The men stared, not being able to look away. The slaves were not unaffected, their tunics rising before them. It was at this time that several were called upon to service their masters, the senators moving aside togas to expose hardened cocks, which were promptly taken into manly mouths and sucked. Marcus positioned me before him, prodding me with the tip of his manhood, sliding inwards by steady increments. It felt so good; I clamped my lips together to keep from moaning.
“That’s my gladiator,” said Master Getha thickly. “Fuck that little virgin.”
I closed my eyes, savoring the feel of him inside of me, the rigid staff massaging my inner walls. His balls slapped against my pussy, producing a blunt, thumping sound. I braced myself on the carpet, feeling the impending arrival of a staggering orgasm.
“Marcus!”
“Ah, the virgin screams,” said a senator. “She loves everything he does to her.”
“Indeed,” agreed another man.
It didn’t matter that we had an audience. My body felt like it might burst into flame, if I wasn’t fucked harder. I lifted my buttocks to take even more of the gladiator, wanting the entire length of him buried inside of me. Marcus answered my silent call by giving me what I needed, and groaning, because he too was close to the edge.
“Oh!” I compressed my muscles around him, shuddering with the climax, which was centered deep inside my pussy. “Ooohhh…” Clitoral orgasms were lighter, not nearly as intense. “Oooohhh…Marcus!”
“Yes,” he gasped. “Oh, God…yes!” He thrust deeply, stiffening, releasing a torrent of semen, which filled me to capacity. “Aaahhh…” He pushed deeper and then withdrew slowly, the wetness of his pleasure dribbling from the edges of my lips. He collapsed to the cushions, drawing me to him. I snuggled in the warmth of his arms, not caring about being seen by the men. They were occupied, their cocks serviced by their slaves, and some were fornicating, the sickly sweet smell of anal sex filled the room.
“Are you all right?”
I glanced at him. “Yes.”
He moved a strand of hair away from my forehead. “You were wonderful.”
“Thank you for not hurting me.”
“I’d never hurt you.”
I knew almost nothing about him, but I suddenly yearned to know everything. “Who are you?”
“I’m watched carefully. I’ll meet you in the garden at midnight tomorrow night. Can you get away?”
“I’ll try.”
Chapter Ten
Master Getha had been called away to Ostia on business. The slaves worked tirelessly to make sure his things were packed for the trip. Alba and I went to the forum to shop, having a long list of items our mistress required. We were in the crowded marketplace, with noisy orators shouting from every corner, berating the senate. Everywhere I looked I saw large billboards announcing the upcoming games.
“What happened last night?”
I glanced at Alba, who carried a basket. “You’ll be happy to hear that I’m no longer a virgin.”
“How did this miracle occur?”
“I had sex with a gladiator while they…watched.”
“He likes that.”
“The senator?”
“Yes, and his horrid friends. I’ve done it many times.”
“Well, it was my turn.”
“Damn Titus. He’ll be just as insatiable as his father.”
“He’s more than ready for the brothel. I’d say throw him at it. Those yellow-haired whores shouldn’t scare him now. His lust will override all those objections.”
“We can only hope,” she laughed. Then her look sobered. “Did they hurt you?”
“No. It was…not unpleasant.”
“Which gladiator?”
I felt heat on my cheeks. “Marcus Ahala.”
“Oh, my! Ah, you lucky girl. You like him anyhow. What a turn of events.” She grinned. “Was he good?”
“Very.”
“Oohh…I’m jealous. He’s gorgeous and kind. I’m happy for you.”
“He asked to meet me in the garden.”
Her eyes widened. “That’s dangerous. He’ll have to escape the ludus.”
“He volunteered to be a gladiator. He’s free to move around.”
“I don’t know how it works. I thought they were all incarcerated.”
I shrugged. “I want to know everything about him. I want to…be with him again.”
Her smile faltered. “If anyone finds you together, it could be bad for both of you.”
“Don’t worry about me.” I grabbed her arm. “Be careful!” A carpentum approached, led by matching horses that were going too fast. “Let’s get our things. I need food. I’m starving.”
When we returned to the villa, Mistress Getha was drunk. Perhaps she had been celebrating the senator’s departure, but it was unusual to see her inebriated this early in the day. I eyed Alba, who looked worried. She was in the Tablinum with a wine glass in one hand and a key in the other. The lid to the strongbox had been opened.
“Mother!” Caelia glared at her. “What’s the matter? I can’t concentrate on my lessons with all this racket.” She had entered the room from the atrium.
“If someone spent your fortune, my dear, wouldn’t you scream?” She tottered precariously in her sandals.
“You should calm down. Father knows what he’s doing.”
“Cato!” she shouted. “Bring me the lanista. Bring him at once!” A slave rushed from the room. “I need more wine.”
“I think you’ve had enough.” Caelia wore a white tunic with a leather belt. Her light brown hair was captured at the nap of her neck in a demure bun. “Tea would be better.”
“Go way now.” She waved her hand. “You’re no help. I’ll not be lectured by my own children. This is a private matter. Return to your lessons.”
“Then stop shouting. I can hear you all the way to the roof.”
“Get out!”
“Ouf! Fine.” She left in a huff, her floral perfume lingering. The doorway suddenly filled with the imposing form of the gladiator manager, who appeared winded, having run from the neighboring compound.
“You called, mistress?”
“I did.” She approached him. “I want to know where the money’s gone.”
“I…excuse me?”
“Those infernal gladiators! How much did they cost?”
“I believe that was something the senator arranged, mistress. I’m not privy to those details.”
“Ha! You lie. Of course you know. You brokered the sales. You picked the slaves! You paid a fortune for that…what’s his name? That foreign slave.”
“He’s a free man, mistress. I’ll have to check the records regarding his sale.”
She snatched a wine bottle off a table, pouring reddish fluid into a glass. “It doesn’t matter.” The contents were drunk in a lengthy gulp. “Bring me to this beastly paragon. I want to see what my inheritance bought!”
“Of course, mistress.”
I glanced at Alba. She leaned in to whisper, “Oh my. I have a bad feeling about this.”
“What will she do?”
“I’ve no idea.”
“Come along, slaves.” Octavia waved to us. “Help me. The floor is uneven today.”
We each took an arm, leading her from the room. We followed the lanista to the adjoining property, where we entered through heavy looking doors. Cato strode ahead, his arms were scarred, and he limped slightly, the after affects of time spent in the arena. He had once been a gladiator himself who had earned his freedom. The ludus was shaped in a large rectangle with buildings on either side and barracks for the gladiators. They were fighting in the dirt with blunt instruments, while slaves held wooden buckets filled with water to prevent dehydration.
“Where has my money gone?” Octavia slurred, swaying slightly. “It had better been worth it.”
Alba and I flanked our mistress, and she was so unsteady, I worried she might keel over. I spied Marcus, who was fighting, slashing away
at his opponent. His bare chest was covered in perspiration, highlighting each and every ripple of muscle. Little butterflies danced in my stomach; the memories from the night before were far too vivid and pleasurable. I could smell his musky sweetness on my body, the scent lingering around my neck. He had yet to perceive us.
“Marcus!” shouted Cato. “Come here.”
He paused, with his wooden sword in his hands. It was then that he found me, and fear flashed briefly, replaced by a bored look, which he employed with effort. He glared at me with distrust, which tightened my throat with worry. He dropped the weapon and approached, his jaw set.
Does he think I told Octavia about his desire to meet me? I would never betray him.
“There is no finer gladiator than Marcus Ahala, mistress,” said Cato. “He’s worth every penny.”
She smirked. “I’ll be the judge of that.” The others had stopped practicing to watch. Her manicured fingertips ran the length of chorded muscle that spanned his shoulders. “He’s handsome to be sure, but I find nothing extraordinary, other than meat and muscle.”
“He’s an expert at swords, daggers, and tridents.”
“Is that so?” Mistress Getha could have cared less. She strode around Marcus, her hand never leaving his bulging, glossy skin. “He smells.”
Cato cleared his throat. “They bathe in the evening, mistress.”
“Who else have you got? My husband bought more than one, didn’t he?”
“Of course.” He called, “Janus, Milo, Stefanus! Come here.” The men stepped forward; each was tall, broad, and blessed with the body of an athlete. Their skin glistened in the morning sun. “These men will lead the house of Getha to great honor.”
“Ha!” snorted Octavia. “It’s all because my husband needs the help of the plebeians and their tribunes. He thinks a spectacle will insure votes. They’re a means to an end.”
“It is a wise investment, mistress. Whatever has been paid out will come back tenfold.”
“But what will it do for me? I’m ruined! He’s spent every last cent my father gave me.” She swayed on her feet. “Where is my return on the investment?”
“I’m not sure I understand, Mistress.”
Marcus stared at me; his look of distrust had transformed into raw hunger. He knew I hadn’t betrayed him. A rush of excitement produced pleasurable tingles in my tummy. I’d been sore after he had taken me last night. The inkling of discomfort was a naughty reminder of losing my virginity in a highly enjoyable manner.
“Bring me wine,” Octavia demanded.
“I’ll get it.” Alba rushed to the doors.
“Is there somewhere more private where I can get a better look at these men?”
Cato nodded. “Of course. Come this way.” We moved towards the inner yard with its fighting oval. Staggered seating surrounded the wooden structure. “I trust my office will do.”
“If you have wine, yes.”
“I-I might have some.” He glanced at the other gladiators. “Get back to work, you lot.”
“Yes, master Cato,” they murmured.
In the lanista’s office, there were several large billboards resting against the walls, presumably from the games he had fought in. There were shelves filled with helmets, spears, and shields. It was a shrine to all things gladiator.
Octavia pivoted on her heel. “Disrobe. I want to see if your cocks match your muscles.” There was a rumpled bed in the corner, where Cato slept; his office and bedchamber were one in the same.
Alba returned with a bottle of wine. “Here you are, mistress.” She sounded breathless, having run from the next building.
“Oh, thank the gods. Give me that.”
“Yes, mistress.”
She uncorked the top and drank freely in an unladylike manner. “Excellent.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “You may leave, Cato. I don’t need you.”
He cast a portentous look our way. “As you wish, Mistress Getha.”
Alba and I stood near the door, waiting for instructions. The day had been turned on its head due to Octavia’s bizarre behavior. With any luck, she would collapse from drink, and I would have the afternoon to myself, which would be marvelous.
She strolled around the room, teetering precariously, and then she sat on the bed, mindless of the unclean linens. “Well, now. Must I say it again? Disrobe! What are you waiting for?”
Marcus glanced at me, flashing a wolfish grin. He released his loincloth, letting it drop. “What say you to this, Mistress? Does this meet with your approval?” He was proud and unrepentantly bold.
“Not bad,” whispered Alba, as she nudged me. “Lucky girl.”
I had the grace to blush. “Shush.”
Janus, Milo, and Stefanus followed suit, dropping their loincloths. Muscular bodies gleamed with perspiration as ridges and grooves were outlined. They were coated with grime and dust from having been in the practice arena since daybreak. The men stood tall and proud, their cocks dangling between thickly corded thighs.
Marcus, whose smile had yet to falter, stood with his hands on his hips; his look was astute and authoritative. “Is there something in particular you would like us to do to you, Mistress Getha?”
“Ooohhh…” she laughed bawdily. “I have several ideas. Let’s start by taking this off.” She pulled on her stola, releasing the front of the garment. It fell away exposing her breast cloth, which clung to her like a second skin. “You mustn’t be shy.” She held out her arms. “Don’t you want to fuck your mistress?”
Chapter Eleven
Alba rolled her eyes, whispering, “What’s gotten into her today?”
“Drink apparently.”
“That won’t be the only thing.”
“Oh, dear.” I suppressed a chuckle, capturing Marcus’s attention.
“Well, then boys,” he said. “You heard your mistress. She demands you fuck her. I’d get to it, if I were you, unless you want to be in the practice arena until midnight.”
Octavia fell to the bed with her arms above her head. “I want to know what 19,000 denarii feels like. It better be worth it or I’ll take a dagger and castrate that son of a bitch in his sleep.”
Janus grasped the remainder of her dress and pulled it off, while Milo untangled her strophium, revealing smallish, yet firm breasts. Stefanus removed the sandals, kissing her feet. The bed creaked under the weight of the gladiators. With regards to everything I had seen in the house of Getha, this behavior should not have surprised me.
“Oh, yes! Touch me, slaves.”
Manly hands groped her body, pinching nipples into firm peaks and sliding between her thighs, invading her pussy. Three sets of mouths were on her skin, nibbling, biting, and kissing her. Marcus snatched his loincloth from the floor and wrapped it around his groin.
He leaned in to whisper, “Let’s take a walk.”
Excitement raced through me. “Can we do that?”
“I doubt she’ll even notice we’re gone.” Fire flared in his eyes, hot and inviting.
I glanced at Alba, who had overheard every word. “We’re getting air.”
“I’ll cover for you. Enjoy him, you lucky girl.”
I kissed her cheek. “You’re so sweet. Thank you.”
“Oh, my dirty slaves,” moaned Octavia, who had a man between her thighs. “Fuck your mistress!” His thick cock prodded her entrance.
“Let’s go.” Marcus took my hand, leading me to the doorway.
“Where are you taking me?”
“There’s an olive grove on the other side of the wall.”
No one witnessed our departure, as we hastened through an iron gate that led to an orchard. This small measure of freedom was entirely alien to me, and it felt surreal to be wandering outdoors aimlessly during the day. A canopy of oblong, silvery green leaves stretched above our heads, laden with olives. Marcus stopped before a gnarled and twisted tree. He sat, pulling me onto his lap; his mouth was near my ear.
“Let’s hope they fuck for ho
urs.” The husky baritone of his voice set off tingles that made me shiver.
“What if they find us?”
“They won’t.”
I gazed into his vibrant blue eyes. “Tell me about yourself. Why did you want to be a gladiator?”
“I didn’t. I was out of options.”
“How so? I want to know everything about you.”
He moved a strand of hair from my eyes. “I’m not that interesting.”
“Yes you are.” His smile was infectious.
“After Syria was annexed by Pompey, my mother married a retired Roman soldier. She gave birth to me on a ship to Ostia. My father bought land and farmed wheat, until a dispute with a neighbor left him injured. He died two months later of infection. My mother had to sell everything. When the money ran out, she became a prostitute.”
“Then what happened?”
“I bought the land back after her death. The neighbor who had caused us trouble had died years before. I was going to buy his land as well, but then the drought came. I lost everything. It was as if the gods hated me for some reason. Perhaps, I didn’t honor them enough. Then my wife died in childbirth. I had nothing left, so I sold myself to pay the debts. I hope to earn my way to freedom in the arena.”
The mortality rate for gladiators was incredibly high. “That may not happen. You took quite a gamble.”
“I know.”
“Must everything be such a struggle? Must life always be so hard?”
His arms went around me. “Don’t look so sad, beauty. Our fates have yet to be determined.”
“I want to believe you’re right. Cato was a successful gladiator, and now he’s free. It’s not impossible, but the odds are stacked against us.”
“Tell me about yourself,” he entreated.
“My mother was a slave to Felix Macer. She ran his house as if she was his lawful wife, and he let her. She loved him. He loved her too. I suspect he was my father, although he never said so. He was going to emancipate her, but then he became ill and died within days. His family sold us in the slave markets.” Tears filled my eyes. “I had a wonderful life. I never suffered. I knew only happiness. Now…it’s so different. Poor Alba and Decima have never had that. They’ve always toiled. They’ve been beaten. Master Macer never lifted a hand against me or my mother. I was so spoiled.”
Conquest of the Gladiator (An Erotic Romance) Page 6
