by Syra Bond
She watched Fronto behind Arria Sulla as she stood up excitedly at the edge of the box the moment the two gladiators engaged in combat. Each time they crashed together Fronto lifted Arria Sulla's skirt a little higher. Each time the crowd roared its approval Arria Sulla pressed her bottom back towards Fronto's rigid cock. When he had lifted her skirt enough to expose her bottom fully, Caristia felt her own eagerness overcoming her and stretched her hand back to a man behind her - an unseen stranger - inviting him to copy Fronto and showing him that, if he did, she would imitate her mistress.
Arria Sulla bent forward and Caristia stared at the point where the dark cleft between her buttocks opened to accommodate the swelling flesh that rose in semi-circular mounds on either side of the moist centre of her cunt. She saw the pinkness at its centre glisten as the satiny inner leaves were exposed to the light of the burning sun and, as the wet surfaces glinted, she felt her own cunt exposed between her legs as she too bent forward and the hem of her tunic was lifted to her waist.
She saw Fronto running a hand between Arria Sulla's legs, letting the full width of his palm force her thighs wide, allowing her sex to open and spread against his hand. Arria Sulla lifted her bottom and Caristia saw the darkness of her anus as, rolling her eyes upwards and moaning, Arria Sulla lifted herself as high as she could. The man behind Caristia spread his hand between her legs and she emulated her mistress, allowing his palm to press against her flesh, to open it and squash it and, as she eased down against the pressure she lifted her bottom upon it, allowing her buttocks to open until she felt the air against her sensitive anus.
The swords of the gladiators clashed loudly and an excited roar went up from the crowd. Arria Sulla let out a sharp scream as Fronto wrapped his left arm around her hips, lifted her up and smacked her bottom. The pale skin reddened immediately and Caristia urged her own bottom higher, inviting the man behind her to do the same as Fronto. Then, as one of the gladiators fell to the ground and a low groan of dismay erupted from the crowd, Caristia felt the man's arm encircling her hips and lifting her. Fronto delivered another smack, a loud spank with the full of his hand, and Arria Sulla twisted beneath it. She gasped and bit her lip as she prepared herself for the next. The crowd shouted as the fallen gladiator struggled to his feet and Caristia felt the breath knocked from her as, at last, she felt the stinging contact of the man's hand across her own upturned buttocks. She watched Arria Sulla's buttocks reddening as she wriggled beneath her beating, and Caristia imagined her own bottom to be the same, reddening and burning with each sharp spank. She cried out, louder and louder, trying to hear herself above the roaring crowd, and she felt her cunt, exposed as much as possible, melting with moisture as she burned with the pleasure of the spanking.
Fronto pushed his hand between Arria Sulla's shoulders and forced her head down. Her hair loosened from its silver clips and her ringlets fell in tangles around her face. He lifted his short tunic and took his cock in his hand. It was long and hard and Caristia saw the glans, deep red and throbbing, still swelling as he squeezed the venous shaft. She licked out her tongue, she wanted to suck it, to feel its heat, to taste its saltiness but, even as she reached forward he pushed it into the warm flesh of Arria Sulla's vagina.
Caristia turned, she wanted the same, she still wanted thrashing, she'd not had enough, but now she wanted to be filled as well. Her scorching bottom was insufficient to gratify her; now she wanted to be set on fire from deep within her body. A hand slapped her between the shoulder blades, knocking her forward and making her choke for breath. The smacking continued, harder and harder and, as she watched her mistress throwing her head up in ecstasy as Fronto drove harder and faster inside her, she pined for the same. Fronto grabbed Arria Sulla's hair and wrenched her head back. In a seizure of pleasure he stiffened, levelled his hips against her reddened buttocks and finished deeply inside her. There was a pause, as if the whole stadium had become silent, then Arria Sulla let out a piercing howl of delight, like a wolf calling in the night, then just as her head began spinning from lack of air, she snatched a rapid breath and started wailing again.
Caristia's ears filled with her mistress's yells, then suddenly she felt a heat against her anus, pressing at it, forcing it open. She gasped as it pushed harder, then with a suddenness that made her eyes widen, the pulsing cock entered the muscular ring and swelled tightly against the sensitive inner flesh. She gasped as it sank further, driving mercilessly into her rectum, filling her, setting her on fire, threatening to burn her alive. The smacking stopped but she barely noticed. She reached back; she wanted to feel the shaft before it disappeared completely inside her. She wanted to feel its thickness, the raised veins, its heat. But she was not allowed, it was inside her too fast, and as she screeched with the pain of penetration, her wrists were grabbed and brought together in the small of her back.
Something was wrapped around them, she did not know what, but as it tightened it brought her elbows together and drew her shoulders back. She kept her bottom held up, still inviting the cock, but her head dropped forward and her erect nipples scraped harshly against the back of a stone bench. Another thrust and the cock inside her rectum was buried to the hilt. She felt weighty balls pressing against her labia, opening and massaging. Her whole body was on fire, inflamed by the heat of the cock within her rectum. She was burning with the violation and she tried to look back but now it was impossible; she could hardly move. Her breasts were pressed hard against the back of the stone bench and her wrists were held so tightly against the middle of her back that it was impossible to get upright. She was helpless, overcome.
The thrusting continued, her buttocks wide open, the ring of her anus burning as the shaft of the hard cock ran inside it and the sensitive innards of her rectum tightening involuntarily like satin around the bulging cock. She saw Fronto pulling away from her mistress and a wave of anxiety filled her as she realised her misbehaviour. She tried to get away, squirming frantically, but it was pointless, she was a victim, unable to do anything other than another's will. She started screaming, both in pleasure and panic, then the man grabbed her hips, squeezed them and, with a final thrust and a massive deluge the cock finished inside her. It lurched as it filled her rear passage with repeated pulses of hot semen, each throb widening the shaft and tightening it almost unbearably against the dilated muscular ring of her anus. She hung on the pulsating cock, not daring to move, unable to breathe, unable to feel anything except overwhelming pleasure. Finally, when every drop had entered her, when she was soaked with it, the pressure subsided. She was pushed forward and her head dropped over the back of the stone bench. The bonds around her wrists were slackened then fell away and she slid sideways and fell to the floor with semen dribbling freely from her anus. She gasped loudly in a sudden and desperate attempt to get her breath back, and as her lungs filled the fires began to subside and the roaring of the crowd returned.
Suddenly the contest was at an end. The gladiator with the plumed helmet held the sharp edge of his sword victoriously across the throat of his fallen opponent. He stared up to the crowd, waiting for their decision, staying his action until they voiced their command, showing that even in victory he was slave to their will. A woman climbed over the barrier between the arena and the tiered seating and pulled her dress off as she ran towards the two gladiators. The crowd roared as she lay down in front of them, opening her legs, stroking her wet cunt, offering herself, wanting only to be filled. Arria Sulla leant forward over the front of the box and shrieked her encouragement and Caristia, realising she had not been seen by her mistress, pulled her tunic down and wiped her sweat-streaked face with the back of her hand.
Two black slaves trained to keep the crowd in order ran from one of the entrances. They grabbed the woman by the ankles and started dragging her out of the arena. She fought against them, twisting in their powerful grip as she screamed to be left alone. They turned her over so that she was face down in the earth, and when they pulled her along her mouth filled with choki
ng sand.
The crowd jeered at the black slaves, throwing food down on them to express their annoyance at being cheated of the show. There was a disturbance behind Caristia, and when she turned she saw a woman being passed above the crowd. She was a young yellow-haired Saxon and screaming with fear. The crowd lifted her above their heads and men fondled her breasts and thighs and ripped her clothes from her. She looked terrified. When they held her high by the side of Caristia she was wearing only tight silk panties. They were lemon-yellow with a seam running horizontally, just above the crease at the joining of her rounded buttocks and the tops of her lithe thighs. As she squirmed in the hands of her captors the material of the panties creased into the crack of her buttocks and twisted tightly between the valley of flesh that formed the cleft saddle between the tops of her thighs. One man splayed her legs wide and licked the outer labia squeezed around the tightly-pulled strip of material. She squealed as he reached up, pulled harshly at the barely covering material and drove his tongue into her cunt. Another turned her and, still with the first burying his tongue as deeply as he could between the material and the swelling flesh of her crack, started spanking her. Her protests grew louder but Caristia could see that, notwithstanding the rough treatment and the look of terror on her face, by the way she dropped her legs wider with each penetrating probe of the tongue, and the way she lifted her bottom towards the smacking hand, she wanted more.
All this time Innocenti stood as her mistress had commanded, still with her hands by her sides. Her tears had dried and turned to salt on the lower lids of her eyes. She had endured the noise of the crowd and their constant pushing, the sight of her mistress being taken by Fronto, Caristia's sobs of joy and the moans of the women in the arena, and still she had done the bidding of Arria Sulla. Caristia saw the fragile innocence on the girl's face and felt a wave of compassion. The crowd lurched as the young Saxon girl made a final bid for freedom. Everyone pushed at the same time and Innocenti was knocked sideways. Arria Sulla swung round, her face only minutes before enraptured with ecstasy, now darkened by the thunder clouds of anger.
'Still!' she screamed as if all the time she had been aware of Innocenti's obedience and now of her inadvertent defiance. 'Still! Still! Still!'
The tears welled up again in Innocenti's eyes, and as she tried to stand up straight and put her hands close to her sides, the crowd surged again and knocked her off balance. She fell against her mistress, looking in every direction with nervous, blinking eyes, but her desperate glances found no saviour.
'Impertinence! Impertinence!' roared Arria Sulla, her face reddening as she was overcome by an outburst of uncontrollable rage. 'Impertinence!' She pushed Innocenti away and brushed the front of her dress as if she had been contaminated by contact with the girl, or as if she was ridding herself of dust which had blown up on a sudden breeze. 'Bend over! Bend over!' she howled, still flicking her fingers down the thin material that covered her breasts.
Innocenti was still trying to stand to attention, still trying to please her seething mistress and, confused and frightened, she did not respond immediately to her new instruction. Caristia saw her bewilderment, and the sadness she felt for her when she'd seen her standing so obediently and unnoticed suddenly turned to unconsidered action. She could not believe what she was doing as she struggled free of the men, who were now fighting over the terrified Saxon girl, and stood between her mistress and her trembling prey.
'She could not help it, mistress,' she heard herself say, still driven by thoughtless momentum.
Arria Sulla froze. For a moment it was as if the world had stopped spinning on its axis. Then her face, already overtaken by wrath, was contorted by an unleashed fury. She stared at Caristia, for a moment speechless. Caristia fell back, filling with anxiety as she realised what she had done. She bit her lip and started shaking as abruptly, as though a sudden storm had broken, Arria Sulla grabbed her hair and twisted it in a knot around her clenching fingers. Caristia was spun around like a top as her enraged mistress kicked at her wildly.
'Take her! Beat her!' she spat at her male slaves, all the time kicking at Caristia. 'You! Take her over your knee. Slap her until she is bleating and then, when you are tired, give her to your fellow and let him take over. I do not want to hear the crowd above your beating hands!'
She twisted Caristia violently and flung her to the slaves. The first picked her up and, as his fellow pushed the crowd back from around them, took her over his knee and pulled up the hem of her tunic. She squirmed in a vain attempt to escape but she knew it was pointless. She felt the pressure of the top of his thigh as he pressed her down, holding her with a hand in the small of her back, taking aim, looking at his target.
'Get on with it!' screamed his mistress.
He smoothed his hand across Caristia's buttocks, letting his fingers trace around the tops of her thighs, looking at where they touched before opening them enough to expose the perfect oval of her cunt, shaved and naked. He opened her thighs more, revealing the bud of her clitoris. She brought her buttocks together slightly, almost a twitch. It was not an attempt to resist but an acknowledgment that she had given in to the punishment, that she knew it was unavoidable and that she was ready for the pain that would last as long as her mistress ordered. The huge African raised his hand, held it for a moment as again he looked at his target, then brought it down flatly across the tender skin of Caristia's bottom.
It smacked loudly. He did not carry through the blow but stopped it at the point of contact, letting the sound echo in his hand, not allowing it to be swallowed by taking the stroke further. It stung but it was not heavy. It burned but its weight did not mask the sharpness of skin against skin. As soon as the smack rang out he lifted his hand again, held it high, composed the target in his mind and brought it down again. She tightened as it landed and grimaced as the loud smack filled her ears. Again it came down and she shouted out, but she knew her cry would seem like a whimper compared to the shrieks that would follow. She knew this was only the start and that she had to suffer much more until her mistress would be satisfied that her punishment was adequate.
Caristia was hardly aware of the fighting around her, of the blonde Saxon girl being held by the group of men as others joined in and drove their cocks into her exposed cunt. She hardly heard the girl's screams as men finished in her sex, in her mouth and over her face and breasts. She reached down and gripped the African's leg; she needed something to hold on to, something to tighten against. She encircled his calf with both her hands and the warmth of his skin and the tension of his heavy muscles sent shivers up her arms. As each smack came down she tightened her grip more, but as she did her body filled not only with the burning pain of her punishment but with the excitement she felt in touching her tormentor's body. She rubbed her hands along his calf, feeling the back of his knee, then as the spanking continued she folded her head below his thigh and opened her mouth against his oiled skin. The next blow caused her to bite into his leg and the next to bite harder. She licked him between the blows but bit even harder as each one struck. She reached underneath his leg, finding first his heavy balls, then as she continued to bite his flesh she took hold of his stout cock. She lifted her bottom, burning more with each spank, and felt her own moisture on her thighs as, with each blow the punishment lifted her towards a final shuddering convulsion of overpowering ecstasy.
Caristia slid from the African's knee and slumped against the back of the box, gasping and panting as her orgasms, although receding, jolted through her like lightning from a passing storm. The Saxon girl was lying against a boarded partition with a man holding his cock in her mouth as he finished in long, spurting gushes of semen. A fanfare was blown and naked girls led out a procession from the main entrance at ground level. Fronto leant forward onto the rail of the box as, preceded by Sparton, Theogenes and several gladiators, Bec marched elegantly into the arena.
'What a beauty,' he said, trying to attract Sparton's attention. 'I must have her! Sparton!' he
shouted impatiently. 'Sparton!'
Sparton heard his name and turned.
'Sparton, here!' repeated Fronto. 'Here!'
Sparton knew better than to ignore Lucretius Fronto, and ordering Theogenes to wait at the head of the procession, marched across the arena towards him.
'You have a beauty there that takes my eye, Sparton,' shouted Fronto. 'The black-haired animal with the fire in her eyes.'
Sparton laughed.
'She is an animal indeed, sir. I have been training her for her owner. She has responded well but she cannot be tamed.'
'Who is her owner, Sparton? I have to speak to him.'
'It is Olconio Rufo, sir. But he will not sell,' he said, turning to walk away. 'He has already refused many offers, sir. I do not think he will change his mind.'
'Bring her over. I must see her at close quarters.'
'The procession, sir. We must continue with the procession or the crowd will be angered,' said Sparton anxiously.
'The procession can wait,' insisted Fronto.
Sparton hesitated, but only for a moment; he was not going to argue with Fronto. He told three of the other gladiators to grab Bec and bring her over. She struggled against them, dropping low on bent legs and digging her heels into the ground. They pulled her forward as mounds of sand built in furrows around her heels. They held her in front of the box, a barely captive animal, her eyes ablaze with hatred. She saw Caristia and lurched forward, for a moment taking her captors by surprise and escaping their grip. Fronto pulled back in fear as the three gladiators rushed to recapture her. Caristia, still inflamed by the delights of her punishment, felt a wave of pleasure rush through her as she felt the focus of Bec's anger. It was as though the threat itself was enough to renew her ecstasy.
