Slave Girls of Rome, Page 3

  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 wine houses in our town clustered around the fort, and even a surprisingly large hostel; but the pleasures of the flesh were provided almost exclusively by one man—Asinus Gratius.

  Gratius was an ex-senator, who sensing a shift in the political winds, had hastily and stealthily departed from Rome under rather questionable circumstances. He managed to take with him a considerable fortune, that 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; 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 what turned out to be a generous contract. Along with the written agreement, Sergeant Metelus 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 to me 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 more scrumptious treats placed at my disposal at the luxurious villa of the wealthy procurer. A word about Gratius’ pride and joy seems in order.

  It was on the picturesque lake that the ex-politician chose to build his pleasure palace, recreating 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 that enclosed beautifully manicured grounds surrounding lively fountains and flowing water gardens. A red-tiled roof, and a spacious verandah, set with tall columns in typical Roman style, welcomed the visitor. Inside, the house was exquisitely furnished 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, whom he made sure were exceptionally well trained.

  Gratius’ 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 a free one. 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 wiry little slave girl whose big brown eyes smiled up at me, from under the fringe of an even row of layered bangs. I couldn’t help smiling back as my eyes took in her slight girlish shape, the gentle slope of her lithe shoulders and, through a sheer bodice of white silk, the shallow curves of a pair of understated breasts: small, tautly rounded mounds tipped with surprisingly pert nipples. Brashly uptilted, the little nubbins poked back impertinently against the thin fabric, nosing upward as if hopeful of being petted.

  As befits a proper sex slave, the young woman who greeted me was clad in nothing but a Greek-style tunic. Made of white diaphanous silk, this short, sleeveless affair, left bare her supple limbs, the shallow curving neckline being defined by narrow shoulder straps that looped her thin shoulders and exposed a delectable expanse of smooth girlish chest. The thin bodice covered, but did not hide, her maidenly chest, before it fell in soft folds, to be gathered at the waist by a thin belt, thus forming a brief loose skirt—one that barely covered the hips and the top third of her firm, youthful thighs. Open-strapped 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 vulva dimly visible through the milky fabric, brought on a familiar surge of lust, and caused an immediate stirring from under the short kilt of my own tunic.

  As I stood there gaping at the girl, this vision of loveliness lowered her eyes, tilted her head in a respectful bow, and politely asked if I would follow her. Then she turned on her heel and led the way down the hall, her small tight behind swaying most delightfully. The little skirt was barely adequate to layer the girl’s nicely rounded bottom, so that as she walked the hemline rode rhythmically, threatening to expose more than the undercurves of a cute butt, 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 cupcake 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 bay that with its high domed ceiling formed the center of the magnificent 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 life-long 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, naked 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, slowly kneading the soft, naked flesh, 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 the 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, eh?”

  Eyeing the serving girl who, upon bending down to pour the wine, was at that moment offering me a splendid view of her taut conical breasts as they hung within the billowing neckline of her tunic, I tried to respond to my most 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, and 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 big league gladiators going at it?” he inquired, with a highly amused grin.

  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 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? I soon found that that was not quite the type of contest he had in mind. For after a teasing pause, he enlightened me, grinning broadly, that 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. As they made their way toward us, I saw that they were barefoot, their bodies being covered from neck to ankle in long wine-red cloaks w
ith cowls that turned up to cover their heads. The mysterious figures came to a stop just in front of their seated master where they stood side by side, awaiting his orders.

  At an imperious gesture from him, they dramatically threw back their cowls. 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 on some spot over our heads. At a further nod from Gratius, their hands went immediately to the collar of the cloak to open the clasp they found there, and throw back the cloaks from their shoulders. The two garments slithered down to the floor, revealing two naked female bodies, young and taut-muscled, and glistening with a fine sheen of oil. As I watched awestruck, they bowed low in salute to their seated master.

  Gratius said not a word but kept them standing there next to one another, knowing that I would want to be able to compare the female wrestlers, for one look at their sheared heads and oil-slicked bodies made it obvious that in that role they would be entertaining us. As Gratius appreciated, in such situations one likes to size up the contestants. And so for a moment we sat in silence, critically evaluating the healthy young females that stood motionless before us. Then Gratius leaned over to me.

  “The girl on the left is Leia,” he muttered, calling my attention to the rather stocky girl with a full curvaceous body. Her features, like her body had a softly rounded, girlish quality, and one 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 head 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 white and freshly shorn, so that it stood out boldly from between the tanned curves of her powerful thighs.

  “And this,” my host continued with an expansive gesture, “is Uta.” A bit taller than her more muscular rival, Uta had a lean boyish body, slim-hipped; more angular, than curved. Her precisely-made breasts were narrow and pointy, capped with small dusky nipples. Her features were crisp and neat, and with her practically bald head, she had a clean cut look, enhanced by her straight lines, and her denuded sex—a narrow triangle of shiny white flesh tucked between coltish legs. Though she would have been outweighed by her more substantial sister, I saw that 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 creeping into his voice.

  “About evenly matched, I should say.”

  He agreed. Both were strong determined young women, he pointed out. In addition, the girls were intense rivals. It had been his idea to take advantage of their natural 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 asked coyly.

  “I would give the edge to Leia,” I opined, taking the safer bet.

  He smiled. “A modest wager, perhaps?”

  I had the sinking feeling that I was being taken, but there seemed no gentlemanly way out. And so I accepted his outstretched hand, and the bet was made.

  With a flourish of his hand, Gratius dismissed the wrestlers, who bowed in acknowledgment, and turned to go to take their places on the field of combat. The room we sat in was tiered in three wide levels of descending circles, stepped down so that they led to a sort of sunken circular pit in the middle of the room. Gratius and I were seated on the topmost level. Now the girls turned their backs to us and I watched the rare view they presented as they descended the three board steps that led to the sunken arena. Leia had the more generous ass, roundly plump and voluptuous, while Uta sported a pair of sleek ovals that formed narrow hard-muscled buttocks. In the center circle, a set of mats had been laid. Down-stuffed and covered with hard, smooth linen, they made the ideal surface for a slippery wrestling match, my host assured me proudly.

  Now the two naked women separated to stand across the rink from each other, eyeing each other intently, poised and alert, like two gladiators sizing up their opponent for the point of weakness. At a word from their master, they crouched over, and began to warily circle each other.

  I watched my champion with keen interest, the sturdy girl with her feet firmly planted in a widened stance. Leia moved slowly, with extreme caution, always sideways, her eyes locked on her opponent, searching for the right opening. Her full breasts fell forward and hung in firm rounded mounds as she instinctively widened her stance and lowered her crouch, scuttling flat-footed and solid, hands extended, the gleaming muscles of her arms and shoulders moving liquidly, as she grimly circled her opponent. Meanwhile Uta, was also moving slowly, her lean body poised like a cobra about to strike. Her slight breasts assumed the shape of narrow, pointy, tit bags, swinging from side to side beneath her bowed torso when she crouched down, and began to move her lowered shoulders with slow menace. My eyes studied her face: the narrowed eyes, and the determined set of her tightly-drawn lips. The girl was ready to spring! Her tense body coiled down tightly, sleek calve muscles straining, as she rose up on her toes and bounded lightly, one hand beckoning, taunting her rival.

  But Leia would not be drawn to make the first move, and the two continued to circle till I wondered if they would ever close. Then it happened! Uta with a savage shout, bounded forward with head lowered aimed right at her opponent’s belly. Leia reacted just in time to deflect the shorn head, although she took a glancing blow to the body that propelled her backward, so that she staggered and almost lost her balance. But she recovered in a flash and instantly the two women were locked together in a death grip, arms tightly clasped around each other’s slippery body, grappling and twisting with wide spread legs, desperately straining to keep their balance.

  Leia, managing to get a leg between the other girl’s, pressed forward, using her upper body strength to slowly bend the slender girl back under her superior weight. But somehow Uta managed to slip away with a quick slashing move that brought her slithering out of the bear-like grasp. Both girls were finding that getting a purchase on a twisting, writhing, oil-slicked body was obviously a very difficult challenge. Now the action became hot and heavy: the two combatants closed again, spinning and gyrating in a brief but furious blur of limbs. Once again, the embrace could not be sustained and the two obviously excited wrestlers, sweating and panting from their exertions, fell apart once more, to begin once again their slow cautious circling.

  I shot a quick glance at my host to find him leaning forward, his eyes keen with excitement. His gaze was riveted on the sweaty scene, fascinated by the slow deadly dance of the fighting femmes. My own excitement was rising at the sight of these naked girls squirming hotly in the heat of combat, and now my need was making itself felt by pressing against the front of my kilt with alarming urgency.

  A warrior’s yell drew my attention back to the combatants who were struggling strenuously. Uta had somehow managed to get herself behind the other girl and had her arms wrapped around her from the back. As Leia struggled to shake her off, Uta fumbled for a better grip, groping wildly till her clutching fingers closed on a handful of her opponent’s oily tit. The fingers tightened, clenching the slick mound of flesh in a fist, causing its owner to cry out in pain, and shake even more furiously to dislodge her attacker. Leia managed to bend forward and reach between her legs to grab the thrust-forward leg of the wiry girl, pulling it to topple her foe, who fell to the mat with a resounding thud.

  In a flash Leia was on her, pouncing, pressing the squirming girl down to the mat. For a moment the two oily bodies wriggled together, slippery breasts grinding against slippery breasts, legs intertwined. Suddenly, Uta managed t
o squirm out from under the pinning weight of the heavier girl, but she didn’t press her advantage for she seemed to pause. She appeared to be a little dazed. Perhaps she had the wind knocked out of her, for now she only managed to draw herself up on hands and knees, while her opponent lept up, ready and alert. Before she knew what hit her, Leia fell on her, and draping herself over Uta’s crouched form slithered up the oily back to grab hold of the skinny girl’s jiggling tits, and pay her in kind for the savage mauling she had received at Uta’s hands. Uta threw back her head and clenched her jaws against the pain, as Leia squeezed the soft slippery handfuls of tittie-flesh till they bulged angrily between her clenched fingers.

  The rough treatment seemed to enrage Uta, and her desire for revenge must have given her superhuman strength, for she suddenly squirted out from under the draping form of the heavier girl, and it was Leia who spilled down onto the mat, falling flat on her belly. Moving with frantic speed, the wiry girl flipped her opponent over and sat on her, straddling her hips, planting her bare bottom firmly on the Leia’s twisting loins. While Leia bucked desperately, Uta took aim and swatted the heaving mounds of Leia’s tits, giving three of four vicious slaps to other girl’s breasts. Leia was screaming and tossing her head from side to side, as Uta slapped her floppy breasts repeatedly. Then Uta fell forward, covering Leia’s nude form with her own well-oiled body; pinning her dazed opponent to the mat. She threw back her head and shouted out a triumphant count of three. Hers was a clear and convincing victory.

  Chapter Four

  A RECONCILIATION, OF SORTS

  The two combatants untangled themselves slowly and managed to struggle to their feet. They turned to face their master, panting heavily, chests heaving. They stood collecting themselves for a moment, bowed deeply, and then straightened up to brace at attention, awaiting their master’s pleasure, while their undulating breasts evened out in slow recovery. The two combatants stood flushed and sweating profusely; rivulets of perspiration mingled with the scented oil to form a glistening sheen that coated their exhausted bodies. Leia’s quivering bosom still bore the angry red imprints where she had been slapped, but all other traces of anger seemed to have dissipated from both girls, now that the contest was over.