“You did well on your first day,” Drucus complimented. “Tomorrow we shall put you on the rack. Now go and take your bath.”
She got to her feet and staggered across the courtyard wondering if her body could take so much punishment. But it was all part of her training and she knew that if she was to succeed she would have to bear it.
It was Nydia who came to massage her tired and aching limbs, carrying her bottles of oil and a small sheaf of twigs to beat the dirt from her pores.
“You have such a beautiful body, mistress,” she fawned, rubbing the sweat from Africanus’ back. “And your legs, so powerful, your thighs so…”
“Shut your trap,” Africanus snapped, in no mood for flattery.
All day she had been brooding on Circo and the way he had fucked her. He was the first real man who had got between her thighs and left her wanting more. The memory of his hard cock pounding inside her tingling sex was now making her agitated and frustrated. The last thing she needed was that simpleton Nydia prattling in her ear.
“I want you to massage my arse,” she ordered. “Make sure you use plenty of oil.”
The lashes that Drucus had sent winging into her buttocks had left her feeling sore and it would be difficult to sleep with that ache going on all night, let alone the remembrance of Circo.
“Yes, mistress,” Nydia said. “Your wish is my command.”
She tipped a whole bottle of oil over the lash welts and another into the buttock crease. Her tiny hands rubbed hard onto the welts until the oil had been well rubbed into the pores. She placed her fingers into the crease and pulled the buttocks apart. Africanus’ chest bucked off the marble slab.
“What the fuck are you doing,” she asked, looking over her shoulder.
“Oiling your arse, mistress,” she replied, worming three of her slim fingers inside her anus. “It will help take away the ache and you’ll shit easier.”
“When you’ve finished putting your fingers up my arse, I want you to oil my tits. That harness gave me hell,” she grunted, placing her head on her folded arms.
When Nydia had finished poking and prodding her bottom, Africanus rolled over and gazed idly at the girl now oiling her breasts. There was something about her eyes that repelled her, a curious glow that she found unsettling and her mind seemed constantly engaged elsewhere. It might have been that she was just bored or simple, and as her fingers manipulated the nipples, Africanus’ thoughts turned to Circo. A flutter passed through her belly and she sniffed back a tear.
“Suck my nipples,” she said suddenly.
Nydia smiled artfully, knowing what was going through the gladiatrix’ mind. She laid herself on top of Africanus and puckered her lips over the dark, erect buds. Her cheeks fanned in and out as she sucked and Africanus heaved a sigh of satisfaction. Her cunt was quivering with longing, the juice already weeping from her lips.
Then without knowing why she did it, she slapped the girl’s buttocks, and went on slapping until her arm ached.
“I want you to make me come,” she whispered. “Use your tongue.”
“I can’t do that, mistress. There isn’t the time. The lady Octavia is expecting you in her quarters.”
“Oh, fuck the lady Octavia,” Africanus thought, shoving the girl away.
Nydia gathered her bottles and scurried out of the baths with Africanus following reluctantly, muttering silent curses.
She was still muttering and swearing when she passed through the atrium into lady Octavia’s private rooms. A full moon had risen and bathed the room in its silvery rays. Incense burned from copper dishes filling the room with its delightful fragrance, a sweet smelling combination of sandalwood and pine. A banquet had just taken place and slaves of both sexes hurried to clear the tables. Lady Octavia looked resplendent in a white robe trimmed with red linings. Her hair had been dressed with rows of pearls and gold trinkets and her face painted and creamed. Suddenly Africanus felt very vulnerable in her near nakedness, aware that she was dressed only in her short skirt which she had not had time to change. She looked all around the room at the painted frescos depicting acts from Roman mythology, and a huge mural of Isis, Egyptian goddess of fertility whose cult many Roman women now belonged to.
On a dais were seated several local dignitaries equally as resplendent in finely woven togas and robes, all being waited upon by young naked girl slaves whose faces had been painted and made up. Their nipples and areolae had been darkened and made to look larger than they really were. All of them had been shaven between their legs and their pubic mounds scented and oiled.
“It is customary to provide entertainment for our guests,” lady Octavia informed, leading Africanus by the hand into the centre of the room. “Normally we stage gladiatorial combat between our most skilled gladiators and our slaves. I need not tell you the outcome. But tonight my guests require something different. Something a little unusual. Have you heard of the land of the Hermaphrodite?” Africanus looked blank. Lady Octavia permitted herself a half smile. “No, I didn’t think you had. Do you know what a Hermaphrodite is?” Again Africanus looked vacant. How the hell would she know what it was?
“A Hermaphrodite is a very special kind of woman, or man, depending on how you look at it,” Lady Octavia explained.
The assembly on the dais laughed at the still blank look on the black girl’s face. A slave came over carrying a tray bearing a bottle of wine and a goblet.
“Please, help yourself,” lady Octavia offered. “It is customary to offer refreshment to our entertainers before they begin.”
Bemused, Africanus waited until the slave filled the goblet and lifted it to her lips. It was the first time she had ever tasted wine and to her surprise it tasted mellower than she imagined.
“The entertainment will begin as soon as you have finished your drink,” lady Octavia informed her, and leaving her standing alone in the centre of the room returned to the dais and sprawled full length upon a couch. A slave knelt before her and placed a tray of nuts and sweets at her disposal.
From somewhere in the shadows came the plaintive tones of a flute accompanied by a slow rhythmic beating of a drum. A curtain drew back and a woman sidled into the room, swaying her hips to the sound of the music which seemed both eerie and sinister. Her limbs exhibited a curious snake-like motion when she walked which Africanus found very unsettling. She was wearing a long brown robe of deer skin and on her head a pair of horns, not unlike the sort worn by the barbarians in the northern lands. Her hair had not been plaited or curled but hung down her back in magnificent coiling tresses. It was difficult to guess its colour but as she passed under a lamp it gave the impression of auburn. Around her wrists and ankles were bracelets which jingled rhythmically as she moved. She went all around the room, gyrating her hips and buttocks in a fantastic, almost dreamlike motion.
“Is that black woman the gladiatrix you told me about?” a voice whispered in lady Octavia’s ear.
“That’s her, Glaucus, my husband’s latest money making venture,” she said bitterly.
“How much did he pay for her?” he asked, studying the black girl.
She was almost too embarrassed to answer. “Two thousand sestertia,” she muttered.
“Phew,” he whistled, seating himself beside her. “No wonder the ludus is almost bankrupt.”
There was nothing she could say to that. Glaucus was a sponsor who organized and paid for the games in the arena. It was a risky business. If any of the gladiators were maimed or killed he was liable for the cost of replacing them. If no injury was sustained he made a hefty profit from a cut on all the bets taken by the book makers, not to mention the entire political enhancement they brought. He had sponsored Quintus’ gladiators against combatants from his rival, Polonius, and many had been killed or totally incapacitated. Now he was reluctant to have anything to do with Quintus’ school. But he had
fallen in love with his wife, Octavia and together they were hatching a plan of which Africanus was the lynch pin. If she proved her worth, he would sponsor her independently as a contract gladiatrix just like the one coming to train her, and Octavia would get her share of the profits and hopefully share his bed into the bargain. It wouldn’t take much to woo Octavia into bed, especially where money was involved. With luck and a little persuasion, Quintus could be coerced into parting with Africanus and the ludus in lieu of his mounting debts. Glaucus had already prepared the paperwork. Tonight’s little entertainment was merely an opportunity for him to view the girl, with a bit of sport thrown in.
A slave advanced and took away Africanus’ skirt rendering her completely naked.
“She has a fine body,” Glaucus remarked. “And an air of confidence about her.”
“We shall see how confident she is when she sees what Leda has to offer,” she smirked.
Leda, still fully robed danced around Africanus, snaking her long arms above her head and drawing attention to her splendid hips. Slowly she loosened her robe; first at the top, letting it fall from her shoulders and breasts. Half naked she tugged at the cord around her waist and the robe fell open, but she quickly pulled it together again under the pit of her stomach. Africanus watched her movements with a critical eye. She assumed that when the woman was completely naked they would be expected to engage in a wrestling match or perhaps a stand up fist fight, the usual sort of entertainment the Romans liked at parties. Leda broke into a series of angular jerks and turned her back to both Africanus and the assembled company. The robe fell with at her feet and, kicking it away, she suddenly turned, throwing her arms wide.
“Oh, no,” Africanus gulped, eyeing her groin.
“Oh, yes,” laughed the lady Octavia.
Glaucus didn’t speak a word, but stared agog at the huge penis rising from Leda’s thick wiry pubic bush.
Africanus stared at the woman, or man, standing in front of her. She wasn’t quite sure what it was, a human being built like a woman with magnificent rounded breasts, pert feminine buttocks and a huge rampant male cock. If the hideous Proteus could see that he would have been consumed with jealousy. It was as long as a baby’s arm and of the same girth, if not thicker.
Lady Octavia rose from the couch and the music stopped abruptly.
“Tonight, we hark back to the mythology of ancient Greece,” she addressed the assembly, in shrill, silvery tones. “And we are pleased to give you a re-enactment of the legend of Persiphae and the Bull. As you know Persiphae fell in love with a bull and the result of their union was the Minotaur. For the purpose of tonight’s entertainment, Leda will play the part of the Bull and Africanus the part of Persiphae.”
The assembly arose from their seats and broke into a deafening cheer.
“Are you sure she can take a cock of that size. It will surely kill her,” Glaucus observed, looking at Africanus’ terror stricken face.
“If she can take that, she can take anything,” lady Octavia replied. “I did hear that one of the tests my husband subjected her too was mating with a man famed for his large cock. Look upon this as a further test of a similar kind, and a laugh for us at the same time.”
But Africanus wasn’t laughing. As soon as the implication of lady Octavia’s announcement sank in she felt sick. She was expected to degrade and humiliate herself with this creature, and in public. There seemed to be no end to their disgusting perversions.She glanced quickly around the room. Every doorway and entrance was heavily guarded, and there were enough willing slaves to bring her down if she attempted to flee. She only wished that Circo were there to defend her, but that was wishful thinking. He could not have defended her even if he had wanted to. Disobedience was rewarded with death.
“What am I supposed to do?” she whispered, as Leda advanced towards her.
“Make love to me,” she whispered in return, then she said aloud, “Get on your hands and knees, Persiphae; we are going to beget the Minotaur.”
Not on your fucking life, Africanus thought, taking a step backwards and clenching her fists.
Lady Octavia’s eyes narrowed with anger. The girl was supposed to submit, not put up a fight.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized to Glaucus.
“No, no. I like surprises, and it shows the girl has spirit. I’m interested to see the outcome.”
“Stop fooling around,” Leda hissed. “You’re going to have my cock whether you want it or not.”
She was a slave like Africanus and knew the penalty for failure. Lady Octavia was getting impatient. Leda could see the knitted brows and glowering expression as she motioned her forward.
“Look, you stupid bitch, if you don’t spread your arse, we’ll both be for the drop. They’ll have us both in the arena. They’ll crucify me and mate you with a real bull. So stop stalling and get on your knees,” Leda hissed, sliding her arm around Africanus’ waist.
Everything she said made sense. The Romans were a volatile people and not used to disobedience. When thwarted they could be very unpredictable and dangerous.
“All right, I’ll have your cock,” Africanus surrendered. “But just go easy with that thing.”
She still wasn’t sure whether the cock was real or false, but it looked real enough. There were no strings attached to it or any other means of keeping it there if it were faked. She put her arms around Leda’s shoulders and their bodies met in a loving embrace, belly to belly, thigh to thigh, breast to breast they hugged each other close and kissed long and slow, tongues diving and searching into their mouths. Africanus could see and feel the relief on Leda’s face as she submitted to her amorous caresses. Their hands slithered down each others backs and grasped their buttocks, pulling them close, grinding their sexes together. The cock rearing up against Africanus’ belly felt hot and throbbing, pulsating with life as its heat spread through the pit of her stomach. It was real! By all the Gods, the creature really was half man, half woman!
A wave of sexual excitement passed through her, a curious combination of lust and exploration of the unnatural. She never imagined that such creatures could exist, a female with a male sex organ was something that belonged in the realms of mythology, now here she was, breast to breast, belly to belly, holding what was undoubtedly a woman, yet between her legs throbbed a rampant cock that any woman would give her life for.
“What do I do?” Africanus whispered, fully warmed to the idea of being male fucked by a person of her own sex.
“Just obey me,” Leda breathed, relieved that the stupid bitch was not going to knock her senseless after all. “Get on your back and spread your legs.”
Africanus slithered to the floor shaking her buttocks and breasts, playing up to the assembly. Lady Octavia beamed her approval and shot both participants a loving smile, also relieved that the act would go well.
Leda, snaking her hips, fell over Africanus, opening her legs and swinging her thigh over the black girl’s face. Her own head went between the parted thighs, slipping her tongue into the hot juicy slit. Africanus sucked in the cock, stretching her lips around its enormous girth. She knew that she couldn’t possibly engulf it all, sucking it right to the back of her throat, so she concentrated on the dark purple head, playing her lips over the silky surface, licking and lashing it with her tongue. Suddenly they were all fingers and tongues, searching and probing, licking and sucking. Leda slipped her fingers inside Africanus’ sex, working them fast while she teased the clitoris, making Africanus buck and squirm her hips and buttocks. Her hand was around the shaft, rubbing it up and down, still marveling at its size, while she sucked it deeper into her mouth. Her jaws ached stretched over the glans but, holding her breath, she plunged her head upwards letting her lips slide into the groove. Another plunge and she sucked it as far as she could, her mouth fully stuffed with throbbing cock. Leda had stretched Africanus’ sex as far as
she dared, pulling open the fleshy sex lips, getting her tongue and all four fingers of her hand inside the dribbling tunnel. They continued pleasuring each other until Leda dismounted and rolled Africanus onto her belly.
“Up on your knees,” she whispered, and Africanus was there at once, on all fours, rocking on her hands and knees, longing for Leda to penetrate her tingling sex.
“I think she’s going to take it,” Glaucus said, his face set and serious.
Lady Octavia rested her hand strategically on his thigh. He was hard as a rock. She could see the bulge expanding under his toga. She thought that after the entertainment it wouldn’t take much to get him in her bed and strike the lucrative bargain that would make her rich.
Leda positioned herself at Africanus’ rear, opening her legs and sliding herself between the spreading thighs. Africanus lowered her buttocks and thrust backwards just as Leda guided her cock into the gaping sex. The whole assembly was watching now, standing up, looking over the shoulders of those in front, and peering around pillars and curtains.
Africanus’ buttocks went into a devastating orgiastic gyration, the buttocks wobbling and shaking so fast the flesh rippled.
“Look at that arse,” Glaucus cried, his throat dry with despair.
“It is beautiful,” lady Octavia remarked, gripping his cock under the toga.
“It’s brilliant of you to discover her,” he complimented, as her hand crept towards his balls.
“Yes,” she said, thankful that Quintus was away on business.
Leda was up on her hands, arms as straight as spear shafts, her calves clinging into the curve of Africanus’ hips. Her pelvis moved fast, pumping her organ into Africanus’ sex. The cries of agony and pain her cock usually brought forth from any hapless, unsuspecting victim were noticeably absent. Instead, Africanus panted like a mare in heat, harsh stentorian groans grunted from her throat, coming faster and faster, and a sound which Glaucus found unbelievably sexual. There was nothing more arousing and guaranteed to give a man a hard on than the groaning and grunting of a woman in the throes of fucking her heart out. He wondered if lady Octavia made such a din when she was being fucked. He was also thinking that if she wanted his money to sponsor the gladiatrix, he was entitled to his share of the goods.
The Arena of Torment Page 7
