by Syra Bond
Caristia pulled forward and felt again the tension of the collar around her neck. She swallowed hard as it tightened and, as the young woman was lowered to the floor, still jerking with the convulsions of her orgasm Caristia saw the dissipated look of bliss on her sweat-covered face. Caristia pulled forward more and felt the moisture flowing against the inside edges of her fleshy, swelling cunt. She felt her lips drying as she peered closely at the woman's body, spattered with wax, striped red from the blows of the cane and gasping with uncontrollable spasms of her still flowing bliss.
Someone snatched the cane from Minimus and ran to the woman who was still stretched out, face down on the floor, with ropes attached to her wrists and ankles. He bent beside her, measuring the cane against her taut buttocks, touching them, patting them, rubbing the edge of the bamboo switch softly against her smooth pale skin. The cane bent as he held it in the indentation where her bottom met the tops of her thighs, then he moved it slowly across the gusset of her panties, stretched so tightly across the soft skin of her cunt. He poked the end of the cane at the cream panties which, as they curved towards the waistband on her hips, were pulled deep into the crease of her bottom. But the material was too tight for the thin cane to dislodge, like a second skin to her smooth, pink labia. He tapped the cane against her pert cheeks, testing her response, seeing how she responded to the lightest touch then he tapped harder, flicking his wrist to make the thin end of the cane snatch and bite as it contacted her. He stepped back, reaching down with his arm at full stretch, then swinging his arm fully behind his head, and pausing for only a moment, he brought it down hard. The loud swishing sound it made as it cut through the air ending in a sharp crack as it landed, burning her unmarked skin.
A red line, thin but harshly drawn against her pale skin, appeared straight away. It was as if the cane was covered in red paint and had stroked her with its colour. He brought it down again and Caristia watched it curving above his head, bending with the force of the stroke, singing with a swish of expectation before again it cracked as it landed on its taut target. The woman writhed, slowly as if she was trying to hold back the pain, but the next one, the third swishing stroke, the third reddening crack, made her lift herself against the strain of the ropes and twist her body in a vain, hopeless wriggle of suffering. The next one and all that followed left their own mark, each one drawing a precise red line, finding a fresh space to fill, a slightly different angle of approach, and each new stroke of the reddening brush, each new artistic line that was drawn on her, brought an increased squirm, a more desperate movement and a louder cry from the tortured, stretched out captive.
Caristia was leaning forward against the tension of her collar, drawing her knees together, massaging the wet outer flesh of her cunt, which moistened more with each stroke of the punishing cane. Her mouth dried and, as her hard nipples ached with longing she was filled with a flood of desire and need. Suddenly there was a commotion near to her; two men were fighting and Magnus tried to push them away from his charge. The tension on her neck was released, the leash dropped by her side and she fell forward, away from the protecting mass of the crowd and into the exposed centre of the courtyard.
The crowd roared excitedly as they caught sight of her pert breasts, pale Saxon skin, spiky flaxen hair and bright blue eyes. She stood, suddenly on display, unrestrained with the lead dangling from the leather collar at her neck. She looked around, breathing fast like a nervous fawn but, in truth, panting with excitement and seething with her boiling desires. She did not look back to see Magnus still struggling with the two men, as her ears, deafened for a moment by the baying of the crowd, filled again with the swishing cracks of the flailing cane as it continued to come down on the buttocks and now the back of the woman on the floor. Caristia could only see the red slashes on the young woman's body and she could only hear the snapping energy of the now split end of the cane released in burning crackles on the flesh of its writhing victim.
Caristia ran forward and the man wielding the cane stopped in surprise. She looked at the weapon in his hands and looked again at the woman on the floor.
Caristia lifted her tunic, wriggling it up around her neck then, as if crucifying herself, she lay face-forward, on the woman's back, stretching out her arms and legs rigidly, as if she too was held by the tensioning ropes that secured the woman. The man lifted the cane and Caristia sensed it, she pictured the woman's flesh scorched by the flail, now pressed against her own breasts and hips. She heard the swish as he brought it down, lifting her bottom, still covered by her panties and waited for the burning moment that would ignite the delectable pain of punishment.
Each crack of the cane brought her more delight, she rose up to it, lifting first her bottom until it was covered in thin red stripes, then her back, the backs of her thighs and finally - and only when she knew she was reddened everywhere and burning with the pain - she turned onto her back and lifted her hips for more. She kept her legs open wide, encouraging his aim towards her cunt, urging him to strike it hard then, when someone ran forward and tore her panties off, she stretched herself even wider so that she felt it on the fleshy edges of her swollen, aching slit. Someone pulled her tunic up over her face and, as she gasped in the darkness of its cover, her nipples were beaten until, still stretching her arms and legs wide, she began to feel the onset of her first orgasm.
It filled her as they ripped her garments away completely and, as a heavy, venous cock was forced into her mouth, her orgasm was finally released. She shuddered as her hips rose up and she sucked desperately on the cock as again, the cane beat down and she went rigid with pain, delight and the tension of her convulsive paroxysm. She cried out as semen flowed into her mouth and she gulped at it as they dragged her from the other woman and bent her forward on her knees. They thrust her deeply one by one, sometimes in the cunt and sometimes in the anus then they forced her to suck two cocks at a time while she was turned over and taken again. Hot wax fell onto her and she felt its stinging pleasure but as, taken again from behind and swallowing semen hungrily, she felt the swell of her repeated orgasms overcome her and she dropped forward exhausted.
Euxinus stepped out into the courtyard holding his hands out towards the female acrobats, urging the crowd to applaud as though he himself had performed some great feat before them. The two male acrobats ran forward eagerly and he took their hands and presented them to the crowd. The two young women, the one still trailing ropes from her ankles and the other rubbing the wax from her body with a towel, ran up together, smiling and laughing and bowing to their crowd of admirers. Everyone cheered and the Happy Phoenix filled with the howling roar of its satisfied onlookers.
Magnus lifted Caristia in his arms. She was still shaking from her ordeal. Semen dribbled from the corners of her mouth, strands of candle wax ran across her breasts and between her legs, and she was lined with red stripes from the thrashing she had received at the hands of the crowd. She looked up at Magnus through bleary, half closed eyes and briefly thought she saw him smile before the darkness, like a blessing against her anguish, overtook her.
As they left, with Rufo puffing behind them, a woman's well-manicured hand reached out from behind a purple curtain drawn across a small booth in the courtyard. It grabbed hold of Euxinus's arm, bracelets and rings flashing in the flickering candlelight, and he stopped and turned.
'Who was that man?' asked the haughty, cultivated voice from behind the still drawn curtain. 'The one who owned that young girl with the flaxen hair?'
'That was Olconio Rufo, madam,' he said nervously as she continued to hold onto his arm.
'I thought as much. I have heard he runs an interesting business.'
'Yes madam. He is a trader in women slaves and delights of the flesh, madam.'
'Yes, my husband's friend Lucretius Fronto has told me of him. Go to this Olconio Rufo's house and tell him to expect a visit from Arria Sulla, wife of the senator Sulla and cousin of the Emperor Vespasian himself. Say I wish to do business with him.'<
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'Yes madam,' said Euxinus, obviously flustered by her presence. 'Straight away madam. Straight away.'
Chapter 4
Caristia and Innocenti are sold
'Magnus!' shouted Rufo as he rushed into the atrium flustered and upset. 'Magnus! Magnus! Where are you?' Magnus hurried up behind him, still struggling to buckle up the large leather belt at his waist. 'Magnus. At last. We are to have a visitor, the wife of a senator no less, and a cousin of the emperor - Arria Sulla! She will want to choose a slave for herself I expect; she will certainly want to see our stock. I hope we have something to please her. Her recommendation will be worth an audience with the emperor himself. I will ignore the reputation she has for being impossible to please. Magnus, bring out our ten best and make sure they are presentable! And that Innocenti, the one returned by Lucretius Fronto as too weak for his pleasures, see if we can get rid of her. Yes, perhaps her fragile charms will interest the lady.'
'What should I do with Caristia?' asked Magnus, still pulling at his belt.
'Keep her out of the way. She is not for sale.'
Moments later, Arria Sulla arrived in a decorated chair borne high by huge black Nubian slaves, each one naked except for a tight-pulled loincloth and a thick, buckled leather belt. One of them took her hand as she alighted. She was tall and elegant with dark black eyes, a penetrating stare and an authoritative, superior presence. Her dark auburn hair, pulled tightly from front to back, was encircled by a curtain of ringlets which ran around her forehead and, at the sides, hung down below her ears. Delicately worked flakes of gold were woven into the ringlets and trailed loosely down the side of her elegant neck, as if the precious metal was of such little value that it was left simply tangled in her hair like leaves, to blow away in the slightest wind. She stalked ahead of her slaves purposefully and entered Rufo's house.
Rufo rushed up to her, wringing his hands anxiously and speaking rapidly.
'Madam, greetings. Greetings, madam. Arria Sulla is most welcome in the house of Olconio Rufo. Welcome indeed.'
'Stop slavering man,' she said sternly in a sharp, slightly broken voice. I am not here to listen to your fawning. I am here to purchase a slave, a female, who will not only serve well but who has entertainment value of that special sort. Do you understand me?'
'Yes madam. Yes, yes. Oh yes madam,' he jabbered as he led her through the atrium and into the cool peristyle garden surrounded by a fine columned cloister. Behind the columns were ranged erotic, full sized statues, some of copulating groups and pairs and some of men with huge erections. The air was filled with the scent of lavender and basil. 'I have many fine slaves who would suit you exactly, all female. I only deal in females, some from Germany and the Nordic lands - tall and slim with fine breasts and slender hips - though they can be difficult to control. Some of my clients like that of course. I have slaves from the north coast of Africa - elegant black beauties with ravenous appetites, so smooth-skinned and full-lipped - a great favourite with the gentlemen, if you understand what I mean, madam. And some, the cream of my selection, from Nubia and Egypt are delicate and quiet with tastes so refined and rare they can provide bliss with only the faintest touch of their soft, exquisite hands. And their lips! Madam, their lips!'
She waved her hand and a chair was brought. A male Nubian slave stood on either side of her and two others hovered behind them, watching what was going on, mindful of her safety, trained to protect her at any cost. Behind one of the columns that supported the tile covered roof of the colonnade which surrounded the garden, crouched Caristia, naked from bathing, suddenly unsupervised and curious about the rich visitor.
Magnus led the women in and glowered at the Nubians. It was as if they challenged him with their controlled silence and resolved purpose. There were ten, all young and beautiful, all with their wrists bound behind them, all naked and all tied together with a rope that looped between the tight leather collars around their necks. Three Germans led the way, the tallest first with a mane of red hair and crystal clear blue flashing eyes; the other two auburn-haired and looking about them like captured beasts. Three intensely black girls followed, all shorter than the German women, heavier breasted with fuller hips and dark brown eyes. Then came three tall girls. They were slender with short dark hair and wide green eyes and, although they were dusky in complexion it was a much paler dark than the Nubians - a light brown, yellowish hue - and all their feline beauty was captured by its glow. Last, and tugging against the collar around her neck, was Innocenti, sent back by an indignant Fronto who had complained strongly of his dissatisfaction with her performance. Her dark eyes were sunken and her black hair was ragged and tangled. The Germans had pubic hair which had been carefully trimmed to reveal just the beginning of their cracks. The Nubians' pubic hair was cropped short in small stubbly patches and the Nubians were all shaved; not only their pubic hair but the hair under their arms and their eyebrows had been removed. The thin pink line of their cracks was easily visible between their slender hips and when they walked - laying their toes down first with each measured pace and linked together by the rope - they shone like bronze statues. Innocenti's pubic hair was untouched but it was insufficient to cover her crack, and the delicate edges of her perfectly shaped cunt stood out clearly against the pale skin of her thighs and stomach.
'How do they take to punishment, Olconio Rufo?' asked Arria Sulla.
'All my slaves are punished regularly, madam. They are used to the cane, the whip and the hand. Magnus, bring out the red-haired German!' He turned to Arria Sulla. 'A fine beauty I'm sure you agree, madam. Such stature, she is like Venus herself. Bend before your mistress!' he ordered.
The red-haired German bent over as if the action was an exercise, reaching down athletically to her ankles and grasping them tightly. Her taut buttocks were slightly open, exposing the dark circle of her anus, and below that the swelling edges of her cunt were pressed together and squeezed against the insides of her bottom.
'To your taste, madam?' asked Rufo.
'I want to see how she takes a thrashing before I give my opinion,' she said, reaching her hand back towards her Nubian slaves without looking. The one nearest her right shoulder stepped forward. 'I will let one of my mastiffs test her.'
The Nubian pulled something from his buckled belt. Rufo at first thought it was a sword and wrung his hands fearfully, then to his great relief he saw his fears were misplaced. The Nubian drew out a leather paddle, about the length of a man's arm, rounded at the one end into a robust handle and flattened at the other, to about the width of a man's hand and about half as thick as a finger. He rubbed the flat end against the side of his muscular leg, feeling its lateral tension, then still holding it against his leg, he bent it outwards to test its elasticity. It flexed stiffly, bending first only at the point where the handle met the flat part then, as he applied more pressure, the paddle itself reluctantly showed its suppleness.
Caristia pulled herself against the thick-ribbed column, and feeling its coolness and bulk she bent her right leg and pressed the inside of her thigh against the cool marble. She felt the soft skin of her body pressing against its immovable mass, and she felt its vertical ribs digging into her as she squeezed herself against it. She urged her hips forward, lifting the base of her stomach against the column and feeling the indentation of its ribs pressing against the front of her crack. A rib caught into the nick of her cunt, opening it slightly, tugging at it, threatening to expose her, to break open the tight-pulled flesh and bare her to its might. She moved sideways, just enough to let the contact with the indentation open her and, as she felt the coolness of the stone against the swelling edges of her inner petals, she moved sideways again and felt the slippery wetness of her own moisture on the unforgiving pillar. She hung onto it and swallowed heavily, then peeped further around the column to watch what was going on.
'Now we shall see if your words are true, Olconio Rufo,' said Arria Sulla, nodding to the Nubian with the leather paddle.
He stoo
d behind the German woman, a pace to her left, and reached out the paddle to see if he was at the right distance. Its flattened end lay fully across both her buttocks with his arm at full stretch. He did not look at his mistress again but, just as he drew his arm back for the first strike, he glimpsed Caristia as she peered around the column. She pulled her head back sharply but straightaway peeped out again, more afraid she might miss the moment that the paddle fell against the buttocks of the beautiful red-haired woman than she was concerned for her own safety.
The black slave took the paddle back - knowing she was watching again - until his arm was stretched behind him. He bent his elbow slightly, to impart more power, and then brought it down heavily. It struck her buttocks exactly where he had intended, fully across both her cheeks, a palm's width above her fleshy crack. She grunted as the breath was knocked from her, and lurched forward and had to release the grip she had on her ankles to keep her balance.
Arria Sulla tossed her head back and sneered, already, dissatisfied.
'Harder!' she shouted. 'And keep them coming.'
The redhead gripped her ankles tightly as the Nubian, measuring the position for the next blow, again laid the paddle against her buttocks. He held it a little lower than the first, marked out already by a red patch only a little smaller than the paddle which had inflicted it. He took his arm back again, waited for a second, fixing his eye on the spot then, still aware of Caristia's gaze, he brought it down on his victim's upturned bottom. Again she exhaled with a low, stifled grunt and again she released her ankles to stop herself falling forward, and again, when he lifted the smacking paddle away, a red patch was painted on her skin, this time closer to her exposed cunt.
