, slung only a few feet above the ground so that, by stepping between her outstretched legs, we would have ready access to her gaping cunt.

She raised her head up to look at us from between her widespread legs, her face that of a woman in heat Her lips moved nervously as though in a silent prayer, and her eyes were hard with a bright gleam of lust. Even now there was a trace of wetness that appeared on the tiny blonde curls edging the curving lips of her open pussy.

Now Kimar ordered a chair brought for me, and had it placed just beyond the girl’s hanging feet directly opposite her sex, so I saw her open vertex. From my vantage point, I could see the pale wispy pubic hair that shaded into a cloudy tuft on the crest of her mounded vulva and spilled down between her legs, where the tiny curls ridged her gaping pink cleft Initially, Kimar wished me only to observe, to watch my blonde beauty’s reactions as she eagerly took on three of his guests, who had volunteered readily. Quintus peeled off his loincloth and stationed himself behind her so that once her inverted head was allowed to hang down freely, her mouth would be available to his swollen cock. Two more naked men, Decimus and Valerius, took up their positions at either side, standing so that their upright cocks were placed just beyond the grasp of the girl’s straining fingers.

Her long blonde body hung open and vulnerable, the ragged rising and falling of her breasts attesting to her growing excitement, as she waited with eyes closed, breathing through parted lips. She made a breathtaking picture: her sleek lines bowed, her feminine charms exposed brazenly, arms stretched overhead. The strain in her sagging body was quite evident in the taut sinews of her long arms and tapering thighs. Her mounded breasts were flattened slightly, while her upstanding nipples stood fully erect, the tiny protruding nubs with anticipatory excitement, a blatant testament to her tingling state of arousal.

A jar of oil was brought to them, and the men oiled their hands and then coated their upright cocks. Helva twisted from side-to-side. I saw her lick her lips at the sight of the well-oiled cocks that stood upright, gleaming in their eagerness, just inches from the reach of her fingers. Her fists clenched in frustration as her wrists pulled on their bonds. I soon saw that in this configuration, her hands and mouth would be employed and only her open cunt remained free and available. That passage had been reserved for me!

Now Kimar’s overseers coated her body with oil. Her hands clenched in reflex at the tickling of the palms. They passed over the cuffs and rubbed the oily sheen along her sinewy arms and into the softness of her underarms. The blonde twitched excitedly as they continued on down her curving sides, over the delicate traces of her rib cage and along her flanks to cross over her hips and tease into the crease at her belly. They were careful to work together, keeping pace with one another, as they glided up her front, while her torso trembled. She watched their progress through slitted eyes, then gave her body up to the slippery hands that by now had found the flattened mounds of her firm young tits.

They thoroughly enjoyed those superb breasts, coating them with a thin sheen of oil, Decimus massaging, pulling and stretching the pliant flesh of her left breast, while Valerius fondled and played with the right one. Their hands soon had her burning with lust as the highly agitated blonde shut her eyes tight against the rising tide of arousal, and shook her head from side-to-side, mumbling incoherently in her strange foreign tongue. They tweaked her stiff nipples, rolling them between thumb and forefinger, pulling on those aching tips, while the passion-driven female squirmed sensually, writhing in maddened desire as they mercilessly teased her, toyed with her, playing with her oily tits, fondling her mounds lavishly, till they had her mumbling and whimpering for more.

When it became evident that the slave girl was fully aroused by this tit play, her two admirers greedily quit her heaving breasts perversely and moved on down over her belly, across to the cradle of her hanging hips, around the curve and up her sleek haunches, then circling around the nicely rounded thighs as the inner sinews twitched at the intimate touch. In this way, they explored every inch of that lovely tethered body but for the place right between her splayed legs. When their hands neared her womanhood, Kimar beckoned me forward.

I jumped up, my cock fully erect, and stepped eagerly between the V of the hanging girl’s legs. Brushing the pads of my fingers through the silken fleece and then palming her mons brought a sharp hiss of breath as the tense female quivered with anticipation. I crooked two fingers and slid them up into her glistening cunt to feel her slick pussylips, well moistened by now with the free flow of feminine juices. She gurgled as I thrust up into her. She might have come right then and there, with the slightest jiggling of my probing hand, but we would not grant her such immediate relief. Withdrawing my glistening fingers, I poured some oil into my hand, then cupped her Venus-mound and palmed her, soaking the tiny curls with oil, rubbing it into the soft folds of her pussy. Helva let out a long, wavering moan as I clamped my hand firmly on her damp, hot sex and held her tight.

Now our blonde sex slave was writhing uncontrollably, thrashing about in her bonds and clenching her jaws, while deep moans escaped her tight lips. She was fully aroused now, burning with erotic frenzy, her healthy young body resonating to the repeated sexual thrills she was forced to endure as the delicious feel of those warm masculine hands moved all over her body, firing her lust to a fevered pitch. Suddenly she began whipping her head from side to side in a demented fury, her long silky hair flung about wildly. Her groans were louder, deepening into low earthy cries, then becoming filled with urgency, interspersed with foreign words that tumbled out in a heated rush, incomprehensible desperate pleas for release from the unremitting stimulation of our pleasuring hands. Suddenly her bounding hips lifted, and she held herself there, stretching out her limbs to the limits for the longest possible moment of ecstasy, before she exploded in a furious bucking, her wild and frantic gyrations yanking on her bonds, uncaring, as a long, plaintive cry escaped her lips.

Her violent reaction fired my lust. I attacked her vulnerable pussy, fondling her mercilessly while my two cohorts grabbed her tits, massaging the slick mounds. Helva shrieked and hollered for us to fuck her in guttural German, and again in Latin, for those were a few of the words she had learned With a cry of sheer ecstasy, the big blonde threw back her head and climaxed. Her body was racked with a huge shudder, followed by spasm which yanked at the taut lines suspending her in space. Then she collapsed and lay slack, sagging, her breasts quivering. A shiver of aftershock ran through her depleted body. Then her moans became softer as she slipped into the warmth of a delightful afterglow.

She lay quietly now, eyes closed, features calm, her slack body perfectly still except for the movement of her gradually subsiding breasts. But she was not to be permitted to rest for long-at least, not while masculine needs were left unattended.

Accordingly, we stepped forward. Decimus and Valerius, their rockhard pricks swaying in the air, each took a hand and placed them on their aroused manhood, so that she held them both by their cocks. Meanwhile, Quintus, who stood at her head and had, until now, taken no part in the proceedings beyond occasionally slipping his fingers through her long blonde hair, now placed his hands on the sides of her face and tilted her head backward. When her eyes fluttered open, she found herself staring directly at Quintus’s rigid cock, which stood at attention just inches from her face. For a moment she seemed dazed, uncomprehending. But Quintus gave her no time to think He rubbed his prick on her face and pressed the head demandingly against her open lips.

She licked her lips and opened her mouth, straining upward toward the turgid shaft. Quintus allowed her to take it between her lips and pull on him, drawing his shaft into the warmth of her receptive mouth. He grunted, tight-lipped, and let her work him over as he grabbed a handful of silken hair and drew her head down on him. Holding her face between his hands, he moved his hips and began to fuck her pretty mouth.

The dreamy expression that crossed his face told us the girl had a lively, talented tongue. As she sucked off Quintus, the insatiable sex slave gripped the other two men and, holding on tightly, began to jerk them off, pumping her fists with frenzied determination.

With a ragged cry, Decimus threw his head back and pulled free of her grasp. Grabbing his throbbing prick, he held it aimed at her tits, while Valerius followed suit, erupting and sending spurts of semen onto her chest and belly. Once again swept up in the grip of passion, Helva tossed her head from side-to-side and moaned as their seed rained down on her thrashing body. Her second orgasm was smaller and sharper than the first a brief quivering, punctuated with a sharp yelp of delight And then she lay still, all the tension drained from her sagging body. And I saw a look I had never seen on Helva’s attractive blonde features: the unmistakable smile of sexual satisfaction.

Meanwhile I had my hand between her splayed legs and slowly massaged the soft folds of her sex. I studied don the bedraggled figure hanging limply before me. Her hair was soaked, her warm face bathed in sweat It ran down her chest, mingling with the oily lubricant which covered her body with a golden sheen. The highly charged sexual performance had drained the girl, but I was still at the height of arousal, burning with feverish lust, fired with a deep, rutting need to lay into her throbbing, wet cunt.

My cock was aching with lust as, burning with impatience, I clamped my hand on her hot, damp womanhood. The spent female stirred and whimpered Her lips worked as she mumbled something I didn’t understand. It made no difference. Stepping up to bring my hips near her hanging loins, I squatted a little till the crown of my prick came into contact with her netherlips. I rubbed the swollen head along the slick protruding lips, while the sex-soaked woman whimpered and moaned.

With a rush of wild excitement, I bounded up on my toes, driving straight up into her in a single powerful thrust She groaned at the abruptness of the vicious stab. A low, earthy rumble trailed out from deep in her throat as I plunged in all the way and held myself in her warm, churning depths.

I wiggled my hips, tickling her innards. With a little cock action, I soon had Helva whimpering like a hurt puppy. Then I started to move more decisively, thrusting into her slick, juicy cunt, fucking her with slow, deeply penetrating strokes. The ravaged female rolled her head and stirred to life; her hips started twitching as the simmering passion fires were reawakened once more.

Now I was fucking her with a steady rhythm, a lusty, jolting tempo that had her writhing uncontrollably. Once again, she was swept up, driven toward the peak of yet another climax. Moaning softly, she urged me on, her hips bucking up to meet mine. Maddened with lust, I pounded into her, fucking her furiously, while she swung crazily in her sling. The frenzied female was oblivious now, rolling her head from side to side, mumbling incoherently in feverish whispers, then yelling out, calling on her strange gods and cursing me in her foreign tongue, but always, unmistakably, urging me on and on. Finally she let out a long, desperate groan as an all-consuming rapture lifted her up and swept her along toward a third shattering orgasm.

She came this time with a plaintive cry, cut short by a mighty shudder which racked her thin frame. A single intense thrill of pure pleasure shot through me as, with a final powerful lunge, I fired my load into her throbbing depths, flooding her innards with pulsating jets of creamy sperm, till I tumbled down the other side of my climax.

My knees weakened and I collapsed against Helva’s hanging body, draping myself over her, savoring the feel of her sweating oily flesh as I lay with my chest pressed against her warm slippery breasts. Thoroughly depleted, I lay there, plastered to her hot slick body, closing my eyes to let the blissful peace of a warm afterglow flood through me.

The shrewd slaver immediately saw the wave of excitement the introduction of these rare blonde slaves would cause in decadent Rome. In no time, Teutons would be all the rage, and the elite of society simply have to own one, or even a half dozen to grace their elegant homes. Kimar knew that the Nordic women would be especially prized and that he could demand-and get-outrageous prices for them. He looked at me very earnestly when he said, in a voice of solemn promise: “We need more of them. If you can supply me, I can make you a rich man.”

As it turned out, there were continued eruptions among the Northern tribes, as though in answer to Kimar’s prayers. Over the next few months, the gods were with us, and our frequent campaigning yielded several groups of these magnificent barbarian prisoners. Kimar was as good as his promise, so that when I was finally called back to Rome, it would be as a very wealthy man indeed.

And so I was to enter the imperial city at the head of my bevy of fair-haired slaves, rich, successful, and influential beyond my wildest dreams, to find myself embraced eagerly by the cream of Roman society. I was even summoned to the palace of the Emperor himself, extended a prized invitation to an orgy there. I planned to bring Helva, the wild barbarian of the North, who I knew would create quite a stir when she appeared at that decadent court.

Among the nobly outfitted courtiers and their elegantly dressed ladies, she would stand out, stark naked, wearing nothing but the collar of a slave of Rome-and she would wear it proudly! She would be paraded before them, unable to avoid the lusty hunger in their eyes as they appraised her splendid nude body; and with some of her fellow slaves, she might be made to perform at the whim of the Emperor and that lecherous court. Only then would she would fully realize her abject servitude, the extent of the humiliation she must endure. She would truly understand only when she was forced to enter the grand hall on her hands and knees, crawling like an animal, to make her humble obeisance, then lowering her head to touch the marble floor before the mighty Emperor of Rome.

Content

Slave Girls Of Rome

Don Winslow Chapter One. A Modest Orgy

Chapter Two. The Call Of The North

Chapter Three. Let The Games Begin

Chapter Five. Curious Pleasures

Chapter Six. A Day At The Races

Chapter Seven. The Lords Of Discipline

Chapter Ten. A Slave Of Rome