by Evans, Casey
“Domina…” the girl breathed as a ragged breath escaped her.
Domina’s lips press against the others slender neck, her tongue flicking out between her lips, tasting the others salty skin. She breathed a sigh of pleasure as her hand began to work the girl’s sex, her fingers flitting in circles around the slaves sensitive clitoris; touched for the first time. She could tell by the way the girl’s body reacted that she was in the throes of pleasure.
A loud snort and a burst of hot air reminded the Domina that she was not alone. The stallion stood there expectantly, his body quivering in anticipation. The huge beast of a horse pawed the straw hewn floor with a huge hoof, and takes a step forward.
Domina looked up at the stallion. “It’s time, my love.”
The beast’s ears twitched, orienting towards Domina’s voice.
“She is ready.” Domita continued.
The stallion took a couple steps towards the women, snorting and tossing his head side to side in anticipation.
Petronia looked up at the approaching beast, her pleasure at the hands of her Domina forgotten. She had heard of women servicing beasts, but had never really believed the stories.
Domina continued caress the young slave, her excitement growing.
The huge animal edged closer to the two women until he was arm’s length from the slave girl. Petronia reached out with one hand and touched the creature’s leg. She could feel its muscles rippling beneath her hand. It was one strong animal! As Domina stroked and caressed her she began to lose all sense of what was normal and was only aware of what would satisfy her cravings for release. She was aware of Domina’s hand moving rhythmically between her legs and marveled at the feelings, wondering why she hadn’t discovered it before. She knew she shouldn’t touch the creature. She knew she shouldn’t be looking at its cock, but she couldn’t help it. She wanted it. She didn’t want it. She had to have it.
Petronia reached out with her left hand tentatively and touched the black shaft of the stallion with her fingertips. The beasts cock jumped in response to her touch, slapping up against its belly. Petronia let out a yelp. It was warm. No, not warm, but hot. The stallion’s huge member was on fire.
The beast snorted again and pawed its front hoofs impatiently. Clearly this had happened before and he knew exactly what he wanted.
This time Petronia reached out and took his cock in one hand in a firm grasp. His member jumped again at her touch but she was ready this time and maintained her grip.
Now what am I supposed to do? She thought to herself.
Clearly it would take both her hands to get a firm grip. Her fingers were just not long enough for one hand to completely encompass the animal’s enormous girth. Not knowing what else to do, she began massaging the beast, but it didn’t seem to like it. Clearly she was doing something wrong. The beast snorted again, stomping a hoof angrily. She was about to try again when it lowered its great head and swatted her aside with its head and neck. She sprawled into the hay terrified it was going to step on her with its back hooves.
“What have you done?” Screeched the Domina as she landed alongside her slave.
She gave the girl a vicious kick in the side with her boot. Petronia cried out in pain and surprise, curling up instinctively to protect her side. Suddenly she heard the crack of a whip, and felt the searing pain of the lash across her unprotected buttocks and lower back. A second one across her upper back and shoulders. The pain was blinding, and for a moment she has forgot where she was, in the stable of an ungodly huge stallion. Rough hands jerked her to her knees, dragging her across the floor to where the animal was standing, snorting impatiently. Petronia looked at the black beast for a moment, then back to her Domina, not daring to meet the woman’s eyes.
“What am I to do Domita?” She cries through her tears, and gasps of pain.
A guard’s rough hands grabbed her by the hair twisted her around to a position where she is looking once more at the stallion. She felt a pair of knees at her back, and the hands gripping her head are forcing her to look up and stare at the beast’s member. The stallion snorted and stomped his hooves anxiously.
“Well?” Domina hisses venomously.
The spell was broken, and the girl found she had no desire to be that close to the creature. Sensing the slave girl’s reluctance, Domina directed the guard to help the girl get back in the mood. He brandished his whip menacingly in front of the girl and the guard who was holding her by the hair gave her several sharp jerks, so violently that she saw stars as white hot pain travelled along the length of her neck, shooting up into the base of her skull. Through the pain and tears, Petronia reached out with both hands and took the beasts cock in a firm grip. Her stomach did flip flops and she could feel the stallion’s rigid member throbbing and twitching in her hands. She swallowed back a mouthful of bile and began to slide her hands up and down his cock. To her amazement the beast’s member begins to grow, not only thicker but longer. Taking it as a good sign she starts moving her hands more vigorously and soon a white, musky smelling liquid was coating her hands. The great animal began shuffling around his hooves and snorting in pleasure.
Suddenly Petronia felt a hand at her waist, sliding around to her belly button where it lingers a moment before sliding down her flat tummy to her sex. She sighed as she felt a finger slip between her silky wet lips, and a gasp escaped her when those same fingers found her clit again and began to caress it.
It was a weird feeling, revulsion mixed with desire. She moans and pushed up against the hand between her legs, longing for more contact, but it drew back.
Petronia groans in disappointment.
“You desire more?” Domina asked.
“Yes Domina.”
The first thing she noticed before tasting the salty liquid was the smell. It was a powerful, musky animal smell, and combined with the perfume of her Domita and her own sweat; well, it was a heady, intoxicating mixture.
“You must do a thing slave.”
“What must I do Domina?”
“My stallion wishes to be pleased.”
Without hesitation Petronia reaches out and takes the stallions cock between her hands expecting to bring him to climax manually but Domina had other ideas. She grabbed the girl’s hair and jerked her head back towards her own. She hissed in the girl’s ear. “Not with your hands you simpleton!” Then she bit down on her slave’s earlobe hard enough to draw blood and make her cry out. “Pretend you enjoy it or I will command him to split you in two.”
As if sensing what was about to take place the stallion began to paw at the dirt floor, snorting, and braying softly. His cock was bouncing up and down, slapping against his stomach, cum dripping from its giant head. Petronia took hold of his giant member to steady it, then leaned in, parted her lips, and placed a chaste kiss on the glazed head of the beast’s cock. She was just about to withdraw in disgust when her Domina picked that moment to slip a hand between her legs. Petronia paused, lips coated in the stallions fluid, then Domina’s fingers found her throbbing clit, sending jolts of extreme pleasure screaming through her body, and when it blasted her brain in the beginning throws of ecstasy, Petronia abandoned any thoughts of human decency. The notion of girls don’t do this with animals, fled her mind when the first orgasm rocked her soul. She leaned in, running her tongue the length of the beast throbbing cock, lapping up rivers of pre cum as she made her way to a huge ghastly head. Amazingly the animals two foot long member was extending with every lick, kiss, suck and swallow from the delirious slave girl.
Suddenly the stallion let out a deafening bray and he began shooting white hot jets of cum down Petronia’s throat. The scent and flavor of this new release made Petronia gag, sputter and cough, expelling showers of foamy animal semen onto the hay covered floor. After the spasms subsided she took the stallions and, closing her eyes she began to force it into her mouth. To her utter astonishment she found she could. Before exhaustion claimed her, she opened her eyes just in time to the huge black st
allion melted away leaving Dominus standing in front of her, his cock firmly implanted in her mouth.
When exhaustion took her, Domita threw her slave aside and prostrated herself in front of her husband Gaius’s cock and proceeded to give him the royal treatment. Before Petronia lost consciousness she saw the strangest thing. While they were fucking, they seemed to fade in and of different animal and creature forms. She knew that couldn’t really be happening, but she’d never been so exhausted that she’d had such vivid hallucinations. The last thing she saw before going under was a pair of grey wolves rutting like wild animals.
* * * * *
CHAPTER THREE:
A Day in the Life of a Gladiator
* * * * *
Doctore strode the length of the Ludis, his sandaled feet kicking up dust as he passed by. Even the dust had a reddish hue to it; a testament to how much blood had been spilled over the years in the training of some of Rome’s finest fighting men.
He studied the men, twelve pairs, squaring off with wooden training swords. The sound of wood striking wood was carried out over the walls of the Ludis and across the lands and into the very woods where the trees were harvested to build the Lanista’s villa.
If there’s one thing the Doctore loved, it was the sound of fighting men, they’re weapons were deafening within the confines of the Ludis. The smell of sweat and blood made his cock hard as steel. It was so large that some of the men began to wonder if it was the men who caused the reaction or the fighting. Doctore reached down with his left hand adjusting his cock so it wouldn’t chafe while he strutted around the Ludis.
Suddenly he saw something that demanded immediate attention. He yelled at the top of his voice;
“Stop!”
At the same time, as if to punctuate his command he cracked his whip over their heads. The sound reverberated around the walls making the whip sound far bigger than it was.
“You cunts! You fight like women today, and only the woman here fights like a man!”
He lashed out with his whip again to make his point. The hardened leather tip came a hairs width from taking out the eye of a fighting man nearly ten feet away. The skill of such a strike not lost on the men who all hope they would never be on the business end of a weapon used with such power and skill. Though he had paid the only woman training there, he still didn’t think it was the place for a woman. On more than one occasion he said he’d rather sit around picking the corn out of his shit than train a woman. Over time he had grudgingly accepted the task but he didn’t have to like it.
“You fight like women today! All of you; except for Pet (Pet was the Doctore’s insulting nickname for Petronia), that’s right, you all fight like a women except for Pet, she fights like a man. Today you train to lose. In the arena you have no time to think. It’s all about reflexes and muscle memory. How you train here will be how you will fight in the arena. You train half- heartedly and with a total disregard for your opponent’s capabilities. Your defense is like that of a flaccid cock; useless. Come stiffen your cocks you useless creatures and mount a defense.”
As he stalked the Ludis he looked for signs of a lack of commitment; men whose hearts weren’t in it. Anything less than total commitment meant a sure death and a loss of revenue for the Domina. He would not be responsible for losing money for the House of Gaius Gracchus Tiberius; not while he still cracked the whip. He looked for people conserving energy instead of going all out. He stopped at the end of the line to watch the only two Moors sparring with each other. He saw bad footwork, poor stances, lazy strikes, and an even more pathetic attempts at blocking those strikes. The two Moors were the exact reason he despised using wooden swords in the Ludis. When his father was Doctore under Dominus’ father, they used steel swords, granted they dulled the edges, but you reacted one way when a man came at you with a wooden practice sword, and a completely different way when faced with steel. These men were lazy, safe in the knowledge that neither of them would be hurt. Laziness brought you death in the arena. These men were about to learn a lesson.
Doctore cracked his whip over the two Moors heads, shouting above the noise of battle.
“Stop!”
Instant silence.
“All of you, drop your swords.”
The men were confused but complied. He motioned his weapon’s master to come over.
The man ran up. “Yes Doctore.”
“Bring me a gladius for each man. Not our finest ones, but serviceable weapons will do. They don’t have to be razor sharp, but they should have an edge.”
“Yes Doctore.”
The man ran off as the Doctore addressed his gladiators. “I see before me 12 pairs of average men who wish to be called gladiator. Two months ago we were 18 pairs. Before the next man…or woman…steps into the arena he will be prepared! From now on you practice with real swords; steel ones.”
There was much stirring among the men. No one wanted to use steel in the Ludis; it was just too risky. Moments later the weapons master returned with 24 average quality gladius and began passing them out. The warriors took them silently and began testing them for heft and balance. After a couple minutes Doctore had them all line up against the wall. Next he pulled the two Moors out into the center of the grounds, giving them each a steel gladius. The men hefted the weapons, testing for weight and balance, or lack thereof. The gladius was the workhorse of the Roman’s soldier’s weaponry. It was short which made if perfect for close quarters fighting, and very strong; not likely to break under the strain of combat. Doctore allowed them another minute to examine the blades before making his next announcement. He walked over to the Moor from Morocco, and spoke, while pointing his whip at his brother from Algeria. You spill his blood, but do not kill him, or you will receive 40 lashes tonight.”
The words had only just left his mouth before the Moor from Algeria launched a clumsy attack at his brother, causing the other gladiators to fall away with alacrity, not wanting to become the victim of an errant strike. The threat of the lashes was a real one. Both the Dominus’ and the Doctore were known for the practice of whipping slaves close to the death before senses returned and they stopped. In fact the risk of taking a mortal hit in training was far less than receiving a death blow from Doctore’s whip.
This time the men attacked with aggression born from a desire to avoid being brought to their knees by the Doctore. The Algerian was systematically unravelling the Moroccan’s defenses and the Doctore would soon have his blood. As the Algerian was rained down blows on the other’s upturned wooden shield it split asunder, unused to the abuse doled out upon it from the other gladiator’s steel blade. Even after it became clear the man had just suffered a broken arm, the Algerian Moor kept at his attack with renewed vigor. Just like a lion, weary from the chase but sensing imminent victory, was spurred on with a rush of adrenaline. Leaping on his Moroccan brother who had fallen to one knee out of exhaustion, the Algerian made a vicious thrust with his gladius. His brother, out of instinct, raised his shield arm again, but there was no shield to deflect or repel the blow, just a badly broken limb. The tip of the steel blade past through muscle and sinew effortlessly before slipping between the man’s ribs and piercing his heart. The Algerian yanked back his sword and was rewarded with a geyser of bright red blood.
The Moroccan’s gladius slipped from his lifeless fingers and dropped to the sand signaling the end of the demonstration. The Gladiators rushed over to their fallen brother, but were stopped short by the Doctore, with a crack of his whip. The closest gladiator, thinking his Doctore was going to honor their fallen comrade, remained in place watching. To his great surprise the Doctore leaned over the body and spat in his face before stepping away from the stunned gladiators. He stood for a moment, watching his men. They were clearly unsure of what to do next. Normally a fallen brother would be placed on a pyre of wood and burned in honor. By spitting on their fallen brother, the Doctore had just sent a clear message. You make a mistake in my Ludis and life is worth less than the fe
ral dogs that roamed the nearby town at night. Nearly every morning several wounded or dead dogs could be found lying in the streets where they had become target practice for the town’s security forces. The beasts were just pushed off into the gutters of the streets where their bones would be picked clean from a variety of scavenger as well as the occasional street beggar.
The fallen Moroccan was simply moved over to the edge of the training grounds where gladiators with renewed commitment to their craft were now practicing with the steel blades the Doctore had procured. The training went well on into the night. Normally the torches would be lit after the sun had fallen below the horizon, but tonight they remained unlit. As the gladiator’s eyes failed in the growing darkness, the injuries began to rack up. All through the night groans of fighting men, the clash of steel and crack of whip could be heard far beyond the walls surrounding the villa.
When the sun came up in the morning the Doctore’s anger was finally appeased, and his warriors, those still standing were the benefactors of yet another of his valuable lessons. The Gladiators were given 3 hours to wash up, eat, rest and fuck, before the day’s training would begin. As usual, even with the abundance of female slaves among their ranks, most of the gladiators preferred Petronia’s company, even if it did come with a price; as her latest suitor was about to discover.
* * *
Petronia
* * *
Few slaves, even among the gladiators which enjoyed the most creature comforts of any slave in the House of Gaius Tiberius, except for maybe the Lanista’s and Domita’s body slaves, were given private chambers of their own. In the case of Petronia, she was given her cell the moment the male slaves began to notice her; around eleven or twelve years of age. Now at 18 she still enjoyed private quarters, a luxury many gladiators were none too happy about.
