The General's Virgin Slave

by Georgia Fox

  Taking this as a threat, Amanda quickly lowered her mouth over the wide crest of his penis and sucked mechanically.

  Good thing her master only had one dinner guest, she mused, for her throat muscles were tired.

  Suddenly she felt hands on her hips, moving her bottom. Feet impatiently pushed her knees wide apart again.

  It must be Marcus looking at her pussy. That thought gave her a thrill. How weird. She already wanted to please and excite him. She'd known him less than a day and all he'd done was be rude, arrogant and bossy. But there was a little teasing hint of vulnerability inside that giant frame. A hint that he was not all fat-headed beast, contrary to first appearances. Under all that bluster she had glimpsed a little boyish uncertainty.

  He didn't speak, but briefly ran a finger over her labia. Was he checking to see if she got wet? Ha! Jealous much?

  The governor had no rhythm. He thrust in and out roughly and noisily, with great impatience, like a spoiled five year old trying to break a rocking horse. Amanda felt a wave of nausea and closed her eyes rather than look at his belly and thighs.

  The governor was ready to come much sooner than his host, and pulled out before he spilled. "Astride me, slave," he gruffly commanded, grabbing her hair. "I'll finish inside that cunt."

  But Marcus had swiftly pulled Amanda back by her chain. She slid on her buttocks to sit at his feet again.

  "Bring her here," Gaius Damianus demanded, shaking with fury and lust, his lips straining over his teeth. "I'll split her seal open, break that cunt in properly."

  "No," came the calm reply. "She is mine."

  "Damn you, general!"

  Unable to hold back, the other man shot his load in a high arc, directing it over her breasts in thick ropes that slashed back and forth as he groaned and jerked his prick with one hand.

  She stared, indignant at the mess he made. Gaius looked back at her, his lips twisted in a cool smirk of disdain. "Say, thank you, sir," he snapped at her. "I just anointed you with my seed. It should have been up inside you, if your master was not such a selfish prick tonight and in the mood to endanger our friendship. Say thank you and come kiss my ring, slut."

  Amanda refused without words, her expression enough to tell him what she thought of his "anointing." His eyes were brilliant as an electrical storm, surveying her with a fierce intensity that prickled over the little downy hairs on her arm. Marcus once again set her bare bottom on his thigh and she felt his hard muscle pressed against her wet sex.

  "I do not approve of your young slave's manners," the governor growled.

  "She's new and has much yet to learn."

  "Do not delay her training. Or else give her to someone with a firmer hand. She wouldn't get away with any defiance under my management."

  Marcus said nothing to that, but gestured for the slave-master to wipe her tits dry and clean again with a rough cloth.

  "And I never expected you to defy me either, Marcus Cassius. It is not wise to earn my displeasure."

  A thick silence, heavy with portent, fell over the room.

  The governor sprawled on the opposite couch, his cock flaccid, resting over one thigh. "I will let you get away with it this once and take no reprisals against you. I daresay you will tire of her soon and a woman is not important enough for the two of us to quarrel over."

  "I agree, Governor." Marcus laid a hand over her leg and she felt him grow very still.

  "But when you are done with her, you will pass her on to me," said the governor with cold, clear precision. "Because I want to breed her." Alarmed, Amanda drew a breath. "I'll have a battalion of good strong boy slaves out of that mare. She looks like a fighter." His eyes narrowed, fixed on her nipples as they jutted and bounced under Flavian's cloth.

  Amanda would have spoken, but Marcus squeezed her thigh gently and then began to stroke her leg. "We'll see, Governor."

  "We will discuss price later."

  "Yes. Another time."

  Amanda had never expected to be bargained over in her life. She'd always been the quiet, chunky girl in the corner, reading a book. Forgotten about and overlooked. The only value she had in the real world was her intelligence, but here that meant nothing.

  And here her body was admired, shown off, argued over by men of power. She was prized, an object of desire.

  But these men were very different to the slack-jawed, beer-swilling boys she knew at home.

  Sitting proudly on the general's broad, hairy thigh was highly arousing and she could barely breathe suddenly as his essence seemed to surround her. It was not only in her throat and on her tongue. It was on her skin, on her hair. It cloaked her in a mantle of protection, for she knew instinctively, that while she had his interest no harm would come to her.

  With Marcus Cassius, her captor, a man from another time, a Roman brute who put her in a dog collar, she felt safe.

  Ironically.

  "Let me consider her price, Governor," he said finally. "I will give it some thought."

  This, fortunately, seemed to placate the other man and he turned his attention to the platter of fruit and pastry.

  Amanda looked at Marcus. If she wanted to stay with him, she'd better please him. Instinct told her he would be the kinder master of the two men.

  For as long as she stayed in this strange dream, of course.

  Chapter Four

  He was appalled by this turn of events. While he had expected some interest from the governor, he could not have predicted this much. Marcus could kick himself. Should have hidden her away, not shown her off like that. But how could he have known she would spark the dreary governor's erotic fancies as much as she did his own? Gaius Damianus liked female slaves and kept plenty, but he usually visited Marcus just to bore him rigid with dull conversation. Had never looked twice at the slaves the general kept. Never offered to trade any.

  Before this.

  Although he kept his expression bland, inwardly Marcus cursed. That prideful side of his character— something his madre had warned him about before— had bitten him in the foot.

  What was it about this particular slave that caused two sensible, strong, practical men to behave this way?

  Abruptly realizing he'd been stroking her leg, he stilled his hand. But try as he might, he couldn't bring himself to remove it from her soft, smooth, warm thigh.

  She sat silent and subdued throughout the remainder of the governor's visit and after the meal Marcus took her to his bed.

  "Sleep, Axa. I will not need you further tonight." He padlocked her chain to the iron ring at the foot of his bed, but she did not lie down demurely and close her eyes. She stood looking at him boldly, questioningly. "What is it, slave? Tonight I will allow you to ask me one more question."

  "Just one?" She folded her arms. "Don't you think I might have more than one?"

  "There is no reason for many questions. I have explained your place here and who I am. You need know nothing more."

  "But I want to know more."

  He sighed and turned to pour himself a glass of wine from the jug by his bed. "Slaves, Axa, do not have wants, other than the desire to please me. However," he took a hearty gulp of wine, "you may ask your question, because then I have some for you in return. Since you are not tired."

  She blinked and relaxed her arms at her sides. "Why did you risk making the governor angry?"

  "Ah," he laughed softly, "that I cannot answer. I wonder myself why I did that."

  "Would you sell me to him?"

  He walked back to the bed and offered her a drink from his cup. "That is two questions, Axa. I told you—"

  "But you didn't answer the first!"

  Marcus couldn't help but smile. He was not going to answer her second either. Did he look like a fool?

  Frankly, he started to feel like one. Mayhap he'd drunk too much wine.

  He ran a finger slowly down the side of her face. Her skin felt like the finest silk under the rough pad of his fingertip. "I didn't say I'd answer, Axa. I said you may ask me
."

  "That's. Not. Fair." She shook her head at the wine, so he finished it. Then he put his hand under her chin and raised her sulky lips to his mouth.

  "Time to kiss your master," he whispered. He needed it suddenly. He needed it as a drowning man needed air.

  "While I still belong to you?" she asked archly. "Before you cast me aside for one of the other slave girls."

  That made him scowl. She slyly fished for this assurance, and he would not fill her net, because if he did it would go to her head and make her even more proud, which was never a good thing in a slave. Besides, it was very unlike him to feel this attachment to a female slave, let alone one he had only just acquired. "I haven't even had you yet, woman, but don't try your luck with me, or I'll send you to him now."

  Here came one of those gusty sighs again and the rolling of the green eyes. He almost knew to expect it already.

  Her lips parted, but before she could speak, he lowered his mouth and kissed her hard. The cup fell from his fingers, crashing to the marble floor, clay shards spinning in all directions. He put both hands around her face, holding it firm.

  * * * *

  Amanda Adams had never been kissed like this. Had any girl of her time ever experienced this?

  It was hungry, demanding, rough. She tasted wine on his tongue and the sweet honeyed fruit he'd eaten for his last course. These were the same lips that had sucked her nipples as she lay under him amid the dead leaves and tree roots of the forest. There was nothing gentle about it, yet she'd always thought of a kiss as something soft, romantic.

  She could not describe his kiss in those terms.

  It took her breath, made her pulse race, sent every nerve in her body into a wild, pagan dance.

  His kiss turned her into Axa, the "feral princess".

  She clung to his tunic, wishing he was naked, his chest bared for her hands. It was a grinding need, a white-hot desire that left her trembling. All that rippling power under her palms, a hard body developed not on gym machines, but in battle and the practice field. Muscle with purpose.

  A man with purpose and power.

  And then he lifted her to his bed and she thought, for one glorious moment, that he had changed his mind about not "needing" her further tonight. She should be panicking, trying to wake up from this...whatever it was. But she didn't want to. She was on fire and it was too late for fright. The flames were a part of her and she needed them — she needed him—to breathe.

  Was this what they called Stockholm Syndrome? Achieving fondness for one's captor out of the need to survive?

  But Marcus did not proceed with another kiss. Instead, he dropped her on his great bed, covered her with a sheepskin and left her to sleep.

  "Hey, where are you going?" she exclaimed, sitting up, her lips still tingling.

  He looked at her in surprise. "I have my horse to settle for the night." From the way he immediately shook his head, she guessed he didn't know why he answered her. He seemed annoyed, but she suspected it was not all directed at her.

  "Don't you have grooms to do that?"

  "No centurion worth his salt leaves his own horse to the care of a groom, Axa."

  "Oh."

  "Now sleep."

  As if it was that easy! "Well, I can't go anywhere, can I?" She pouted, motioning at her chain, which he'd padlocked to the ring at the foot of his bed.

  "No. You cannot." He grinned suddenly, looking unbearably handsome. "But when I come back, if you are good, I might take the collar off. For a little while." And then he was gone, striding out through the door.

  When he came back...he might...

  Amanda shivered and lay down again under the warm sheepskin, but strongly suspected she would get no sleep tonight.

  Chrissy, you will never believe where I am and who I'm with. You won't believe any of this.

  But she would be extremely jealous if she got an eyeful of Marcus Cassius.

  He was darkly gorgeous, rugged, with black eyes that seemed to reach inside her soul. At first she hadn't been able to look far beyond his scars and her own shock, but once he was out of the armor and relaxed— and she'd reconciled herself to the idea that this was all happening in her head— Amanda realized her wayward imagination had created quite a looker.

  While she lay there, listening to the fire crackling in the pit and the distant sounds of footsteps crossing tile, she tried again to get it all straight in her head. Thinking over the events of the night, Amanda was mortified by the ease with which she'd fallen into her slave-girl role. She should have resisted more than she did. Was her mind testing her somehow? Seeing how far she would go?

  Well, Marcus Cassius wasn't the sort of man who enjoyed scintillating conversation, was he, she thought, coming to her own defense. Her way into his protection and trust was through sex. In any case, what should one talk about to an almost two thousand-year old man? She was, after all, only nineteen and despite her studies she couldn't possibly have seen and done all the things he had in his life as a Roman soldier. As for social skills and small talk, she clearly lacked those in any time, she mused wryly. He wasn't much better at it.

  How foolish and worthless all the things in her life would seem to him. Her troubles and worries would be nothing compared to those he faced. He might live better than most people in this age, but he had earned it. His incredible body and his scars told her that.

  It made her feel humbled.

  Amanda stretched and turned onto her back, trying to find a comfortable position. Damn hard with a collar around her neck. How the hell did dogs do it?

  There were arches along one wall of his chamber and these opened onto a portico with tall, white columns, shown to her in slight glimpses when the light, gauzy material of his drapes billowed gently in the breeze. She could see a pool— or a bath as he would call it— and fluttering light from rush torches set in iron holders. The view stretched on up to a starlit sky.

  Amanda turned her gaze to the chamber in which she lay. Up there, in the corner of the wall there was a crack in the plaster, just visible in the flickering light of the fire. Earlier she'd noticed a mosaic tile missing in his floor. Now, why would her imagination make up so much tiny, inconsequential detail?

  If this was all in her head, it must mean that whenever Marcus Cassius left her presence he no longer existed.

  Her heart pinched and she turned her face into the bed, taking in a great deep lusty breath of his scent. Yes, it was still there. It was on her skin too.

  How could he not be real?

  * * * *

  Strolling out to the stable-yard, he stopped to talk with some of his men who gathered around a brazier, sharing stories of the day's events before they returned to the barracks. Marcus had never held himself too far above his soldiers. Unlike some men of superior rank, he never forgot his beginnings or what he owed to the loyalty and hard-work of his men, and he made it a point to join in with their conversation at times, to cheer for them when they were down and cheer with them in times of victory.

  Tonight they spoke of the fight with the rebels in the forest and just as Marcus walked up to the group they were discussing the new red-headed slave he'd captured there. Rumor, as he'd known it would, had traveled swiftly through the household. When he appeared out of the darkness, they tried to change the subject, but he laughed and assured them, "You may speak of the native woman to me. She is just another slave. What do you know of her?" If they had information about his new acquisition it could be useful, he thought, for while Marcus felt great curiosity about the girl he had renamed Axa, he did not yet trust her to speak truthfully.

  One of the soldiers looked down at the fire and then raised his eyes again.

  "Speak, man," Marcus exclaimed, clapping him on the shoulder. "What do you hear of her?"

  Finally the man spoke. "I hear she is a witch, general."

  He paused and then laughed. "A witch?"

  "A Druid witch," said another. "She has strong powers, general. You must beware, for it rumor
ed that she let you capture her on purpose."

  Marcus scratched his cheek and tried to laugh again, to put the men at their ease and show he was not afraid. After all, he didn't believe in witchcraft.

  But had the woman cast some sort of spell over him? He'd acted strangely with her, felt oddly off his balance when she was near. Added to that, she had also entranced the governor so that he forgot his usual boring conversation.

  One of the soldiers nudged another. "Show him," he hissed low.

  "Show me what?" Marcus demanded, no longer laughing.

  "We found something, general. In the forest. Where you brought down the red-head."

  "And?" The men looked at him with fearful eyes and this annoyed Marcus. Had she already caused trouble by making his own soldiers wary of speaking to him? "You should know by now that you have naught to fear from me unless you fail willfully at your post or commit treason."

  The soldiers exchanged more worried looks and then, finally, one of them took a lit rush torch and signaled for Marcus to follow him. "I will show you what was found. We put it in the barn."

  "An animal?"

  "We know not, general. We would have brought it to you, but none of us knew what to make of it, or whether it should be moved. In truth, we have none of us dared touch it since the first...wailing noise emitted forth."

  "So you stood about discussing it?" he snapped, quickening his stride toward the barn.

  "I'm sorry, general. We were trying to decide which of us should tell you that the slave girl may be a witch." The soldier hunched his shoulders miserably. "It is well known that you do not believe in such things. That you ridicule the idea of a woman having magical powers."

  Marcus pushed open the creaky barn door and the soldier followed with his torch raised. "There, general. On the bale of hay."

  There were three bales stacked and atop them sat a small, black object, about the size of his palm. He took the rush torch and approached cautiously. "I hear no sound."