Slave Girls of Rome

by Don Winslow

  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 the knobs of her shoulders, I flattened my palms and brought my hands together at the top of the girlish chest. Then I slowly drew my hands down, over the faint ridge of the collarbone, sliding over the slick skin onto the soft rises of her maidenly tits, pressing the heels of my palms into those pliant swells, no more than slightly raised disks, with exact centers 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.

  Slowly, I brought my hands down till my fingertips felt the pebbly-hard nipples. I moved my palms pressing them into the surrounding softness; moving them in tiny circles. The responsive 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 palmed her sensate nipples in a small, circular massage. It didn’t take much of this till I had the healthy young girl moving her shoulders, squirming with the rising heat.

  Excited by watching her growing arousal, I gently plucked at the stiffening buds, pinching the slippery nipples between thumb and forefinger, rolling the little nubbins as I tugged on the elastic flesh, pulling to stretch her pliant nipples till she groaned under the sweet torture. I soon had those tips swollen with excitement, the aureole expanded, tiny stems protruding saucily. The girl tried to arch back against the pillar, raising her bosom, silently begging to offer me even more, but I had other territory to explore. And so I left those pretty tits heaving in ragged undulations, their excited tips throbbing and proudly erect, and I moved on, sliding my palms along their shallow under curves and down her slippery body, over the traces of the ribcage 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 under arch. Crouching down before her, I visually inspected, 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 the straining thigh muscles. The tendons stood out, sculpting and shaping the sinewy contours so that I could follow the resulting plane that sloped into the silken flesh of the 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 young thighs.

  A demanding surge of lust shot through me, and I abruptly got to my feet. 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 Mound of Venus while the girl leaned back and let her jaw drop. And from her open mouth came a soft, shivering moan.

  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 all the way up into her cunt, the girl gave out with a long low groan 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 pillar. Arching back, she rolled her head from side to side as I jiggled the 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 lusty young girl, burning with sexual heat, sent my pulse racing, a thrill of desire surging up in me, driving me to take her. To hell with the contest!

  Tingling with excitement, I tore at my clothes, snatching off tunic and loincloth, till I stood in nothing but my sandals, my turgid penis proudly standing up in bold salute to the naked young woman sensually writhing before me. Positioning myself right between her archate legs, I guided my straining penis to the edge of the gaping pussy and abruptly took her, 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 on to her with both hands, wiggled my loins while thrusting upward, burying my engorged prick up her cunt to the hilt. The impaled female threw back her head; let out a low, earthy moan of deep, rutting satisfaction.

  The heavenly feel of that tight young pussy was exquisite and I fucked the girl with deep full strokes, pumping into her, speeding up till I was bucking my hips with furious abandon, crazed by lust 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 the girl 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 a long, lingering moan, as a tremor rippled through her thin frame, followed by a more definite shudder—deeper and more massive. I came in an 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 depleted 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, those hard, young bodies glistening with sheens 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, but all of a sudden 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, becoming a regular guest at his frequent orgies. He was a man who partook fully of the joys of life, wallowing in lust, and shamelessly indulging his unflagging passion. Now 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 me, 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 enamored with 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 rearend. 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 Ber
nesium.

  I had seen him take the occasional playful swat at the tail of a passing slave girl as she was sent scampering off 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 memorable fight 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 ass, that I realized the intense pleasure the act of spanking gave the man.

  Among the many Roman customs Gratius had transplanted to his provincial villa, were the pleasures of the bath. A true Roman, he strongly believed in cleanliness, insisting that his girls bathe daily. And of course he loved to join them. It was there that I sometimes found him, and on one occasion as 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 damply transparent, and the wet fabric clung to every contour of their hard young bodies. We had had 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 this favorite subjects—the pleasures of the flesh.

  As he rambled on, I kept one eye on the fetchingly-clad slaves, especially a splendid, tall girl, lean and 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’ slaves, but I had never seen this one before, for surely I would have remembered her.

  Gratius, not for the first time, was rhapsodizing on his favorite sport, the delightful spanking of a bounding female bottom, all the while idly watching the little slave, whom I had last seen upended over his lap. This was Rea, one of his favorites, and she was presently in the act of gathering up some towels. As she bent down, the tunic skirt slid up to lay wetly plastered over the top third of her largely 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 rearend 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 jutting 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 Rea to his lap. He would be glad to show me how it should be properly done, 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 came to 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 up against my upstanding phallus.

  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 slippery fabric up and over the twin slopes, baring Rea’s small neat 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 slick silk, I gave her a reassuring squeeze. I smiled to see her little cheeks instinctively clench, as I felt up her taut-skinned, hardened butt.

  I spent several minutes squeezing and massaging that charming buttocks through the wispy damp fabric, watching them clench and slacken, savoring the delicious feel, the inner softness of those firm, young mounds, admiring the perfect symmetry of those lovely, twin curves that seemed to quiver under my hand. With delicate precision, I pinched the gauzy film away from her hips and worked it up, holding it between thumb and forefinger, exposing a nicely-poised bottom; the twin curves smooth and sleek and divided by a tight crack. The fig of the girl’s pursed vulva, adorned with wispy tufts of black pubic hair, peeked out saucily from between her loose thighs. The sight of her half-hidden pussy send a surge of shimmering excitement racing through me and I couldn’t resist bringing a finger up to lightly touch her, just there, getting a reflexive twitch of the hips as the girl wiggled and 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 leisurely playing with the slave girl’s naked rump, letting my host set the pace. I watched as he slid his flattened hand up to rest it firmly on the small of Rea’s back, pinning her in place and 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 arroyo squeezed to a narrow slit. She steeled herself in anticipation of what she knew was about to come!

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

  WHAP! WHAP! two shots rang out almost simultaneously and the two girls bounded up, kicking their heels and yelping in startled reflex. Before she had time to recover, I slapped again, whacking Maya’s bottom with crisp authority, using the flat of my hand to deliver a glancing blow that sent her jelly-like mounds juddering. I heard the girl cry out; her legs swinging up behind, scissoring the air frantically. Merrily, I smacked that bounding bottom again and again, relishing the bouncy resiliency of young Maya’s wobbling rear cheeks.

  The girl jerked forward with each impact, her legs kicking wildly now, while she twisted and squirmed across my lap. I immediately clamped my left hand down even harder on the small of her back, pinning her in place solidly 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 heave and redden under the unrelenting assault. The black-haired girl was yelping now, each sharp cry punctuated by the resounding echo of a crisp slap as I mercilessly smacked the quivering, blushing bottom. For a while she tried to deflect the blows by twisting her hips, and 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 and, in time, she simply went limp, allowing her butt muscles to slacken, yielding to the continual assault, accepting her spanking like a good girl, with passive resignation.

  After several exciting minutes spent walloping the slave girl’ s tight-cheeked, young 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 were throbbing with a rosy hue. I couldn’t resist feeling up that well-spanked behind, savoring the pleasant warmth I had generated in her burning rearend. A plaintive whimper came from the inverted head of my long-legged slave girl, and she squirmed her hips in sensual delight, signaling to me that the heat she was feeling as a result of the spanking was not confined to her well-warmed ass.

  Chapter Six

  A DAY AT THE RACES


  As the reader 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 being increasingly called upon to provide additional patrols, to escort the passing caravans of slavers. It seems that a particularly nasty little war had erupted with the pesky 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 after the grueling march through the mountains, content to spend a few days resting and refreshing themselves, and their charges.

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