by Don Winslow
Table of Contents
Title Page
Epigraph
SLAVE GIRLS OF ROME
Chapter One - A MODEST ORGY
Chapter Two - THE CALL OF THE NORTH
Chapter Three - LET THE GAMES BEGIN
Chapter Four - A RECONCILIATION, OF SORTS
Chapter Five - CURIOUS PLEASURES
Chapter Six - A DAY AT THE RACES
Chapter Seven - THE LORDS OF DISCIPLINE
Chapter Eight - THE EAGLE TURNS TO FACE THE NORTH
Chapter Nine - TAMING THE BLOND BARBARIAN
Chapter Ten - A SLAVE OF ROME
ROMANS! - A PONYGIRLS TALE
THE RAPE OF THE SABINE WOMEN
Part 1 - CALL ME PLUNAR
Part 2 - LET THE GAMES BEGIN
Part 3 - SPECTATOR SPORTS
Part 4 - OUR CHAMPION RAISES HIS MIGHTY SWORD
Part 5 - THE RAPE (OR SOMETHING VERY MUCH LIKE IT)
Part 6 - THE WOMEN’S REVOLT
Copyright Page
“‘No woman,’ it is said, ‘knows truly what she is until she has worn the collar.’ Some free women apparently fear sex because they feel it lowers the woman. This is quite correct. In few, if any, human relationships is there perfect equality. The subtle tensions of dominance and submission, universal in the animal world, remain ineradicably, in our blood; they may be thwarted and frustrated but, thwarted and frustrated, they will remain. It is the nature of the male, among mammals, to dominate, that of the female to submit.”
—John Norman, Marauders of Gor
SLAVE GIRLS OF ROME
Chapter One
A MODEST ORGY
“Rome has become nothing but a rich man’s whore,” Lucius’ drunken mutterings rang in my ears, as I trudged through the streets of the sodden Army camp on that fateful morning. It had rained the day before. Then it got cold. And now 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. In spite of 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 “Defenders of the Empire” to his palatial estate for one of his endless stream of “celebrations.” I should add that this was not one of his legendary orgies that you may have heard about. Those went on for days and were justifiably renown 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’ many schemes.
It was perhaps a measure of our lowly status that our host didn’t even bother to grace this august gathering with his presence, but left his social obligations to his wife. The Lady would be our hostess—seeing that the guests were greeted, and their needs met, all their needs. And if those guests included a few 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 see to her obligations. The Lady’s appetite was insatiable; her propensity for enjoying the weapons of hardy soldiers was legendary. The nickname she has earned in the officer’s mess, “Labia,” seemed apt. Even now she watched us with half-lidded eyes from her vantage point on the low couch at the far end of the room; easing back the slippery gown of the finest green silk, cut fashionably low in front so that her tits threatened to spill out at the slightest movement. The gown’s hem was casually exposing the entire lengths of her legs, and she left it where it lay, shamelessly crossing the very top of her robust thighs. From time to time the lady would smilingly nod her approval of the merry crowd, waving a ringbejeweled hand; her heavily painted lips would crease into a lewd, come-hither grin whenever a young officer happened to glance her way.
She licked her lips, half rising from the couch, the gleam of lust flaring in her dark eyes, when Gaius, deciding to get more comfortable, unbuckled his belt and slipped off his tunic, to recline once again, bare-chested now and clad in nothing but his linen loincloth. I nudged Lucius who took one look at the leering lady and whispered with an ominous groan that now no one would be safe! 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’ shapely legs, making his way assiduously from her bare feet along their smooth lengths. And just at the moment when she sat up on one elbow, the pleasuring tongue slithered inside her upper thighs, to find a place where it caused the lady to gasp, and then collapse back in weak disarray onto the satiny cushions. Her thick lashes fluttered and her kohl-lidded eyes slid closed, her gleaming lips curling in a smile of dreamy ecstasy, as the purposeful head continued its journey between her legs, disappearing under the loose folds of that slippery gown. Her hands came down to find and guide that tousled head burrowing forward in dutiful exploration. The Mistress of the House of Licus would be kept busy for some time.
And so we safely turned our attention way from our preoccupied hostess, and prepared to lounge about on the thick silken pillows, giving ourselves up to the tender ministrations of our absent host’s charming slave girls, nubile young serving wenches, who pranced half-naked, wearing nothing but the briefest of skirts low on their hips as they scurried about to serve their master’s 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 hastened across the room, naked titties bouncing in the most delightful way. And when she bent over to fill his cup, those full breasts hung down heavily, moving in a seductive sway before his wondering eyes—the girl, perhaps inadvertently, moving forward to offer him those succulent fruits, a tempting handful of which no man could possibly refuse. Lucius reached up to help himself, loosely capturing 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 idly toying with the conveniently-placed nipple, whilst expounding on his views to us. He kept the poor girl like that, half bent over. And as he played with the plaything of the rich man, his voice became a bit sad, wistful perhaps at the injustice of it all. We were but soldiers of Rome and though he might borrow such pleasures, they could never be his to have and own: the rich opulence of his surroundings, the hoard of beautiful slave girls owned by such a crass, money-grubbing trader.
Not that Lucius was poor, far from it, for 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 legendary millions. Alas, I was even less fortunate than Lucius. The son of an honest but poor 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 too leapt at this invitation, only too ready to take advantage of Licus’ “generosity,” and ease back on the chair, opening my knees to invite, the comely lass who kne
lt at my chair 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 slave girl, while Gaius was dallying with an olive-skinned girl with plump tits and dusky nipples whom he held perched on his lap. Looking down on the young girl on her knees before me, I let my eyes appreciate the willowy lines of her lean body, those slender shoulders, with small pancake tits that seemed to be emerging from that maidenly, flat chest. The slave girl’s fresh, expectant face was surrounded by a mane of thick auburn hair, tawny tresses that hung loosely down to halo her delicate shoulders.
I saw the question in her eyes as she edged forward, and nodded my permission for her to begin; immediately the vixen’s smile widened. Eagerly, she reached for me, brushing back my loincloth, which by this time was all I wore, freeing my stiffened 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 traced my naked manhood, closed on my upright prick.
I watched through half-lidded eyes, as she shifted back to sit on folded legs all the while holding my taut sex so lightly in those cool soft hands. With a sure delicate touch, the talented girl teased up and down my shaft, tracing my fierce erection with the pads of her fingertips. I clenched my teeth against the maddening rise of pleasure. Her adept fingers curved around the shaft and used those talons to lightly scratch along the smooth hardened length. I heard myself groan at the fluttering teasing of those delightfully cool fingers when they slipped up between my legs to softly cradle my the hairy sack of my balls. The slave girl’s supple fingers cupped my scrotum; and gave a little squeeze to my masculine equipment 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 she had me 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 the throbbing prick that hovered just before her face. Slowly, she extended her flickering tongue until the very tip touched the sensitive underside just below the crown of my upright prick. I clenched my fists and whimpered like a little boy, craning back 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, this talented slave flattened her tongue and licked with broad wet strokes, lapping up the length, swirling around the ridge of the crown then slithering down to the base. And there she would lightly nibble at the root of the shaft, soaking my pubic hair. Her velvety tongue slid wetly, lavishly, all over my scrotum, till her small head was burrowing between my legs, her probing tongue searching for my perineum and once there she crouched down and stretched up awkwardly to bury her face between my thighs, electrifying me with jolting thrills as she pressed nose and lips and chin into my crotch.
I couldn’t stand much more of this exquisite pleasure; my hands reached out to grab and extract the girl’s burrowing head. When she came up for air, she went immediately back to the shaft, lightly 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 lightly cradle her head, I ran my fingers through the thick head of hair, luxuriating in the silky tresses. Tightening my grip, I held her head rigidly still while I rubbed my super-ready cock all over her pretty 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 coming as 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 that unrelenting tongue action. The feel of that lavish tongue sliding wetly up and down my shaft was so exquisite I couldn’t help moaning, tossing my head back and lifting my loins towards 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 young woman was generating in my groin.
Then the tickling play of that lively tongue stopped, and when I looked down at her through half-lidded eyes, it was to see her reach out to grab me, and tilt the rigid shaft towards her as she bent down to slowly 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 so eagerly go down on me. Looking down on her through narrowed eyes I watched the top of her small head as it bobbed up and down in smooth easy rhythm.
With surprising skill my darling little felliatrix was sucking me off, her cheeks hollowing out, 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 instantly drove me to new heights of pleasure, it was a pleasure that was 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 that escalated wildly, till they sent me careening towards 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 flushed, excited face. At that exact moment I exploded in a tremendous climax sending a powerful surge of sperm erupting from the pulsating shaft to splatter that pretty face. Then I was coming with furious urgency, spurting thick wads of semen that jetted out to decorate another man’s slave girl, painting her neat features with ropy strands of thick creamy sperm in furious pulsations that seemed to go on and on and on.
Chapter Two
THE CALL OF THE NORTH
Even before Lucius had given words to my feelings, I had learned that for a poor but ambitious junior officer, the legion’s permanent barracks, situated as they were just outside of 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 the dull routine of camp life in the peacetime Army. It was a few days earlier when I had been ruminating about my fate that I 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.
Now I watched as two long rows of dusty naked captives, at first, only men, trudged past me. Their eyes downcast, their tread slow and dull. It was easy to see from their long unkempt hair, powerful builds, and scarred, hard-muscled bodies, 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 the 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 much greater interest. Many were stocky, heavily built barbarian women, clearly destined to end up as field slaves, or at best, house slaves, although occasionally one found the kind of 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, the kind with the large wheels and wide flatbeds that held standing captives in tall barred cages. The wagons were reserved for captured nobles or for those women who were fated to become specially trained sex slaves, since it was felt unwise to wear out the more valuable merchandise by the rigors of a 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 breath-taking statuesque blond girl. She 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 bearing; her sculpted features so elegantly made that I could only stare in awe. Most of those 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!
This regal beauty stood naked, yet in bold defiance, her cold blue eyes squarely meeting those of her Roman enemies, her strong legs set in a widened stance to compensate for the swaying roll of the wagon. Her hands clasped the bars at either side of her pale face, and as she stood regarding the rabble, there was nothing but icy contempt for those who would seek to subdue her. I had to have her!
