by Don Winslow
The training began early, and was continuous throughout the march. There were many things the young women must learn in order to be able to serve properly. They must learn to be obedient, to readily meet any need that might be placed on them. They must learn the sort of 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 servile 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, chin held high, as they raced around the arena, breasts juddering 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 such as one found in the legions, but specially made lightweight traps, nothing more than a minimal 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 the teeth to serve as bits, so that reins could be attached by which to steer. Since the onlookers were eager to bet on the winners of these contests, one team was designated the “red” team; the other, the “blue.” The team’s colors were displayed by “tails” provided by the helpful slave drivers. These were plumes made of horsehair, dyed in vibrant color, 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. These “tails” form a most amusing and 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, sprightly, 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 needed 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 on knees, pulling the little chariot behind them, while the crowd cheered on its favorites.
After the last of the day’s races there was punishment to be 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 down, and clasp her ankles. With well-trained slaves, the punishment proceeded like clockwork. The first girl obediently assumed the position: leaning over, 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 whack, the next girl was to immediately assume the position, promptly offering up her tight young bottom for similar consideration.
Thus, the grim overseer worked his way down the line. And it was woe to the girl who failed to hold the position, 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 breech of protocol persist, the miscreant would be tied in place over a trestle to receive further punishment in such a way as to assure perfect compliance.
As commander of the local garrison, I was, of course, made most welcome in the slaver’s camp. I quickly learned to allow Sergeant Metelus to negotiate with the slavers 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. It was when I first met him that I first discovered how the more well-to-do slave dealers traveled in the greatest luxury.
I remember my surprise when Kimar, hatched-faced with a perpetual lean and hungry look, first welcomed me to his spacious, and pleasantly cool, tent. Expensive Persian rugs had been thrown down on the grass floor of the tent, silken 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 regularly summoned to enchance the surroundings, for Kimar dearly loved to show off his wares. And he did so in a most astonishing ways!
For example, there was the amazing sight that greeted me as I first passed through the folds to enter the dimly lit chamber. 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 free to spill 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 were stretched out in elongated sinuous lines.
The demanding pose might have quickly become painful had she not been strung up in such a way that her straining toes could just barely touch the rug, thus relieving some of 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 reedy, spry body, compact hips, and slim 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 shallow curve, legs held open and pulled back, small 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 the long caramel-colored hair pulled back and the hank of hair looped with a cord that was in turn 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 couldn’t help but 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 by a silk scarf wrapped around her head. The gag would stifle any cries that might emerge as her tautly-curved body was freely and lavishly fondled by her master’s randy guests.
For 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 slowly passing our hands over the taut curves of that youthful swaying body, cupping the little hanging titties, running a flattened palm down over the shallow curve of the torso, pressing along the slope of the midriff, the unde
r curve of the belly, and on up between the splayed, sinewy legs, to fondle the slightly gaping vagina. The pert, upturned ass beckoned most seductively, simply inviting the masculine hand to feel the small, taut mounds, to squeeze and manipulate those firm little cheeks freely, 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 the vulnerable vagina. He tickled her innards, diddling the suspended 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, waiting while she tried desperately to close her needy thighs on his hand. And he teased her like that, toying with her highly responsive body till finally he took pity on the poor girl, 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 personally accompanied his large slave trains on their journeys to Rome, and when he traveled, he traveled in style. For each journey, he would personally select a handful of the finest women as 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.
Everyone knew that being chosen by the slave master meant a welcome respite from the long hours of marching; the fortunate women chosen for his personal use, to ease the rigors of the journey, were most magnanimously allowed 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 be groomed, and to partake of cosmetics and scents that might serve to increase their appeal to their master. It was these slaves that were so generously shared with local dignitaries, who were given special invitations to visit Kimar’s tents.
Once we were ensconced on the couches, and equipped with cups of wine, a handful of these attractive young girls would appear at the entrance to the tent, pleasingly naked, same for the bands of leather at the neck, 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 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 by the unabashedly naked slaves in this open show of feminine charms. After a moment or two, the well-trained slaves girls would drop to their knees and bow down, salaaming with their foreheads pressed to the rug in the eastern manner, as they had been taught.
Continuing the routine they had been taught, they automatically 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 butts to the assembled guests. They would hold 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 allowed to pick their companions for the evening in sort of lottery; two slave girls being normally 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, sizing me up as it were, 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 conversation I had expressed my soulful desire for a Nordic woman, and 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? he asked casually. 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 Tuetons, 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.
Now in those days it was quite common practice for enemy captives to be turned over to interested slavers, who waited like vultures, on the edge of the war zone, instantly appearing after a raid to surround the camp, until they were given the opportunity to bid for the lot. The proceeds of these sales would to go to the 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 what Kimar was proposing was 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 that 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 the wisdom in what he proposed immediately, 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 young women appeared, presenting themselves before me, standing side by side. They might have been sisters. These two had the pleasing good looks of certain Gaullic women, and both had similar soft brown hair, the long straight strands worn pulled back from the face, then bound together with a leather thong so that the excess fell in a length that was long and silky like a horse’s tail. It was the style much favored among the Gauls. While they were rather young, one looked quite definitely the other’s junior. The more youthful of the two had a lean, almost pubescent body with small crescent 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 mounded with just the slightest bit of sag to them, and a plump, thickly-furred vulva. This was Sylla, Kimar said pointing to the older one; 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 for my edification, their naked bottoms: the full rounded fleshy buttocks, next to the pert set of rearcheeks. Summoning a couple of slaves to attend to him, my host then settled back. With his business being so satisfactorily concluded, he was now prepared to enjoy a bit of leisure. As for me, I bade the kneeling women rise, and ordered them to attend to me, allowing them to remove my uniform while I stood there motionless, 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 Gaullic charms.
I found myself pressed between the warmth of two delicious, scented, female bodies as we twisted and squirmed together on the couch. I lay rubbing myself all over the Tomi’s nubile body, while Sylla’s bountiful bosom burned into my back, all soft and warm and lovely. Things were heating up and rapidly threatening to get out o
f 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 the up the spilt 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. Sylla, meanwhile hovered behind me, kneeling on the couch at my back. Now she threw her arms around me, and pressed her body to mine, sensually squirming, grinding her firmly-mounded tits into my back. My eyes slid closed, and I sighed to savor 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 so she could get to my hanging balls. The flutter of her slavish tongue as it licked all over my furry scrotum sent a wild thrill racing though 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 that slow traveling, wet tongue was absolutely exquisite. Having arrived at the crown of my stolid prick, she leaned forward prepared to take me in her mouth, for that was what she thought I desired of her. But at that point I reached down to grab her by the hair and stop the sweet torture of those wet lips, and that devilish tongue.
“No, just lick! Lick it all up . . . every drop,” I managed to get out in a voice choked with passion.
