Slave Girls Of Rome

Don Winslow

Chapter One. A Modest Orgy

“Rome has become a rich man’s whore!” Lucius’s drunken musings rang in my ears as I trudged through the streets of the camp that fateful morning. The mud was hard, semi-frozen in the cold morning air of autumn. The morning mist that still clung to the hills had not yet been driven away by the sun’s early light There was a definite chill in the heavy air, but I breathed it in deeply, gulping it down, letting my lungs get their fill. The new day did much to clear my head. Despite the wine, I hadn’t slept well last night, but now I felt much better, my spirits improved for the first time in months. I pulled my cloak together and, with renewed determination, turned towards the garrison’s headquarters.

We had spent the night carousing at the house of Quintus Licus, a fabulously wealthy merchant who occasionally invited a few of us to his palatial estate for one of his endless stream of “celebrations.” I should add that this was not one of his legendary orgies which went on for days and were justifiably renowned throughout the Seven Hills. Junior officers were never invited to those events, although occasionally our general might find himself among that privileged elite. No, it was to the more modest affairs that we were invited, along with the lesser lights of Roman society-functionaries and various officials who might someday be of use in one of Licus’s schemes.

It was perhaps a measure of our lowly status that our host didn’t bother to attend himself, but left it to his wife to see that his guests were greeted and their needs met. And if those guests included handsome young officers from the garrison, then his wife Lydia, a brash, bawdy woman with big, floppy tits and a loud braying voice, would be only too happy to oblige. The lady’s propensity for soldiers was legendary in the officers’ quarters, earning her the nickname “Labia.” Even now she watched us with interest from her low couch across the room; her silk gown, cut fashionably low in front so that her tits nearly spilled out whenever she moved; the hem drawn up her long legs shamelessly to lie across the very top of her robust thighs. From time to time, she smiled her approval, waving a beringed hand. Her heavily painted lips creased into a lewd, come-hither grin whenever one of us happened to look her way.

I noticed the unmistakable gleam of lust in her eye when Gaius, deciding to get more comfortable, unbuckled his belt and slipped off his tunic, to recline once again, now clad in only his short linen loincloth. I nudged Lucius, who took one look at the leering lady and whispered with an ominous groan that now we were surely in for it! And I am certain that the matron’s attentions would have been lavished upon us, had not she, just at that moment, been diverted by her attending slave. This pretty tousle-haired lad had been kneeling on the floor beside her couch, and was engaged in licking and kissing his mistress’s shapely legs, making his way assiduously from her bare feet along their smooth lengths. And now, providentially, the pleasuring tongue had reached her upper thighs, suddenly causing the lady to gasp and then fall back weakly onto the cushions. Her thick lashes fluttered and her eyes slid closed, her lips curling in delicious ecstasy, as the burrowing head disappeared under the loose folds of her green silk gown. She would be kept busy for some time.

We could safely turn our attention away from our languid hostess and lounge about on the thick silken pillows, giving ourselves up to the tender ministrations of our absent host’s pretty slave girls: nubile wenches, naked to the hips, their svelte loins wrapped in the gauzy folds of the brief loose skirts, which was all they were permitted to wear when serving guests.

Lucius was quite taken with a long-haired girl who moved about us with her flagon of wine; a nicely curved lass with flaring hips and proud, jaunty tits. When he beckoned to her, she scurried across the room, her naked tits bouncing most delightfully. And when she bent over to fill his cup, her full breasts hung down heavily, moving seductively before his fascinated eyes-the girl inadvertently offering him that succulent fruit no man could possibly refuse. Lucius reached up to capture a dangling tit, balancing it for a moment on his curved palm and studying it Then, taking the wide, fleshy tip between his fingers, he began toying with it, while expounding on his views to us. He kept the poor girl bent over like that. And, as he played with the rich man’s plaything, his voice became a bit sad-wistful, perhaps-and certainly with a note of envy for that which would never be his: the opulence of his surroundings and the horde of beautiful slave girls owned by that crass, money-grubbing trader.

Not that Lucius was poor-far from it. He came from one of Rome’s most prominent families and, like most of my brother officers, he was provided with a generous allowance which far overshadowed his meager army pay, even if his family’s wealth was not on the massive scale of our host’s. Alas, I was not so fortunate as Lucius. The son of a poor, honest farmer, I joined the Legions at sixteen, and had learned early on to take my pleasure wherever I could find it Two days after payday, I would inevitably find myself reduced to the whores who were kept at the barracks for the use of the troops. Thus, I was only too ready to take advantage of Licus’s “generosity” and allow the lissome girl who knelt beside me to have her way with my staunchly erect manhood.

By now my companions were well occupied. Lucius was avidly exploring the writhing young body of the long-haired girl, while Gaius dallied with an olive-skinned girl with plump tits and dusky nipples, whom he had invited to perch on his lap. Looking down on the young girl on her knees before me, I let my eyes appreciate the willowy lines of her lithe body, those slender shoulders and small pancake tits whose pleasing undercurves seemed to smile up at me. The slave girl’s fresh expectant face was surrounded by a mane of thick auburn hair, tawny tresses that hung loosely down over her delicate shoulders.

I nodded my permission for her to begin, and immediately the vixen’s smile widened. She reached for me eagerly, brushing back my loincloth, which by this time was all I wore, freeing my rampant penis to spring up hopefully before her big brown eyes. A shiver of delight raced through my tense body as the girl’s small fingers closed on me.

I watched through half-lidded eyes as she sat back and held my taut sex so lightly in her cool, soft hands. With a delicate touch, the talented girl teased up and down my shaft, tracing my fierce erection with her fingertips. I clenched my teeth when she curved her fingers into talons which lightly scratched the smooth hardened length. I groaned at the fluttering pleasure of her delightfully cool fingers when they slipped into my crotch to cradle my the hairy sack of my balls. Her supple fingers cupped my scrotum and my masculine equipment and squeezed before she began gently rolling my testicles in the palm of her hand. I sighed with contentment and let my eyes close, giving myself up to the heavenly touch.

With one hand still cupping my balls, she now brought the other into play, wrapping nimble fingers around the turgid shaft, squeezing lightly, tightening her little fist till she held me in an iron grip and I was groaning and twisting in her hands. I managed to open my eyes enough to look down on the top of her head and watch her as she leaned forward, bringing her pursed lips closer so that I thrilled at the feel of her hot breath sweeping over my throbbing prick, hovering just before her face. She extended her tongue slowly until the very tip touched the sensitive underside just below the crown of my upright prick I clenched my fists and groaned, shuddering at the piercing thrill generated by the feel of that wet, tantalizing tongue as it lightly fluttered along the underside of my straining manhood.

Switching tactics, she flattened her tongue and laved with broad wet strokes, lapping up the length, swirling around the ridge of the crown, then slithering down to the base. Then she nibbled at the root of the shaft, soaking my pubic hair. Her velvety tongue slid wetly, lavishly, all over my scrotum till she reached the perineum and, once there, she buried her face between my thighs, thrilling me as she pressed nose and lips to my crotch.

I couldn’t stand much more of this maddening pleasure. My hands reached out for the girl’s burrowing head. When she came up for air, she went back to my shaft immediately, holding it in both hands, licking greedily, lapping generously all along its length till my upstanding cock was glistening with the sheen of her saliva.

Curving my hands to cradle her head, I ran my fingers through her thick hair, luxuriating in the silky tresses. I gripped her head while I rubbed my cock all over her face. Then I let her eager lips nibble on me, guiding her up and down my straining manhood, letting her lick her way almost to the top, but keeping her from reaching the sensitive underside just below the crown.

I heard my own whimpers from a distance as delicious waves of pure pleasure welled up in me, drowning out all else, as the slave girl continued her obsequious devotion, methodically covering every inch, working me over with avid lips and agile tongue, until she had me squirming helplessly, uncontrollably, driven to distraction by the exquisite feel of her unrelenting tongue. The feel of her lavish tongue sliding wetly up and down my shaft was so exquisite that I couldn’t help moaning, tossing my head back and lifting my loins toward her till I was arching my back as though offering her even more, wanting her to take my lust-swollen sex even more deeply into her hot little mouth. I arched my back; my eyes fluttered closed, a groan escaped my tightly pressed lips as I surrendered to the delicious waves of pleasure this sensual female was generating in my groin.

Then the tickling play of her lively tongue stopped When I looked down at her through half-lidded eyes, she grabbed me and tilted my rigid shaft toward her as she bent down slowly to take my cock in her receptive mouth. Inch by inch, that marvelous girl took me in, sliding the taut ring of her lips down the swollen shaft, ducking her head to go down on me. Through lust-narrowed eyes, I watched the top of her small head as it bobbed up and down in smooth, easy rhythm.

My darling little fellatrix was sucking me off with surprising skill Her cheeks hollowed as she vacuumed me with ruthless determination. I groaned, clamping my hands on her thin, naked shoulders and held on, tightening my grip, clenching my teeth as the most excruciating waves of pleasure rocketed through me. Then the clever slave girl added a new thrill. She never stopped her energetic sucking, but now she began to bring her tongue up, swirling it around in an upward spiral each time she came up. The novel sensation drove me instantly to new heights of pleasure-almost painful, unbearable, straining my endurance to its absolute limits as I held on, arching my rigid hips high into the air, clinging, with gritted teeth, to the last shreds of control.

But the powerful upsurge in my loins became irresistible under the sheer intensity of the repeated thrills, thrills which escalated wildly, till they sent me careering toward the supreme moment of climax I could hold out no longer. My last conscious act was to push the eager girl back, extracting my throbbing penis, and aiming it right at her face. At that exact moment, I exploded in a tremendous climax, sending a powerful surge of sperm erupting from the pulsating shaft to decorate her pretty face. Then I was coming with furious urgency, spurting thick wads of semen that jetted out to splatter another man’s slave girl, painting her neat features with ropy strands of creamy sperm in pulsating explosions that seemed to go on forever.

Chapter Two. The Call Of The North

Even before Lucius had given word to my feelings, I had learned that for a poor but ambitious junior officer, the Legion’s permanent barracks, just outside Rome, could not be considered the most hospitable of postings. And if that officer gambled a bit too much, and was heavily in debt, his plight was even worse. I was restless, increasingly desperate, hating my poverty, and thoroughly bored with camp life. A few days earlier, when I had been ruminating about my fate, 1 happened upon a slave caravan. Such long lines of fresh captives were quite common in Rome in those days. Day or night one could find them bound for the slave markets, wending their ways through the streets of that decadent city, a city insatiable for ever more human flesh.

I watched as two long rows of dusty naked captives, mostly men, trudged past me, their eyes downcast, their tread slow and dull. From their long unkempt hair, powerful builds, and scarred, hard-muscled bodies, it was easy to see that these must have been barbarian fighters, once-proud warriors whose spirit had been broken by defeat at the hands of Rome’s invincible legions. Now they were being led by overseers, who found no need to use their whips on their dazed and beaten captives. The shuffling men moved their feet mindlessly, hands manacled before them, chained to one another in loose coffles of eight men each.

There were lines of captured women, too. And although these were fewer, I studied them with more interest Many were stocky, heavily built barbarians, clearly destined to end up as field slaves or, at best, house slaves, although occasionally there was a well-made body that might elevate its fortunate owner to work in the bedchamber or in one of the city’s pleasure houses. The long lines of would-be slaves were broken by the occasional slaver’s wagon, with the large wheels and wide flatbeds, that held standing captives in cages. The wagons were reserved for captured nobles or for those women who were fated to become specially trained sex slaves. It was unwise to wear out the more-valuable merchandise in the long, exhausting march to Rome.

I watched the sorry parade without much interest as it made its way slowly by, when a creaking wagon came into view and with it a particularly rare prize. The jogging cage held a statuesque blonde. This must be a captive from the Northern peoples, I realized, a rare Teuton to be sure, as I recognized the striking Nordic features that Gaius had once described to me in such loving detail. This Germanic beauty was impressively tall, regal in her bearing, and elegantly made. She stood with cold blue eyes looking out over the crowd, eyes that were remote and unblinking. Most favored captives who found themselves so displayed in the tall wooden cages would shrink back to huddle in a far corner averting their eyes, or they might squat down studying the planks on the floor with head held low in the utter shame of defeat. But this woman did no such thing!

She stood boldly, squarely facing her Roman enemies, strong legs set wide as though to compensate for the roll of the wagon. Her hands clasped the bars at either side of her pale face, as she stood regarding with icy contempt those who sought to subdue her. Enthralled, I studied her magnificent naked body, the lean hard muscles sculpted into long, feminine contours, the breasts, firm, high set, and fiercely proud with prominent pink nipples that seemed to jut straight out My eyes fell to the silvery fleece of her brazenly exposed womanhood, a triangle of soft pale curls that thickened at the apex into a blonde tuft only half-hiding pouting netherlips. Her fuzzy pubic hair was paler than the hair on her head, which was long and thick, and spoke to former glories, although now it was matted and unkempt so it gave her a slightly frazzled, wild look I wondered if her new owner would have sense enough to allow her to keep that long mane of pure gold, or would he insist she be shorn to the sort of blonde stubble some slave owners thought quite fashionable in those days.

As the last of the train passed by I found myself following the parade to the slave market, eager to see if this Nordic goddess would be put upon the block today. Such a splendid specimen would certainly fetch a healthy price from any of a dozen of the best-known procurers, but it was more likely that some wealthy patron would pay dearly to add the blonde beauty to his private collection. Of course, with two coins in my purse, there was no way I could even dream of buying such a woman myself. That was out of the question!

Still, I was intrigued by her. I wanted desperately to see her standing on the raised platform: a splendid nude, presented in all her naked glory for public inspection, posed for the edification of the Roman rabble. Would her regal demeanor falter when the strong, proud female met her fate? Would the look of sullen defiance in her brooding blue eyes give way to fear when she found herself naked and alone on the raised platform before the lusty, bawdy crowd that inevitably gathered to eagerly watch the public spectacles the auctions provided?

Their destination was the largest and best of the pubic auctions run by two brothers named Maximus. By the time I got there, a good-sized crowd was already on hand, with more gathering every minute. The slaves were being lined up, connecting chains undone. They would mount the auction block singly, to be inspected and sold to the highest bidder. The slaves’ manacles were removed, and a wide leather collar was fixed around each neck A thin rawhide strip attached to the collar was used as a lead, so that the handler could bring the slave forward to be presented.

By now the captives would be properly cowed. The heavy whip that was used in the early days of captivity and retained for the most recalcitrant, could be dispensed with easily for this lot To keep their charges in line, the more skillful handlers need only employ a thin hickory switch.

The pace was smooth and businesslike. Each slave was made to mount the steps and there to suffer the indignities of being closely examined by the chief auctioneer, one of the Maximus brothers, who conducted the sort of thorough inspection one would expect to see if he were buying a valuable horse. Once he was well satisfied, the auctioneer set the starting price, and the bidding began.

I recognized this particular fellow: a skinny bald gnome named Glutus, and I watched the obvious pleasure he took in his task I saw the leer than came over his lips when women were about to be placed in his hands. He would make them do his bidding, adopting all sorts of poses to show off their best features while he went over the fine merchandise meticulously with his hands, lingering especially with the females, feeling here and there, probing this or that. The man obviously loved his work!

Bidding that day was hot and heavy, and the line moved quickly. I pushed my way through the crowd, eager to see more as her time came and the big blonde moved to the head of the line to have her manacles removed. She stood with eyes front, ignoring the rough handler who fitted the wide leather collar around her neck, then paused to run a callused hand down over her left tit and grab a quick feel before he attached the rawhide lead. Now he led the stately blonde to the steps.

The burly handler held the girl’s lead in one hand. The other held a thin, pliant rod, no thicker than a finger at the blunt end and tapering to a point at the other. He wielded the rod skillfully, careful to use it only on the fleshy hindquarters of the more attractive slaves so as not to damage that valuable property. He was not a particularly cruel man, but he was impatient. I saw a flick of his wrist, and the girl’s hips jerked forward as the rod struck her handsome rump solidly, impelling her to step lively in spite of herself. He led the naked young woman up the steps and brought her to the center of the high, square platform.

The crowd seemed to quiet down as though sensing something special was about to take place.

“Stand at attention! Clasp your hands behind your neck! Elbows back…head up!” Glutus snapped, stepping up to the tall blonde till he was close to but not touching her, to stand with his eyes just inches from the side of her pale face, appraising her long, clean lines coolly.

At first the blonde barbarian didn’t move a muscle, but a sharp whack on her bare bottom reminded her of the imperative of instant obedience. Her shoulders shot up in abrupt recoil, and she turned to look at her handler with a look of definite disdain. But the wicked rod in his hand rose only slightly. It was enough to cause her to turn back immediately and to bring up her arms slowly to assume the required pose, throwing back her shoulders, thrusting out her firm breasts proudly, locking her eyes on some distant horizon.

There was a lively murmur of approval from the crowd.

The lecherous old goat licked his chops as he passed his hands up and down that magnificent form, feeling up the captive woman freely, savoring each feminine curve and contour, caressing the taut mounds of her breasts, sampling her nipples, slipping his hands between her legs to fondle the soft folds of her blonde sex, greedily exploring the mounds and crevices of that splendid nude body. He looked in her mouth, pushed back her lips to examine her clenched teeth as if she were a mare, and ran his hands up and down her sleek haunches.

Then the randy auctioneer stepped back to put the big blonde through her paces. He had her widen her stance and then drop her arms and lean forward with head raised and hands placed just above the knees, so that her rich, full breasts swung forward to hang in two succulent mounds while she looked out over her audience. Now he brought up his pointed stick and used it to trace a line up the side of her curved body, starting at the nearest sturdy thigh and moving up over the generous cradle of her hip, then onward up her flank till the traveling point slid around under her bent torso and found a dangling tit. Now he used the stick to stir the helpless woman’s tits, flicking them up so they jiggled most delightfully, as laughter ran through the crowd. He traced a line from under the hanging breasts over a hard nipple and up the slope, outlining the generous curve of ripe feminine pulchritude.

A nod to his assistant had the stocky man step up and grab a fistful of the blonde hair at the back of the girl’s head, forcing his captive to raise her shoulders and deepen the curve in her back And then, while she was being held like that, she was ordered to bring up her hands to cup her ample breasts and offer them to the hungry audience, in a pose that got an immediate roar of lusty approval.

Now her tormentor used the rod to toy with the proffered tits. The devilish instrument pressed in, indenting the soft flesh, testing the resiliency of the breast, the softness of the enticing flesh, the underlying firmness. He spent a long time teasing her nipples, moving from one to the other, scratching lightly at the hardening points, then flicking the pliant little tip that seemed to stand up so hopefully under the mild stimulation till he had the big pink nipples blossoming. Another roar of approval swept though the restless crowd.

I marveled at her control as she held herself perfectly still while the wicked pointer invited the crowd to appreciate the strength of her long, finely muscled legs and robust thighs. Enjoying himself thoroughly, Glutus was clearly playing to the excited mob. After a few minutes of this, he had her drop her arms, rise up to her full height, and stand once more at attention, hands loosely at her sides, legs firmly together. Then he had the young woman turn around so that her back was toward the audience. We were greeted by our first view of her long, gently sloping back and the comely form of her shapely rear end. Looking closely, one could make out two faint pink welts that crossed her buttocks, traces of the whipping rod that had been laid so smartly across her bottom earlier. The pointer traced down her back and over the twin swells of the woman’s lush bottom.

She was ordered to bend down once more, assuming the same pose as before, but this time turned around so that she was offering up her jutting behind to be admired. Not quite satisfied with the results, the meticulous auctioneer forced the girl to bend down even lower, arching her back with hands braced on her thighs, thus boldly thrusting back that choice rounded rump of hers. His next command must have been even more obscene, even more humiliating, for this time the proud barbarian shook her blonde mane in mute refusal. Like lightning, the whipping rod shot out to whack her crisply across the tautly-drawn curves of her jutting arse, causing the bending girl to jerk upward at the viciousness of the stinging blow. It was enough to prompt her to obey even the most perverse demands readily. She responded by squirming her hips and shaking her tail from side to side in a delightfully provocative gesture. Waves of raucous laughter greeted the sight of this proud Germanic woman wiggling her ass like a Babylonian whore!

To add even further to her humiliation, the poor girl was next made to rotate her ass in a lewdly suggestive manner, eliciting a spate of bawdy offers from the increasingly excited rabble. After a few minutes of this amusing diversion, her tormentor allowed her to straighten up, but it was only so she could be put in an even more humiliating pose. For now he had her turn around once more to face the mob. She stood before them with chin held high, her pale face expressionless. She stood there, a big blonde animal, powerful and sensual, and still coldly remote despite the lewd poses she was forced to adopt for the pleasure of her masters.

Cautioning her to keep her hands on her hips and hold herself erect, he ordered his captive to her knees. The pointed wand was used to nudge her knees apart, giving us a clear view of the blonde fleece of her vulva. In the most humiliating gesture of sexual subservience, he had her reach down and pry open the thick lips of her vagina to show her gaping sex to the cheering multitude. The crowd went wild!

After exhibiting herself for what must have seemed like forever, the kneeling woman was allowed to rise up and resume the first pose: hands clasped behind her neck The bidding was about to begin. At last, satisfied that he knew the value of what he had, the wily auctioneer stepped back, mounted the stage, and announced the starting price. The sum he mentioned to begin the bidding for this proud beauty took my breath away and got an audible gasp of admiration from the gaping crowd. And that was only where the brisk bidding started!

After that, I couldn’t get the powerful image of that big blonde out of my mind. It stayed with me by day, and it haunted my dreams at night. The achingly beautiful blonde girl forced to submit, to adopt the erotic poses demanded of her before the rabble of Rome. Her image came to me obsessively as I had first seen her splendidly tall, naked, and chained, her hands clenching the wooden bars of her cage as she looked out with icy disdain on the leering louts who would seek to tame her. And when Lucius spoke disparagingly of Rome, the reason for my restless discontent came to me in a flash. Thus the idea began to grow of going to that place where one might find and capture one of those rare blonde beauties. The idea took shape slowly, and it grew with my unexpected excitement I must go north!

For someone like me, there was much to recommend such a post First of all, it was said that with only a few denarii in his purse, a man could live like a king among those half-civilized tribes. Then there were rumors, vague but persistent, of hoards of gold kept hidden by the savage chieftains, there for the taking, the rich spoils of the war on the last frontier. It was true that all such booty belonged, in theory, to the emperor, but it was widely known that many an enterprising officer found ways to line his pockets along the way as the spoils of war made their way, not always intact it seems, back to the imperial treasury. And finally there was the legions’ generous practice, at some of these remote locations, of allowing a portion of the captives to be given to the soldiers as personal slaves.

Of course, the choice of any captives taken in battle would first go the officers. That thought inspired me. Did I dare to dream of owning such women as that caged Nordic goddess? Was it so inconceivable that someday I might possess one or more of those proud beauties? The thought fired my lust and convinced me, if indeed I needed any further convincing, that I would request a reassignment as soon as I could get to headquarters.

I knew there were those who would question my sanity when they found out that I had actually requested to be posted to the frontier. I would go to Gaul, where troops kept watch along the northern frontier; a place that seemed to many Romans like the very ends of the earth itself. Everyone knew the northern lands to be largely composed of dense gloomy forests peopled with semi-civilized but unkempt Gauls, savage Saxons, and that fiercely independent Germanic tribe known as the Teutons, who lived along the very fringe of empire. True, these barbarians had been tamed, at least for the moment, but it was widely agreed that renewed fighting might break out at any time. Surely no sane man would forsake the enticements of Rome for so desolate a place! But Lucius had been right. The alluring pleasures of Rome were not for such as us. Sadly, I realized the truth of his words: The finest delights would always remain the exclusive preserve of the rich and powerful.

Once I had decided my course of action, I never looked back, but went straight off to find Flavius, my commander, and then the company’s adjutant. Publius looked me up and down, squinting, studying my face with narrow brutish eyes, highly suspicious as to why anyone should make such an outlandish request. But I stood facing him calmly, Flavius’s written approval in my hand, waiting patiently, my expression totally noncommittal. He saw that I was determined. With a shrug and sad shake of his head, he signed the parchment and stamped it, sealing my orders officially.

Chapter Three. Let The Games Begin

And so it was I came to find myself at a place called Bernesium, the only officer in command of the 200-man garrison stationed at a small, but well-built and comfortably solid compound. Our fort stood on a hill, guarding the only approach to the town below. To be sure, Bernesium was still a garrison town, the sort of place that inevitably grows up under Roman protection. First came the fort, and then a small colony sent from Rome, and finally the local Gauls had drifted in to cluster beneath the sheltering walls. I was surprised at how large the colony had become. There was even a handful of merchants’ and craftsmen’s stalls in the marketplace. Peace had been good to this bustling frontier town. At the far end of the town was a large lake with plentiful tasty fish. The crops were surprisingly lush here, and a brisk trade had grown up as I soon discovered, because the town was at the crossroads of three minor trade routes.

Altogether, not such a desolate place after all, I soon decided. Although that was not my impression when I first laid eyes on the place, as my horse crested the top of a gentle hill. Spring had not yet come to Gaul and the landscape was stark, the trees bare. There were little signs of life in the still, cold air, and smoke rose from some of the huts. The prospect before me seemed rather bleak, and my first view of the place caused me to I wonder if I’d made a terrible mistake.

By the time spring came that year, I had settled in nicely. Bernesium became green and rather pleasant, the air caressed with soft breezes, and the budding fruit trees promising an early, warm summer. My men were a rough and rather dull lot-hardly the Praetorian Guard, but on the whole no better or no worse than any other company of common soldiers. Fortunately, my sergeant was a competent enough fellow who pretty much ran things, leaving me with considerable leisure time. Somehow, Sergeant Metellus managed to take care of things, seeing to the daily affairs of the company, assuring that the men were reasonably satisfied, fed adequately, and paid on time. Bernesium is a small town, and small towns abound in rumors. I soon heard the rumors concerning the good sergeant: that he had a lucrative side-business, offering extra protection to the local tradesmen, whose caravans were constantly coming and going through the wild countryside. I never troubled myself about these matters. After all, we had quickly come to a sort of understanding, one that seemed to work for both of us.

And so, with time on my hands, I set out to explore the pleasures of Bernesium, and these-for an officer of the legion, at least-were to be found in only one place: the house of Gratius. It goes without saying that wherever there are soldiers there will be women and wine; some enterprising entrepreneur will always see to that As you might expect, there were several taverns in our town clustered around the fort, and even a surprisingly large inn; but the pleasures of the flesh were provided almost exclusively by one man: Asinus Gratius.

Gratius was a former politician. Sensing a shift in the political winds, he had departed from Rome hastily and stealthily under rather questionable circumstances. He managed to take with him a considerable fortune, which he used to ease the discomforts of his self-imposed exile by opening a high-class house of pleasure at his villa by the lake at Bernesium. Business flourished and the old rogue prospered. I found that Gratius also held the contract with the army to run the women’s house next to the barracks. Supplying whores to the army was a lucrative business, and apparently my predecessor had allowed him to set the terms for a generous contract Along with the written agreement, Sergeant Metellus assured me with a sly wink, was an understanding whereby a bit extra might come the way of the garrison commander, “for services rendered”-another arrangement that seemed eminently sensible.

Naturally, the common whores who service the troops are seldom visited by the officers, even in remote outposts like ours. Instead, I was invited to avail myself of the tasty treats placed at my disposal at the luxurious villa of the wealthy procurer.

A word about Gratius’s pride and joy seems in order.

He chose to build his pleasure palace on the picturesque lake, re-creating a splendid Roman villa in this remote province. Except for the fort, it was the largest compound in Bernesium. A sprawling low building with extended wings enclosed beautifully manicured grounds surrounding lively fountains and flowing water gardens. A wide spacious porch, set with tall columns in typical Roman style, welcomed the visitor. Inside, the house was furnished exquisitely with treasures spirited away on the hasty flight from Rome, along with expensive tapestries and Oriental rugs that had found their way along the trade routes to our little outpost. In addition to his private rooms, one wing held the women’s quarters, where Gratius kept some of finest sex slaves in the province-beautiful, talented young women who were exceptionally well trained.

Gratius’s girls were made available to local merchants, visiting traders, and notables like the provincial governor, as well as a few of the town’s more important personages, among whom I, as garrison commander, was afforded a very special place. Indeed Gratius saw to it that when visiting his house, I would be entertained like a king, although only my initial visit was free. I remember that visit fondly, the first time I walked along the shady tree-lined paths that meandered down to that idyllic garden of heavenly delights.

I was met at the door by a pretty little slave girl whose big brown eyes smiled up at me from under her bangs. I couldn’t help smiling back as my eyes took in her slight girlish shape, the gentle slope of her narrow shoulders and, through a translucent bodice of ivory silk, the shallow curves of her little breasts-a pair of tautly rounded globes, tipped with surprisingly pert nipples. Brashly uptilted, the little nubbins poked back impertinently against the thin fabric, simply begging to be touched.

As befits a proper sex slave, the young woman who greeted me was clad in nothing but a thin Grecian tunic. Made of white diaphanous silk, this short sleeveless garment bared her supple limbs, exposing a generous expanse of smooth girlish chest. The thin bodice covered-but did not hide-her maidenly breasts, before it fell in soft folds, to be gathered at the waist by a thin belt, thus forming a brief skirt-one that barely covered her hips and the top of her youthful thighs. Sandals and a high leather collar (that ubiquitous symbol of her servitude) completed her scanty outfit. The inspiring sight of the slave girl’s nubile body as she stood in the doorway, her dusky triangle dimly visible, brought on a familiar surge of lust and an immediate responsive stirring from under my own tunic.

As I stood there gaping at her, this vision of loveliness lowered her eyes, tilted her head respectfully, and asked me politely to follow her. Then she turned on her heel and led the way down the hall, her small, trim behind swaying most delightfully. The little skirt was barely adequate to cover the girl’s nicely rounded bottom. As she walked, the hemline rode rhythmically, threatening to expose more than the undercurves of her cute ass, a hint of which peeked out from below the shifting hem with each step. Would I follow her?! Without a doubt, I would have followed that delectable little morsel to the very gates of Hades itself!

My charming escort led me through the main hall to where my host awaited my arrival in the large circular atrium with its high domed ceiling that formed the center of the house. Gratius was a big, fun-loving bear of a fellow with a roaring laugh and a lusty appetite. He thoroughly enjoyed playing the role of the province’s wealthiest citizen. A lifelong bachelor, he was like a jovial uncle to his bevy of slave girls, one or two of whom seemed always to be draped about his person.

I came upon him seated like an enthroned monarch on a low-backed camp chair, wearing nothing but a towel draped over his loins, thighs spread wide, and sandaled feet planted firmly on the tiled floor. Behind him, a comely lass stood with both hands on his big shoulders, kneading his soft naked flesh slowly, while on the rug at his feet a second slave girl sat with knees drawn up, her head resting against her master’s hairy thigh. One of his hands had dropped down along the side of the chair and his thick fingers were idly playing in the silken mass of the lissome girl’s rich auburn hair. He greeted me with a friendly wave and beckoned me over to recline on a nearby sofa. Magically, a slave girl appeared at my elbow, instantly ready with a generous cup and a flagon of fine Latium wine.

“So, Marcus,” he began expansively, “how do you find our little corner of the empire? Dull, no doubt, after the fun of Rome?”

As the slave girl bent over to pour the wine, she offered me a splendid view of her taut, conical breasts, hanging within the billowing neckline of her tunic. I tried to respond to my magnanimous host as best as I could. Although somewhat distracted, I heard myself assuring him that the present company, at least, was the equal of any to be found in Rome. He beamed in appreciation of the compliment It was true, he admitted with a thoughtful nod, that in some ways we had been able to retain “a bit of old Rome” here in the hinterlands. He paused, and then brightened up. For example, there were the games!

“When was the last time you saw a couple of famous gladiators going at it?” He grinned with amusement.

I’ll admit I was a bit bewildered, but I couldn’t help smiling at his obvious enthusiasm. It had been a while, I allowed, remembering those disastrous games where I had lost a more than a few denarii betting on the blue team. But there were no games in Bernesium. Surely, my host didn’t maintain a stable of gladiators! Now I discovered he had a different contest in mind. For, after a teasing pause, he enlightened me, grinning broadly. He had arranged to have a special entertainment staged in my honor. As a man who appreciated the ladies, he leered, he felt sure I would enjoy his very special “gladiators.”

Now the master of the house clapped his hands and shouted triumphantly:

“Let the games begin!”

Intrigued, I watched as two hooded figures appeared from between the circle of columns surrounding the room. They were barefoot, their bodies shrouded in long wine-red cloaks with cowls that turned up to cover their heads. The mysterious figures came to a stop just in front of their seated master. They stood side by side, awaiting his orders.

At an imperious gesture from him, they threw back their cowls dramatically. I found myself staring at two slave girls, young women whose heads were all but shorn, their hair clipped to a short stubble, as was sometimes done to slaves in Rome. They stood at attention, their eyes fixed somewhere over our heads. Gratius nodded when their hands went immediately to unclasp the collars of their cloaks. The two garments slithered down to the floor, revealing two naked female bodies, young and taut-muscled, glistening with a fine sheen of oil. As I watched awestruck, they bowed low, saluting their master.

Gratius said not a word, but kept them standing there, knowing that I would want to be able to compare these female wrestlers who would be entertaining us. As Gratius appreciated, one likes to size up the contestants. We sat in silence for a moment, evaluating the healthy young females who stood motionless before us.

Then Gratius leaned over to me.

“The girl on the left is Leia.” He called my attention to the rather stocky curvaceous girl. Her features, like her body, had a softly rounded girlish quality. I could only guess from the light brown stubble that had been left to her what she might have looked like with a full head of hair. I next studied her hefty tits. Generous though not excessive, they drooped slightly to swell into two sloping pendants crested with wide, thick nipples. Not only was the hair on their heads shorn, no doubt useful for wrestlers, but for some more obscure reason, the girls’ pubic hair had also been shaved clean. Totally bereft of its natural fuzz, Leia’s plump little pubis was pale and shaved clean, so that it stood out boldly from between the full curves of her powerful thighs.

“And this,” my host continued expansively, “is Uta.” He pointed to the other girl. A bit taller than her more muscular rival, Uta had a lean, tightly knit body, slim-hipped and more angular than curved. Her breasts were narrow and pointy, capped with small dusky nipples. Her features were crisp and neat. With her nearly bald head, she had a clean-cut look enhanced by her trim lines and her denuded sex, a narrow triangle of shiny white flesh tucked between her sinewy legs. Though she would have been outweighed by her more substantial sister, she had the hard, wiry build of an athlete. She would be a very tough opponent, I surmised.

“Well, what do you think?” Gratius asked at last, breaking my reverie. A note of eagerness crept into his voice.

“About evenly matched, I should say.”

He agreed. Both were strong, determined young women. It was his idea to take advantage of their intense rivalry by pairing them off. The winner would be allowed to complete her triumph over her adversary in a very unique way, he assured me with a mysterious wink.

“But come, you must be a betting man,” he hinted.

“I would give the edge to Leia.” I took the safer bet.