Conquest of the Gladiator (An Erotic Romance)

by Virginia Wade

  She gave me a look. “I’m never happy, Floriana. I’m just glad I’m not a kitchen slave. Things can always be worse.”

  We headed for the villa. “That’s true. We could be in the fields or the mines. I have to remember how lucky I am.”

  Caelia and Titus were sequestered with their Greek tutors, while a nurse looked after the baby, Seneca. The Dominus had gone to the bathhouse, which is where our mistress would spend most of her time, beautifying and socializing with friends. We entered the through a side door, wandering silently down a hallway. We hadn’t reached the stairs when a scream rang out, which was shocking.

  “What’s happened?” I asked.

  “Let’s see.”

  We raced to the entranceway, which was tiled and decorated with ostentatious busts of the senator and his wife. The Getha’s wanted to remind their guests of their importance the moment they walked through the front door. Several slaves had gathered around the prone form of a woman, who lay on a rug. It was Octavia’s sister, the grieving Aelia. Her husband had passed away less than six months ago. This was the first time I had seen her out of her room.

  “She’s cut herself!” cried a slave. “Her wrists! Go to the ludus, and get the doctor!”

  We watched, as the slaves lifted the injured woman from the floor, leaving behind a small pool of blood. Mistress Getha appeared at the top of the stairs.

  “What’s happened?”

  “Aelia’s hurt herself, mistress.”

  “Take her to the doctor.” Her voice lacked emotion.

  “Yes, mistress.”

  Octavia watched as her sister was carried way. Then she turned and disappeared. I glanced at Decima. “Do you think she’ll die?”

  “I’ve no idea. We’ve work to do.”

  “Poor woman.”

  “She was useless.”

  “How can you say that?” We took the stairs.

  “Her husband’s dead. Her son deserted her. She’s lost her property. There’s nothing for her.”

  “At least she was free.”

  “None of us are really free, Floriana. You think Octavia’s future will be any different? Once the senator’s gone, she’ll be left to fend for herself. Hopefully, someone in her family will show her more compassion.” Her expression turned sour.

  “She has her own money. She’s hardly destitute.”

  “Who knows what these stupid people think? They have everything. They’ve never worked a day in their lives and they’re still unhappy. The idiots.”

  She did have a point. “That’s true.”

  “Don’t feel sorry for them. They don’t deserve our sympathy.”

  Alba waited at the head of the stairs. “She’s in a mood today. You’d best hurry.”

  “Wonderful,” I muttered.

  We left the house within the hour, returning to find that Aelia had survived her suicide attempt. She was once again safely ensconced in her room with the door closed. Not another word of the incident was spoken of, and we went about our business as if the drama hadn’t happened. That evening, as the guests gathered and music played, the three of us were in our room exhausted after attending to the demands of our Domina.

  My head was in Alba’s lap, and she stroked my hair. “Can you pour me more wine?” I asked.

  “Here,” said Decima.

  “Thank you. I wish Titus would leave us alone tonight.”

  “He’s a lusty handful,” giggled Alba. “He’s developing quite the sexual appetite.”

  “And that would be your fault,” I accused. “You do nothing to discourage him.”

  “He likes me. You should let him take your virginity. He’s proficient enough now. You’d enjoy it, I promise.”

  “That’s perverse,” I said. He was young and handsome, but I felt nothing for him.

  “Why hold on to it?” asked Decima. “It’s more of a liability than anything. If the master ever finds out, he might use it to his advantage.”

  “He’s never seen me.” I was always careful to avoid him whenever possible.

  “It’s wise not to draw his attention,” said Alba. “It’s our little secret that we satisfy the young heir. Who knows? One day he might thank us by giving us our freedom.”

  “Is that your goal?” I watched her carefully. “Is that why you’re so willing to fuck that little brat?”

  “He’s hardly a brat,” she laughed. “His cock has grown from our instructions. It’s even harder and longer than before.”

  I held out my cup. “I need more.” There was a familiar tap at the door, and my spirits plummeted. “Oh, no,” I groaned. “Not tonight.”

  Titus entered, wearing a toga, which he brushed aside, revealing a rigid cock. “Come greet your master properly!” he exclaimed with a crooked smile. He fell to the mat, lying on his back. “Suck me, you beautiful slaves.”

  Alba and Decima laughed, while my scowl deepened. “You mustn’t look like that, Floriana,” said Alba. “Our young master needs his cock sucked.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “Well, you shouldn’t keep him waiting. You seem to enjoy this more than anyone.”

  He reached his arms out. “Ladies! My beauties! Take me into your mouths.”

  “A brothel would perform the same service,” I mumbled.

  “Oh, shut up,” said Decima. “All you have to do is dangle your boobs in his face. That’s hardly work.”

  “I’d rather sleep.”

  Alba untangled his toga, exposing a flat, hairless chest. “What a fine specimen.” She was clearly flattering him, because he was thin and weak, hardly the epitome of masculine glory. She ran her hand over his stomach.

  Titus sucked in a shuddering breath. “Yes,” he rasped. “That’s what I want.”

  Decima grasped his penis, massaging vigorously, producing several droplets of clear fluid. “Such a pretty cock.”

  “Take your clothes off,” he commanded. “I want you all naked.”

  We did as we were told, stripping bare, but my mind was elsewhere. While Alba and Decima sucked him, I hung my breasts in his face and thought about the life I had known before, living with my mother and her Dominus, Felix Macer. I had always been a slave, but he had spoiled me, and I suspected he was really my father. He had treated my mother as his wife, and I knew he adored me. I was provided for, sometimes in extravagant fashion. My mother had been certain that he would emancipate her, but the suddenness of his death prevented him from initiating the process.

  “Ooohhhh…” moaned Titus. “My naughty slaves…”

  His cock was worked mercilessly, and, perhaps, this was on purpose, so he would spill his seed and leave quickly. I sincerely hope this was the case. I wanted to talk and drink wine, not attend to a spoiled little boy. Decima and Alba tangled their tongues around the glistening head of his shaft. His face was hidden in my breasts, his mouth suckling a nipple, which left me unaffected. I stared dispassionately at the wall, counting the seconds until he finished.

  “Good…it’s soooo good. You’re all wonderful. Ach! Ooohhh…”

  It was at that precise moment that the door flew open. Titus erupted, moaning with his eyes closed, as creamy sludge jetted from the tip of his cock. The imposing frame of his father stood in the doorway, his face rigid with annoyance. He scanned each of us, his eyes resting on me, and then lowering to my breasts, which hung above his son’s face.

  “Now I see what happens in my house.” His deep voice was laced with authority.

  I clutched a tunic, holding it to my chest, and averted my gaze, staring at the rumpled bed linens.

  “Father?”

  “Well, I can’t fault your tastes, young man. You’ve picked the loveliest slaves. It was just a matter of time before this happened.” A smug look revealed paternal pride.

  “Th-thank you, father.” Titus clutched his toga. “They’ve been very helpful.”

  “Indeed.” Again his eyes rested on me. “Who are you?”

  Oh, no. “Floriana,” I whispered.


  “Stand up, girl.” I got to my feet, my knees trembling. Please chastise me, and send me away. “Drop the tunic.” My heart fell into the pit of my stomach, as I did what he asked.

  “She’s beautiful, isn’t she, father? Did you know she’s a virgin?”

  My world crumbled in that instant. If I had a weapon, I would have slain Titus and been condemned to the lions for the deed. I knew all too well what would happen now. The sympathetic looks of Alba and Decima confirmed my fears, and, as I stood naked in front of the Dominus, I willed myself to float away to a place where sweetmeats were plentiful and the wine was strong.

  “See to it that my son stays satisfied. You,” he boomed. “Come with me.”

  I dressed quickly, swallowing a lump that seemed stuck in my throat. He grasped my arm, dragging me to him, while his fetid breath fanned over my face.

  “The festivities have only just begun tonight. You’re going to be wildly entertaining.”

  “Y-yes, master.”

  Chapter Nine

  I was led to the other side of the house, where I found myself in the Tablinum, which was the senator’s private study. The shelves brimmed with scrolls, and frescoed paintings decorated the walls. There were several men, his guests from earlier; some stood while others were seated. They all wore togas, befitting their exalted status. I assumed they were his colleagues in the senate. Lamps were dimly lit, and the air was thick from pipe smoke. Tired, bloodshot eyes stared at me, which churned the contents of my stomach. Slaves lingered in the darkened corners, waiting to be summoned.

  “I found this present in my own home,” said the Dominus. “We need some entertainment tonight.” He waved to a slave. “Go to the ludus and retrieve Marcus Ahala. Make haste!”

  “Yes, master!”

  I stared at a thick carpet, and willed my mind to take flight, finding refuge in memories, where I was in a safe place with people who loved me. Prior to my sale in the slave market, I remembered my mother’s last words.

  She had said, “You were my dream, Floriana. I had you, and now I’m complete. I shall pray to the gods every day that you’re given a good life, a happy life. You mustn’t fret. Do not fear. All will be well.”

  I clung to her words, as if I was in the Tiber River, drowning. I wished they were true, but I had experienced nothing but endless toil, and I expected something far worse was about to happen to me. The minutes ticked by like hours, and, as the door opened, I held my breath, ready to face whatever horrors the night intended.

  “My prized possession!” exclaimed the Dominus. “Behold Marcus Ahala. He’ll lead his troupe to victory, and I shall experience glory.”

  Interested murmurings abounded, as every man in the room eyed the mass of muscle that stood in a white loincloth. I stared as well, shocked that I was this close to the man who had rescued me from the soldiers. The fear that had twisted my tummy lessened slightly, but anxiety remained. He glanced at me; his astonishment was poorly hidden. I forced my attention to the carpet, but my heart pounded a wild staccato.

  Senator Getha took a seat. “Bring me wine,” he bellowed. A slave appeared instantly. “Well, what do you think of my gladiator?”

  “He’s magnificent,” said one of the men.

  “You’ve done well,” said another. “He looks expensive.”

  “He cost a bloody fortune.” A look of satisfaction softened the harsh lines of his face. “I want a demonstration of your prowess, gladiator slave. Your task is to make this little virgin scream. I don’t care how you do it.” This was met with murmurings of approval.

  “Beat her into submission with your cock,” quipped a bearded man.

  “Indeed! Show us how a Syrian fucks.” Laughter ensued, which was mortifying.

  Marcus was even bigger than I remembered. The training he had received had forced the muscles in his arms and shoulders to bulge. The taut planes of his stomach were defined to such a degree that each muscle seemed to move of its own accord. His presence in the room made the other men appear malnourished.

  “Yes, Master Getha,” said the gladiator in a rich, silky voice, that I remembered all too well.

  Silence descended, as the men awaited the perversions that would occur, delighting in the fact that I would lose my virginity in their presence. The gladiator neared, his intense blue eyes bore into me, and I cowered, feeling ashamed and frightened. He grasped me, hauling me to him, and I found myself pressed to the heated expanse of his chest. I could feel his heart beating through my tunic.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he whispered. “You’re safe with me.”

  I closed my eyes, his words echoing in the cavern of my mind, soothing the fear that had sent my body into near convulsions. His hands fell to my arms, the roughened pads of fingers running along the skin. The touch was light and soft, meant to seduce. He grasped the ends of the tunic suddenly, lifting it from my body.

  “Observe the decadence of those breasts,” commented the Dominus. “Such bounty is almost vulgar. Any highborn woman would be mortified to be thus endowed.” He laughed; the sound was gruff and irritating. “It’s a good things she’s a slave, eh?”

  “The more for us to enjoy,” said a balding man with a blonde wig, which sat slightly askew. “I’ve never cared for sagging breasts, but these are marvelous.”

  Another man rejoined, “I want to see them jiggle when he fucks her.”

  “And so we shall!” said the Dominus, the light of lust flashing in his eyes. “Make those melons shake, gladiator.”

  “Yes, Senator Getha.”

  I’d experienced the same reaction when I had been sold in the slave market. I had been made to stand naked in front of hundreds of strangers. It was commonplace to be examined in such a way to insure the health of the prospective purchase, but the humiliation would be forever burned into my brain, and I wore it like an invisible scar. Marcus led me to a pillow; his hands were on my hips, pulling me down with him, while his face grazed my neck, the abrasiveness of his beard chafing me.

  “Don’t listen to them,” he murmured. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  He held my face; staring with such intensity that it sent a lightning bolt of sensation straight between my thighs. Our lips met, as his arms closed around my back, drawing me to him. His hips pressed into my stomach, revealing an enormous feeling cock, while his tongue slid into my mouth. Murmurings filled the room, but I ignored them, enjoying the exotic smell of Marcus, who tasted like cinnamon and grapes. He smelled fresh, as if he had bathed recently. The gladiators visited the bathhouse after a day of fighting to wash the sweat and grime from their bodies.

  His hands drifted down my back to cup my buttocks, lifting me slightly, pressing me against him. Wetness appeared on my stomach from his glistening end.

  “You see,” said Master Getha. “She likes him. These slaves are natural born whores, even the virgins.”

  Several men laughed, but all I heard was the roar of desire in my ears, drowning out the world. My hands rested on muscled shoulders, feeling heated flesh that was moist with perspiration. The stubble on his face scratched my skin, but the kiss continued uninterrupted, our tongues wet and slinky, rubbing together, causing my pussy to clench with arousal. I allowed myself to feel the outlines of his chest, the bumps of muscles that bulged, and his nipples, which were tiny little rocks. I pinched them and rolled them between my fingers. The gladiator moaned in my ear.

  “Floriana…”

  The pad of his hand traced a path down my body through the deep valley of my breasts to my stomach and lower. He cupped my womanhood, his hand wetting from my juices. A finger entered me, stroking gently. I flung my head back, gasping with the suddenness of the pleasure. His mouth found my throat, sucking and biting gently, while he reamed me, his finger driving deep into the silky confines. A thumb stroked my clit, producing tendrils of bliss, leaving me trembling.

  “So lovely,” he murmured.

  He kissed me again, and I grasped his face, holding him, sav
oring the texture of his tongue, while thrusting my pelvis into his hand. I’d lost control; my body was acting on my behalf, wanting something more than a finger. Sensing my need, he lowered me to a cushion, wedging between my thighs, where a wet cock pressed to the tight opening of my cunt. The room had grown deathly quiet, our audience enraptured by our performance, but none of it mattered to me. I clutched Marcus, wanting him so badly, yet far too timid to verbalize those needs. His face was in my neck, and his teeth nibbled on my earlobes, sending pleasure-chills down my spine.

  “You’re not scared, are you?” he whispered.

  “No.”

  “I’ll try not to hurt you.”

  My fingertips dug into the taut expanse of his buttocks. “You mustn’t wait. Take me.” I sounded breathless.

  He suppressed laughter, but it rumbled through his chest, while he poised at my entrance, feeling far too big. He slid into me by increments, allowing me to adjust, which wasn’t necessary. I was so wet, that whatever pain there might have been was negated by this condition, and, when he finally drove in to the hilt, all I felt was a joyous fullness.

  “Ooohhh…” His moan sounded ragged in my ears. “So tight.”

  I wrapped my legs around him, lifting my hips to take more of what he offered. He began to move, thrusting, while I rubbed against him, inflaming my clitoris. Our bodies strained, crushing together and separating, as we climbed the summit towards pleasure.

  “Fuck her on her hands and knees,” commanded the Dominus. “I want to see those breasts bounce.”

  “Excellent idea,” said the man in the poorly made wig.

  Some of the magic had dissipated, which was disappointing. We disengaged, and Marcus held himself, stroking his cock. Our eyes locked, and, in that moment, a connection formed that was deeper than two slaves being forced to have sex. He touched my face, smiling, his thumb rubbing my chin. Instinct took over, and I closed my mouth around him, tasting muskiness, yet wanting so much more. He groaned as I suckled, working the end with sloppy sounds. His hand touched my back, drifting lower over the rounded curves of my bottom. He dipped between my cheeks, spearing me with his finger, which inflamed the embers of my arousal, forcing a moan to escape.