by Syra Bond
THE ROMAN SLAVEGIRL
by
SYRA BOND
Published by Chimera Books
ISBN 9781780804507
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This work is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. The author asserts that all characters depicted in this work of fiction are eighteen years of age or older, and that all characters and situations are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.
Copyright Syra Bond. The right of Syra Bond to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.
This novel is fiction - in real life practice safe sex.
Preface
After my time with Galen and the others in Spain, I was keen to get away as quickly as I could. Africa was my dream but I could not afford the ferry from Algeciras. Sitting on the dock in despair, I was promised free passage on a cargo ship if I was prepared to work for the crew. However, their idea of 'work' was only a perverted form of slavery. They kept me locked up in a greasy engine room, tying me by the wrists to pipe and only releasing me when they wanted to use me for their pleasure. Most days I was caned or spanked and sometimes I was whipped with a narrow leather strap. Every day I had to suck all of them. Finally, they threw me off the boat at Naples: ragged, destitute and dejected. As I walked the streets I was befriended by a young woman - a research student like me and about my age - who was working on a manuscript found recently in Pompeii. She let me stay with her and, as she worked translating the text from the original Latin and I recovered from my ordeal, I began recording her translation in the form of a story. The girl's supervisor, Dr Ahmad, a swarthy academic from Algeria was a cruel teacher. I used to watch through the heavy curtains, which were always drawn for their meetings, as she stood before him and read out her day's work. He scowled and never seemed pleased and often she ended up bent over his lap with her panties pulled down in a tangle around her ankles as he punished her for her shortcomings. I kept out of his way but, even so, perhaps when I prepared a meal and it was not quite to his taste or he did not like the colour of something I was wearing, I too felt the sting of his hand on my bare, upturned buttocks. I spent three months there and the product of this time is the story of The Roman Slavegirl.
Syra Bond. Naples. 2005
Chapter 1
The House of Slaves
Slightly inland from the soft blue haze of the Bay of Naples, and beneath the brooding cone of the sleeping Vesuvius stood Pompeii. Occupied by the Emperor Sulla in 89 BC it quickly became a Roman resort, dedicated to the fulfilment of pleasures of the flesh and inhabited by discerning patrons of the arts of depravity. It was to here that Romans flocked to have their sexual cravings fulfilled. There was a market for every vice and Olconio Rufo was the best-known supplier. Everyone that came to his fine house - to the richly mosaicked room at the rear of the atrium which he kept for meeting his clients - could be sure that whatever they requested would, if they were prepared to pay, be supplied.
Behind Rufo's house, along the high walled Street of Wolves that led to the Temple of Jupiter, were his slaves' quarters. The House of Slaves was a dark, windowless building crammed with women he had purchased either to sell on - perhaps to Africa or the town's brothels - or, if he thought they showed particular promise, to train for the specific requests of his most perverted and depraved customers. These women, from all corners of the Empire, worked on menial tasks until Rufo decided their fate.
Caristia was one of these unfortunates. Captured in Northern France early in 79AD and already a slave since childhood, she had been brought to Southern Italy because of her fine pale skin and her youth. And, as the trader that sold her to Rufo was keen to point out as she stood naked, humiliated and bound in chains in the market place, because she 'lifted her bottom for a spanking whenever she saw a hand'.
She had now been at Rufo's House of Slaves for several weeks.
'Pick that up slave!' shouted Magnus with relish as he brought the cane up behind his head. 'Pick it up!'
He paced towards Caristia across the dimly lit cellar where about twelve young, half naked women were straining to stack food and wine on high racks. The cane came down and caught the young girl - blue-eyed, flaxen-haired and slender - a glancing blow on her barely covered buttocks as she bent to pick up the bowl. She cowered as she reached out, hoping to avoid another blow, but from the resigned look on her face it was obvious she knew it was useless. Her bright blue eyes widened and her golden hair caught a glitter of sunlight as, her taut slender body frozen in fear and expectation, she awaited her fate. Ever since she had arrived in Pompeii - brought in through the Sea Gate, linked by chains in a trudging line of other slaves - and been sold to Rufo, she had been victimised by his vengeful slave master, Magnus Maximus. He stood above her, a towering African, himself brought from Nubia and sold into slavery but now, after years of faithful service, given his freedom by his rich and greedy master, Rufo.
'You are too slow,' he said, grinning broadly at the other slave women who all hung their heads silently, hoping they would not become his next target. He turned back to the flaxen-haired girl. 'It is true what they say. You invite the cane instead of avoiding it. You pretend to cower beneath me, but I can see in your eyes that you are wishing for more.'
'No master,' she said, grabbing the bowl and, staying on all fours, offering it to him compliantly in her right hand. 'I want only to do your bidding. That is my only wish, master, to serve you.'
He grinned again and lifted the cane. It glistened like a shaft of light in the yellow flickering gleam cast by the oil lamps placed in alcoves around the cellar. His black, freshly oiled body glittered; he looked like a god. His head was shaven smooth and his torso naked, his genitals barely covered by tight cotton cloth twisted at his waist and, beyond his heavily muscled legs, his feet were bound with the tight leather straps of his open sandals. He was an inspiring warrior, only spared combat in the arena when Rufo had discovered his talents for disciplining his female slaves. Magnus teased the end of the cane between his large white teeth then ran his tongue along its length. Caristia lowered the bowl and laid it on the floor as if realising the inescapability of punishment. Magnus smirked.
'Put down the bowl, little slave, and rest your hands on the floor.'
She did as she was told and, as she dipped her back, she raised her bottom slightly. He bent and lifted the tattered hem of her cotton smock, revealing her nakedness and her taut pale buttocks. He dropped the material into the small of her back then ran the tip of the cane against her bottom, tracing a white line across her smooth skin with its fine point. Aroused by its touch, as if by the promise of pain, she lifted her bottom higher, bending her elbows and dropping her shoulders until some of the spikes of her shock of blonde hair touched the cold stone floor.
'I am sorry master,' she whimpered, unable to disguise the racing of her heart in her fractured voice. 'I must be punished, I know it.'
He ran the tip of the cane around her buttocks, circling their pert beauty before again lifting the hem of the smock, pulling it up along her well-defined spine then dropping it down over her shoulders. As it fell, cov
ering her head, she lowered her shoulders further and raised her buttocks higher. The dark crack between them opened and from the tantalising shadow the fleshy pink of her cunt was revealed - narrow and smooth and mounded up at the sides. Magnus ran the point of the cane along the delectable valley, prodding at her labia, testing their delicacy and, under the pressure of the cane they opened slightly and the slit at their centre glistened with her fragrant moisture. She sighed, a muffled sigh of compliance and let the side of her face rest submissively on the floor. She lay there, bent before him like a sacrifice.
Magnus lifted the cane above his head and paused. Caristia panted heavily, waiting for the cane to fall, knowing how much it would sting, how much it would burn and how much she would suffer until, finally, when he decided she had endured enough, it would end. She bit her lips and, warned by only the faintest swish of air, he brought it down fully across her naked bottom. She gasped as the stinging pain burned into her and she held her breath in an effort to stop herself from yelling too soon and as a way of bracing herself for the next. Her blue eyes widened when it fell, and she screwed up her face as the second lashing pain penetrated her but, as he raised the cane for the third time, she lifted her bottom still higher, opening the crack of her cunt and exposing her swelling flesh as much as she could for more.
He brought the cane down relentlessly but still she pushed her bottom up to meet it. No matter how hard it fell, how penetrating the pain, she still pushed herself at it, still lifted her buttocks, still exposed her cunt until she felt on fire, until she was burning with its heat. It scorched through her skin, up her neck and into her face. Then she sucked it in with gasping breaths and it entered her very soul, filling her mind with images and driving her into a reverie of uncontrollable delight. She met each stroke with increasing ecstasy and when, finally, she sensed he would stop, she opened her buttocks wide, exposing the inner petals of her now soaking cunt and letting the stinging cane fall against its tender edges. His strokes built to a crescendo, lacing her tender flesh and, as if she had been unplugged, she felt the scream she had held in coursing up her throat. It broke free in a long penetrating screech and she collapsed, dropping fully to the floor, drenched by the flood of her own pent up, explosive orgasm, soaked by the bliss of pain.
As she panted and jerked under the shroud of her smock she felt Magnus running the tip of the cane along the red stripes that now covered her pale-skinned bottom. Her skin was so sensitised she squirmed at the slightest touch. She did not know whether he would start again, whether she had been punished enough, and she waited in case she must bear more - in case she must prepare herself for more ecstasy. But, as she heard him step back, she realised it was over and, still with her face covered, she sighed, rolled over and dropped her legs wide apart.
Magnus knelt down between them and turned to the other women.
'And now little ones, you can see her true reward. Here! You two! Come and hold her wrists. And you two! Hold her ankles.'
They ran forward obediently, but one took the lead. Bec, the captured daughter of the Dane Thorkell, tall and raven-haired, pushed the others aside so that she could take hold of Caristia first.
Caristia struggled as the women knelt and took hold of her. She felt their hands gripping her wrists and pulling her arms wide and she felt the exposure of her naked cunt as her ankles were held apart. She pulled herself from side to side in a desperate bid to remain free. Bec dug her nails into Caristia's ankles and glowered down at her menacingly; they had already fought over food and Bec had sworn to pay her back. Magnus rested forward on his hands and looked into Caristia's wide blue eyes. Caristia smelled his scent, myrrh and cloves, heady and strong and she felt his power. Not only his physical strength, which was immense, but his control of her, the subjugation of her will to his, and she gave a sudden gasp of apprehension as she realised her frailty.
He grabbed the tattered cloth of her smock that was still tangled up around her face and ripped it down the front. In one movement it was rent apart exposing her small firm breasts and flat stomach and, between her wide-spread legs and beneath the partial covering of delicate tousled pubic hair, the soft pink of her fleshy crack.
She pulled against the restraining hands of the other women but, even as she felt their unyielding tension, her desperation to escape ebbed as she felt the smouldering flames of excitement burning somewhere within her exposed body. She pulled again and this time - with the very act of tensioning her body - the flames of passion, of anticipation, licked around the swollen edges of her soft cunt, sensitising them like a caressing tongue, causing her to squirm not only against the hands that held her but also against the heat that was flowing within her hips. Magnus dropped down and kissed her, licking her full lips with his own, driving his tongue into her mouth and searching out hers, analysing its response, testing her ability to hold back. He broke away, reared up like a massive cobra and drew a deep breath.
'See!' he shouted to the other women. 'You have no need to hold our little slave. Unless it is to hold her back! Yes! Her passion might even overcome the mighty Magnus. Keep a firm grip on her or she will jump up, wrestle me to the floor and overcome me!'
He grinned, then dropped and kissed her again. She felt the oiled skin of his muscular chest against her, rubbing against her nipples and hardening them. She felt his massive thighs against the inside of her own, wiping their oil against her, moistening her and, as he pressed himself closer, she felt the bulge of his cock. Already pounding inside his tight loincloth it pressed against the swollen edges of her cunt, pulling them apart, opening her up and making her ready. Still with his mouth firmly against hers and his tongue delving deeply inside, she felt his hand working its way to the base of her flat stomach. She felt his knuckles against her pubic hairs, pulling at them as they caught up between his fingers. Then she felt the heat of his cock as he lifted it from beneath his cotton loincloth and held it between the tops of her thighs. When he turned his hand over she felt his fingers prising apart the edges of her flesh and she felt them squeezing hard against the base of her throbbing, hardening clitoris. She squirmed beneath him, struggling against the women as they held her fast, fighting them but now not wanting to escape. Now she wanted to release herself so that she was free to reach up and encircle him with her arms. To wrap her legs around his hips, to draw herself up onto him and drive herself onto his stiff, pulsating cock until she was so full it would be impossible to cram any more inside her. She struggled again and the tension of restraint only increased her desire. She pushed her hips at him, searching out the mass of his cock, wriggling herself around its end, working to insert it into herself. She struggled to enclose its heat, but it was hopeless, she was held too tightly. She moaned under his bulk, holding her breath as he continued to kiss her, hoping he would force his cock into her quickly and deliver her from the punishment of frustration.
He reached beneath her and lifted her buttocks. She felt stretched against her captors, as if straining on a crucifix. He wedged one hand beneath her waist, keeping her clear of the floor. Then, as he drove his cock into her - setting her on fire, filling her with burning delight - he smacked her bottom rhythmically, mirroring each push of his cock in her cunt with a heavy, resounding smack across her squirming buttocks. Each slap, each stinging strike of his huge flat hand, drove her further into delirium. Every time it landed she tightened more, tensing with the shock, stunned by the pain. But, even as she was filled with the anguish of hurt, she was suffused with the delights of the ecstasy of pleasure. Each stinging blow, each shrieking withdrawal from the source, each muscular spasm only mixed with the delightful throbbing in her cunt and transported her further into a heaven of shrieking bliss. She sucked at his tongue, dragging it to the back of her throat and she rode up as much as she could onto his cock, now filling and pulsating with the surging tide of his oncoming orgasm. She tightened her hips, hanging onto his pounding cock, keeping it deep inside her, drawing at it, making herself ready to drain the flow of
semen that would soon drench the inside of her hot wet cunt. She pictured it filling her and, when at last she felt its heat spurting from his pulsating cock, she rose up onto it for a last time. She squeezed herself onto his cock and, with a dragging exhalation and a massive visceral shudder, she released her own convulsive orgasm. She hung there as he finished, jerking and shaking, allowing him to fill her, allowing him to set her on fire and, only when he pulled out and she felt the dribble of semen running stickily on the insides of her legs, did she relax slightly and allow her buttocks to fall back onto the cold stone floor.
'You have found me another one then, my dear Magnus,' shouted a finely dressed man as he entered the cellar. All the women except Bec dropped away in deference, bowing their heads and backing against the rough stone walls. They looked frightened and pitiful; some with their breasts exposed, others with barely a rag pulled around their waists and several completely naked. 'Let me see her,' the man ordered, standing above Magnus. 'You have not allowed me a full view yet.' He stood above Bec as she opened her mouth and showed her teeth to Caristia. 'Magnus! Move this one. Is she out of control? Surely you have not lost your touch. I think she needs some discipline.'
'Yes master. No master Rufo.' stuttered Magnus, getting to his feet and bowing his head.
'Magnus, there is no need to call me master. You are a free man. No matter. I expect you to keep my little savages under control. Remind me of your talents. Let me see you bring this one who bares her teeth to heel.'
Magnus grabbed Bec by the arm and tried to force her onto her knees. She resisted and, as she was twisted sideways she sank her teeth into his forearm. He looked more astonished than in pain as he watched the blood flowing down onto the back of his hand then, suddenly, his expression changed and a fire of redness lit up in his dark eyes as he realised that this was a challenge to his authority.
