“Please, master,” she pleaded, “I don’t think she can take a full twenty strokes.”
“You will carry out my orders or be sold back to your former master,” Quintus said sharply. “The choice is yours.”
Africanus was quick to grasp the meaning behind such an uncompromising order. If she was to prove her worth in the arena there would be no time for sentiment, let alone mercy.
“Very well, master,” she agreed, and lifted the whip above her head.
It was surprising how heavy it seemed and when she let it fall it took little effort to land it across the masseuse’s back. A sickening crack of leather on naked flesh broke the silence and was quickly followed by a heart rending shriek of pain. The woman’s thin body went into a spin and when it stopped her whipped back was against the post exposing her flat belly and small, attractive breasts. The dark brown nipples stood out in strong relief against the much paler surrounding skin. It was difficult not to notice the thick, luxuriant amount of pubic hair between her legs. In her eyes Africanus saw sheer terror at what was to come. Beyond her under the awning Quintus was growing impatient and Africanus experienced a wave of panic.
Be strong, she told herself. This is your way out of this hole.
She gathered the whip and sent the tails cracking across the flat, quivering belly. The woman’s body jerked from the post and doubled up, the feet almost touching her buttocks as she swung away from the post. Africanus distinctly heard her bottom thump into the wooden pole as she settled back into place.
She gave her three more rapid strokes, aiming low over her slender thighs. Instead of wildly gyrating, her body hung motionless numbed with agony. A forth stroke caught her directly across her nipples and this time her body bent in all directions. Like a drunken puppet whose strings have become hopelessly entangled, her legs bent at the knees, straightened and came together so fast her ankles cracked on impact. Her head rolled from side to side, her tongue hung from her lips, saliva dribbled from the corners of her mouth.
I must be strong and finish the punishment, Africanus told herself, realizing now that flogging a defenceless woman was not as easy as she thought. She would have to close her mind to the endless shrieks and pleas for mercy, shut her eyes to the livid welts forming in terrible lines on the punished skin and look, yes look, as if all this torment she was inflicting meant nothing to her.
“Take that, you dirty bitch,” she shouted, lashing into the woman’s buttocks.
A deep muted groan came from her throat as the tails curled around her boyish hips sending her into another spin. Africanus quickly gathered the tails and before the woman had stopped spinning delivered another blow into her ribs. She swung slowly back and forth trying to angle her body away from where she thought the next stroke would land. A curious game of cat and mouse ensued with the woman jerking left and right and Africanus landing the whip where it fell easiest. But the woman’s strength was failing and she had resigned herself to the remaining lashes which now fell at regular intervals on her buttocks and thighs.
“That will do,” Quintus announced, and Africanus dropped the whip and stood still, feeling slightly foolish and wondering what to do next.
“You whipped her well,” he complimented, rising from his seat and motioning her forward. “The strokes were expertly delivered.”
“Thank you, master,” she bowed.
“Now you may free her and take her to the bath house, then return directly to me.”
Africanus, aided by a male slave released the wrist shackles and, taking her by the arms, dragged her lifeless body across the courtyard.
“I’ve done it,” she thought, as the male slave dumped the masseuse’s body on the marble slab. “I’ve proved my worth.”
A curious feeling of superiority and power passed through her as she looked at the welted flesh. Now it seemed that she was on equal footing with her own masters. Only a short while ago she had been forced to submit to the woman’s libidinous ministrations, and might have received another thrashing but for the timely intervention of her new master. Now she understood why slaves feared their masters. The power to punish with impunity was an intoxicating one, but as she looked at the groaning woman she felt a strange feeling of contempt.
The woman opened her eyes and glared malevolently at the black girl. Even though she had been flogged lifeless there was still defiance in her face.
“One day I’ll repay you for this,” she muttered.
“Not before I’ve given you my cock,” the male slave suddenly blurted.
It wasn’t often a male slave could have sex with his female counterpart, unless his master granted permission, which wasn’t often. Now he had a wonderful opportunity to slake his lust, and who would know? The black girl had been sold and would not be there to testify against him if the woman complained.
“Open your legs,” he said firmly, and climbed onto the slab.
Africanus remained silent, wondering if he knew the woman was not that way inclined, well, towards men anyway.
He threw off his tunic and Africanus nodded satisfactorily at his throbbing erection. In a trice he was between the woman’s legs, throwing her ankles carelessly over his shoulders and ramming his cock into the proffered hole.
“Stop him!” the woman shrieked, pounding his ribs with her tiny fists.
But she too well penetrated for him to stop now and Africanus leaned idly against the wall grinning at his pounding buttocks. The woman raised her head to bite him but he was one step ahead and slapped her hard across the face.
“Keep still,” he barked, “or I’ll drown you in that bath.”
Africanus burst into a peal of laughter. That would have been more than he dare do, but the thought was amusing. She went to the head of the slab and grabbed the woman’s flailing arms and pinioned them behind her head.
“I’ll kill you for this,” she spat, rolling her eyes like a demented outcast.
Africanus held her rigid while the male slave smacked his pelvis into her groin. He reached over and squeezed her breast quite oblivious to the welts cut into her nipples. It was all over in minutes and he slithered off the slab and went out happily whistling.
The woman rolled over onto her belly mouthing savage curses and swearing her revenge. Africanus went into the bath house and came back carrying the birch twigs. Silently she raised the sheaf high over her shoulder and cracked it at full strength onto the slim reddened buttocks. The woman let out a howl and clutched her bottom.
“Take your hands away from there,” Africanus ordered, relishing her new found power.
Without waiting for her hands to move, she lashed the birch onto her buttocks, then lashed her back until the twigs finally snapped and were useless.
“You want to know why I did that?” Africanus asked her.
The woman looked up imploringly knowing she was totally at her mercy. “Why?” she muttered.
“Because I don’t like you,” Africanus replied, and went out into the sunshine and suddenly realized that she didn’t even know the woman’s name.
“You may wear this,” Quintus offered, tossing her a tunic. “It will do until we reach the ludus, the official name given to the training school.”
“Thank you master,” she bowed.
Another unexpected privilege; most slaves employed in menial tasks went completely naked. Wearing a tunic was a sign of importance.
“You may thank your previous master for all he has done for you, and for willingly selling you to me.”
Africanus turned to where Clodius was standing and dropped to her knees. “Thank you, master,” she said, lowering her head and kissing his toes.
“Get up, girl, and see you serve your new master well.”
Africanus got to her feet and bowed. “I shall do everything that’s expected of me,” she assured him and foll
owed her new master into the outer courtyard.
Chapter Three
She didn’t expect the amount of chains, weights and locks, not to mention an iron collar that were fitted to her. Neither did she expect to have to ride in an ox cart. She thought as an aspiring gladiatrix she would have been treated with more respect as befitted her rank.
“Until you have been fully trained and proved successful in the arena, you are still a slave,” the driver told her. “And a lowly one at that. Now get your arse on the floor.”
Africanus stumbled into the waggon and seated herself on the floorboards, her back against the railings and legs stretched out in front. The driver whose job it was to deliver her intact selected the collar from the pile of chains and fitted it around her neck. At the front and back of the collar were rings large enough for a length of chain to pass through. At the rear he put a length of chain through the ring and locked it to the railings. She put out her wrists and these were fitted with shackles joined with a short chain, not unlike the manacles criminals wore when they were taken to the arena for execution.
“Lift your wrists and put them over your tits,” he commanded.
Africanus obeyed and placed her fastened wrists between her breasts. These he secured to the front ring in the collar with more chain.
“Now your ankles,” he said, rummaging in the pile for another pair of shackles.
He fitted a shackle to each ankle and chained them together. Just when she thought he’d finished, he lifted a heavy weight from the pile, a solid lump of iron with a ring at the top. This he placed in her hands and passed a length of chain through the ring, wound it around her neck and back to the weight.
“You have to hold that all the way there,” he told her gaily. “And if you let it fall the chain around your neck will tighten and you’ll strangle yourself. So it’s up to you.”
Feeling more like a condemned criminal than a trainee gladiatrix, Africanus sat in her barred cage holding the weight tight against her chest. The populace of Marcellum paid her little heed as the cart rumbled through the streets. Just another whore on her way to the cells they thought and carried on shopping. Quintus was taking no chances with his latest acquisition, for one thing, she didn’t come cheap, and secondly a girl as fit as her, with legs of that length could run like a gazelle if the chance presented itself. Once out of that cart she’d be up and gone in a trice, better to be safe than sorry.
The training school was about a mile outside of the town and the cart rumbled to a halt under the shade of an olive tree. The driver got down from his seat and unlocked the barred door and climbed inside, locking the door behind him.
“Drink?” he offered, raising a pitcher to her parched lips.
She drank greedily, spilling most of it down her front. The driver watched a stream of lemon water run over her chest and through her breast cleft. She had good breasts with nipples poking invitingly at her flimsy tunic.
“Are you comfortable?” he asked, lifting the weight higher until the top bumped her chin.
“My arse is sore from these fucking boards,” she swore. “And this weight is too heavy for me to hold. Does my master know you’re treating me like this?”
“Your master ordered me to chain you,” he told her. “We’ve had too many runaways between the town and the school. Now let me see if I can make you more comfortable. Can’t have you suffering in this heat, can we now?”
He carefully positioned the weight at the centre of her chest so that both breasts were visible either side of it. They looked incredibly inviting under that sweat soaked tunic. He could even see the darker hue of her areolae showing through the material, not to mention those erect nipples forcing themselves higher and higher. He was always told that when a woman’s nipples went hard it meant she was begging for a fuck. There was little he could do about that without releasing all the chains and manacles and that bloody great weight, but he could fondle those beautiful tits. It was the only chance he was ever likely to get.
He reached out and placed both hands on her breasts, taking great care to thumb the nipples rapidly to and fro. They stiffened at once; hard buds of excited tit flesh just longing for an eager mouth to suck them.
“Are you supposed to be doing this?” Africanus asked, wide eyed and breathing fast.
He couldn’t answer because his mouth was clamped over her left breast, lips sucking hard on the nipple, so hard it lifted from the areola. She bucked when his teeth bit into the bud.
“That hurt,” she protested, and let the weight slip.
An ominous grunt escaped her throat. He looked up just in time to see the chain tightening around her neck and quickly lifted the weight clear of her chest.
“I told you not to let go of that weight,” he said testily, and slapped the side of her head.
“How can I keep still when you’re sucking my tits,” she retorted, beginning to wonder if all this was part of his duties.
He thought for a moment and looked at the position of the sun. A little after midday, he thought, wondering if there really was time to loosen her shackles. Perhaps if he released the chain at the back of the collar and the manacles around her ankles he just might be able to get her on her back with her wrists still secured to the iron weight. It could rest on her chest while he fucked her. She wouldn’t strangle herself; he’d make doubly sure of that.
“Do you know the penalty for attempting to escape?” he asked. In her position it seemed a pretty stupid question. “It’s one hundred lashes,” he told her, keying the lock at her ankles. “And who’s to say you didn’t try it?” he suggested darkly.
“You shit,” she blurted, suddenly grasping his intention. He was going to fuck her, and if she complained she’d get a hundred lashes.
He unlocked the padlock at the back of the collar and eased her shoulders gently onto the floorboards, keeping the weight deftly balanced on her chest.
“Now don’t move,” he chuckled, “because if that weight slips it’s the underworld for you.”
They both knew he wouldn’t dare let that happen, not with such a valuable cargo, but there was nothing she could do in the way of resistance.
“You’ve got good legs,” he complimented, lifting her calves and resting them on his shoulders.
His erection was massive and throbbing, she could see the veins around the shaft pulsating in time with his heart beat. The shiny purple head nodded as if eager to bury itself inside the dark mysterious crack between her thighs. With a gentility that surprised her, he lowered his bulk over her body and took his weight on one hand whilst using the other to guide his cock into her slit.
“You’re wet,” he said, plunging hard into her.
“It’s the heat,” she lied, gasping as he rammed his cock fully home.
Africanus was no virgin, but her sexual experience was limited. The grinding house guards had fucked her while she had been shackled to the pole, and occasionally she had permitted one or two of the male slaves to have her when the opportunity presented itself, but it had all been hurried, over and done with in minutes, hardly worth the effort, when she had come it was more of an accident than a compliment. Now, here in the middle of nowhere on a public road she was being fucked by a driver, a menial no better than herself, but it was the fear of discovery that made her thrill to the cock pounding away at her groin. Holding the iron weight added to the thrill. Her hands on its sides were the only means of stopping herself from being throttled, and there was nothing she could do about it.
His technique was not what she expected; he wasn’t riding her brutally, but taking his time, plunging in and out with long steady insertions, touching her clitoris at every stroke.
“Do you always treat your captives this way?” she gasped, blinking from the sunlight.
“Only when they’ve got legs like yours,” he grunted, sliding his arms arou
nd her sweating thighs.
“What about my cunt?” she asked. “Can you feel it around your cock?”
She squeezed her vaginal walls, closing the petals around the shaft, feeling the pulse increasing in the veins.
“Your cunt is like silk,” he stuttered, angling his hips, spearing her sex tunnel left and right.
Just then a troop of horse came thundering by. The horsemen caught a brief glance at a pair of long, black silky legs pointing to the waggon roof and a pair of buttocks bouncing up and down between them. But there was no time to halt, only to shout a few ribald words of encouragement and they disappeared in a cloud of dust.
They must’ve seen us fucking like a pair of goats, she thought, a chill going round and round inside her belly. She wondered who else was going to come along that road and see them fucking inside that cart. In the distance another vehicle approached, a sort of covered carriage drawn by a pair of white horses. Some nobleman or senator on his way to Rome probably.
Africanus locked her heels over the small of the driver’s back. Her strong thighs flexed crushing against his ribs. He was riding her faster, working towards his climax, just like Proteus had done, except now there was no pain or humiliation, just the sheer orgiastic pleasure of having a man inside her dripping tunnel. In the stifling heat, he too was sweating. Drops of perspiration dripped from his chest and face plopping onto her belly and breasts. He managed to keep his balance on one arm whilst daring to reach over and fondle her breasts. His fingers squeezed tight, nails digging into the wobbling globes, but the sharp unexpected pain only added to the pleasure of his cock slamming relentlessly into her sex. Underneath, the rough broken boards dug into her back and bottom, splinters pierced her skin like darts. It was coming from everywhere at once. Her whole body seemed to be assailed with pain, even the weight and collar grew heavier and tighter.
“I’m coming,” she moaned, unlocking her heels and flinging her legs wide.
The Arena of Torment Page 4
