Slave Girls Of Rome

Chapter Seven. The Lords Of Discipline

One warm, lazy afternoon, as we lounged about in his tent, Kimar began to tell me about his unique line of work He was a lonely man, with no one to talk to for long months on end, except for the slaves and the rather dull overseers he employed. So when he was in his cups with me, an “intelligent man-of-the-world,” as he called me, he wanted to talk. Kimar was justly proud of his reputation as purveyor of the finest sex slaves to the greatest city in the world, and he wanted me to understand that maintaining that reputation was a constant struggle. Sometimes it was an intolerable burden to keep up the increasing demands for both quantity and quality that were insisted upon by the demanding clientele of that insatiable city.

It was bad enough that raiders might pounce on the caravans at any time, that there was the need for constant vigilance, added to the increasing costs of expensive protection, the rigors of the long marches, but through it all he was expected to maintain a quality product. He commiserated with himself, shaking his head at the injustice of it all. It was even harder now that the war had cut off slaves from the East. Having learned submission at the hands of some minor Oriental potentate, they needed very little training. They would just as readily bend their knee to a Roman master. But with this source of pliable slaves temporarily cut off, and with the demands of Rome increasing, he was forced inevitably to turn to the north and west for new slaves, and these were a very different lot! Wild and unruly, these western barbarians had never learned true obedience. It was up to him to teach them. Now he lowered his voice and confided that there was but one true key to success: discipline. House slaves and field slaves must learn to obey. They were expected to follow orders and carry out their duties promptly. But sex slaves were another matter. They must learn instant and total submission!

Kimar’s slaves were sought so eagerly in Rome and commanded such exorbitant prices because they were so well trained. Kimar was a great believer in very strict discipline, and he had very definite ideas about training slaves. Their relentless training began from the first day, when the fresh captives were turned over to him by the army. The new slaves learned that he would tolerate nothing short of perfect obedience. The slave who learned quickly found that her master could be generous; but the slave who refused to submit and accept her new status graciously discovered that Kimar was a harsh master of discipline, well versed in many ingenious ways of enforcing his iron will.

The old slaver had quite definite-if rather unconventional-views on punishment. Of course, all slavers made extensive use of the whip to bring their charges into line, but Kimar did so only with the greatest reluctance. The whip was used sparingly, if at all, especially in the training of the attractive young women who had been earmarked for eventual service to the masters of Rome. Kimar much preferred the use of a stout paddle to enforce discipline, and though his overseers usually took care of such matters, he sometimes chose to take a personal hand in meting out the proper punishment.

“Some men whip their slaves, but I much prefer the use of the paddle. It gives me a great deal of pleasure while enforcing my will effectively in a way that is painful, but without lasting scars,” he explained matter-of-factly.

The firm hand of discipline would be eased only after the girl proved pliant and well-mannered, her obedience having been put repeatedly to the test and judged to be satisfactory. Warming to his subject, the old slaver invited me to witness one such punishment about to be carried out on a particularly recalcitrant slave, a Saxon girl whom he had acquired just recently. It seems she was a rather rebellious young lass, her obedience given grudgingly, her attitude downright surly.

He now invited me to accompany him to the exercise yard, where the slaves were being trained. As we approached the fenced-in grassy area that was used for this purpose, a gaggle of naked slave girls pounded past us, forced to run in the prancing step favored by their handlers, hands clasped behind the neck, knees pumping up high, their frisky breasts bouncing most delightfully as they passed by. I followed their progress past us and around the track, fascinated by the intriguing view from behind. I was still watching the rear view, entranced, when my attention was abruptly torn away by the shrill cry of a female in distress.

Across the yard from us a tussle had broken out as two of Kimar’s men struggled to subdue a squirming female. This was the Saxon girl, a stocky young woman with a riot of pale tresses that fell around her face and shoulders. She was a well-built girl with muscular thighs and firm high-set breasts, each hefty tit a full handful. Her heels were planted defiantly. Her shoulders twisted, trying to shake off the grasp of her guards, while her conical titties jiggled in furious agitation. She kept up her noisy opposition until she was gagged, and then she continued to struggle in a silent-but futile-attempt to avoid her fate. The burly men had little trouble in manhandling the naked woman. Each one taking an arm, they half-dragged, half-propelled the shrieking slave girl to the trestle frame.

Sometimes called the “horse,” this sturdy frame consisted of a padded crossbar supported on thick wooden legs. The crossbar was set at waist height so that a recalcitrant slave could easily be bent over the thickly padded wood. And it was over the crossbar that the businesslike overseers now deposited their charge unceremoniously, upending her so that I now saw why Kimar thought I might wish to witness this paddling, for this girl sported a meaty bottom that was perfectly made for just that purpose. Hers was a firm, sturdy ass, solid and nicely rounded. It was an ass that could absorb much punishment.

One of the overseers held her in place over the bar with a large flattened hand placed firmly on the small of her back while she wiggled her rump and strained upward. The other man dropped to one knee and, clamping her wrist, pulled down on her dangling arm. The girl flailed her legs in screeching protest, kicking her heels, but the men who held her stepped back quickly, and the heavy hand that pressed against her kept her pinned firmly in place. Now they held her legs and bound them together with strips of leather tied around her thighs and again around her calves.

The crouching man was working with swift efficiency now, running twine from the leather wristbands to a convenient wooden stake sunk in the ground to serve as an anchoring point Taking up the slack in the line had the effect of drawing the girl still farther over the crossbar till her tightly bound legs hung straight down on the near side, toes pointed down and stiffened so they barely touched the grass.

Now that she was stretched over the bar and held in place, the two overseers stood up and turned to bow briefly to their master. One of them unhooked a paddle which hung from his belt and handed it over to Kimar. It had a short handle and a wide, flat blade of thin, pliable, stiffened leather. The two capable assistants were now dismissed, as the master would no longer need their services. The Saxon slave would be his to do with as he would!

Kimar approached the upended miscreant from behind, beckoning me to his side. Quite deliberately, he placed a hand on the served-up buttocks, curving his fingers to fit the mounded crests. The feel of his hand sent his victim mewing into her gag, twitching her hips in anxious protest, the only movement left to her in her perilous situation. The continuing protest brought a smile to the weary face of the old slaver, who took his time feeling her up, running his hand over the twin contours, testing the firm resiliency of those generous asscheeks. Obviously pleased in contemplating the task he was about to undertake, the old slaver stepped back and stood eyeing the squirming behind while tapping his palm lightly with the paddle.

Now he took up his position behind and just to the left of the dangling legs, tapping the blade of the paddle squarely across the nicely presented bottom so that he was assured of the proper range to his target He smiled to see her buttocks cringe under the first light kiss of leather. Now he widened his stance, setting his heels in place. Slowly, he drew back the wicked paddle and with a sudden snap of his wrist sent it whipping toward the girl’s jutting bottom.

“Thwack!” The snapping blade splattered those gelatinous mounds, drawing a muffled yelp from the girl, who jerked upward on her bonds as the impact shuddered through her stretched-out form.

Now Kimar settled into a steady rhythm, spanking the slave girl-not hard, but with short, choppy strokes, administered rapidly, until he had those choice wobbling rearmounds dancing wildly under the repeated slap of the flexible paddle. The relentless smacks soon had the girl twitching in fiery agitation, muffled yelps coming from her inverted head with each decisive slap of the quivering mounds.

Eventually, Kimar slowed the pace, pausing somewhat longer between each repeated smack.

“Thwack!”…Her asscheeks flattened and rebounded, leaving a red welt to spread across the twin curving surfaces… “Thwack!”…The blade whacked the bouncy mounds solidly… “Thwack!”…Another firm, decisive stroke, delivered quite dispassionately by the master slaver, whose eyes were hard and whose lips were set in a tight, determined line.

The girl’s fearful asscheeks cringed, clenching so that the sides hollowed out as the young Saxon woman steeled herself to meet the next attack. Her butt muscles contracted tightly, coiling down to harden the rearmounds and constrict the centerline to a deep, narrow slit.

“Thwack!” Kimar walloped her hardened butt, smacking it squarely across the twin contours with a crisp snap of the wrist. There was an unmistakable howl of outrage, an urgent braying muffed by the wadded rags they had stuffed into her mouth, the gag that was held in place by the silken scarf that bound her head.

Now the slave master paused and stepped up to squat down near her inverted head as it dangled between taut, outstretched arms. He reached out to her, cupping her chin and holding it in his fingers as he lifted her head so that he might look into the wide, moist eyes that met his over the silken scarf. I don’t know what he saw there. Perhaps it was the hurt, or abject contrition, or maybe a silent plea for mercy; but whatever it was he saw there, it brought a smile to his lips. He reached under her to feel a dangling breast quickly before rising and stepping back to take up his position again. Without further ado, he swung the paddle back in a wide, full arc and brought it forward with vigor, ending the swing with a crisp, authoritative snap of the wrist.

“Thwack!” The solid blow landed heavily, ringing out across the exercise yard. The muffled shriek it brought was long and wavering. At that, Kimar was apparently satisfied. Obviously pleased with his handiwork, he nodded in grim satisfaction and ran a hand over the girl’s warm, flinching rear end. Turning to me, he asked politely if I would like to try my hand. While watching the Saxon girl get spanked had resulted in quite an unsettling effect on me, and my swollen penis hung heavy beneath my loincloth stirring at the sight of those well-punished buttocks, I declined politely. Perhaps I felt some twinge of pity for the chastised slave, who surely had learned her lesson. Kimar shrugged his shoulders and suggested that perhaps someday I would like to take a more active role. 1 need only say so, and it would be arranged!

To complete her punishment, the girl would be left on display in the hot sun for one hour, held in place stretched over the bar so she might contemplate the lesson she had been taught. Her fiery buttocks, smarting from the angry sting of the wicked paddle, would serve as an object lesson to her companions who would be marched slowly past so they might view her throbbing ass and reflect on the price of disobedience.

As Kimar had promised, I was to witness many such exhibitions over the next few months, and to play the disciplinarian’s part in more than a few of them. But of these various entertaining spectacles, none was so unforgettable as the time Kimar arranged to have four of his slaves punished simultaneously. His overseers had uncovered a plot: the four young women hoped to run away and hide in the woods. There were some transgressions that the slave master would tolerate, viewing them as only minor indiscretions; but attempting to escape was another matter! It was an offense that was taken quite seriously. Any girl caught trying to escape was inevitably dealt with most severely, so that she might be made an example of to those who might be foolish enough to entertain similar notions. As a measure of my growing status as a very special guest, Kimar arranged for a private disciplinary session for the quartet of would-be escapees to be held in his tent.

That evening, when I entered Kimar’s tent, I saw that the furniture had been rearranged. The small couches and pillows had been pushed back along the canvas walls, leaving plenty of room at the center of the huge tent for a sturdy cushioned bench that was low, long, and narrow. A padded board, the same size and shape as the bench, was hinged to it at one end so that the board could be lifted and swung up out of the way.

The purpose of this ingenious arrangement was demonstrated for me. Sandwiched between the padded surfaces were the four naked malefactors, who knelt on hands and knees, their lithe young bodies draped over the bench, bellies pressed down on the leather-covered padding. The top board had been lowered to cross along the shallow curves of the lower backs, and then locked down at the far end, thus clamping the row of kneeling maidens in place. Imprisoned between the two padded surfaces, each girl found herself on hands and knees, her shoulders and hips snuggled cozily to her mate’s. She presented her naked buttocks for our edification and approval. I noted that each girl not only had been gagged with a wide leather strap tied behind her head, but she was also blindfolded. This latter refinement of the wily slave master’s served to increase their helplessness and, by depriving them of knowledge of the approach of their chastisers, introduce the element of surprise into their punishment. A girl might shudder at the thud of the paddle, cringe to hear her friend’s muffled cries, sympathize as she squirmed in distress. It increased her own fearful expectation to know that her time was about to come, but never to know exactly when the paddle might strike her vulnerable behind.

I eyed the charming row of girlish bottoms with genuine delight, resonating with a rutting surge of lust that had my manhood responding instantly, quickening, inflamed with the urgency of desire. Momentarily speechless, I beamed my approval, flashing my host my most appreciative grin. He acknowledged my silent compliment with a tilt of his head and put a single finger to his lips to assure my silence. Then, with overblown courtesy he bowed and offered me a paddle, presenting it with a flourish. For this evening’s session, two wooden paddles had been selected by that consummate connoisseur, sturdy ones with short handles and wide oval blades. Leather paddles imparted more of a sting, but the wooden paddles, with their greater heft and stiffer, less pliant blades, delivered a more solid bone-jarring impact.

Still silent, we moved stealthily, stepping up to take up positions at either end of the row of kneeling women. I stood behind the fourth girl, a slim-hipped slave whose pert rounded bottom pointed back at me temptingly. My host went down on one knee to conduct a detailed examination of the first girl in line, enjoying himself by lewdly fondling her helpless ass. I followed his example, squatting down to inspect the girl who was positioned at my end. I adored the symmetry of that small bottom, the way the undercurves were well defined so that the mounds jutted out from the tapering thighs. She kept her legs together, squeezing a lightly furred pussy so that it bulged out between the smooth columns of her lithe young thighs. The sight sent my penis soaring to its full height as it came to me that, aside from being ideal for chastisement, the pressing bench would allow a master to take a slave in any number of interesting ways. As I crouched down behind her, contemplating the girl’s helpless bottom, I couldn’t resist placing a hand on her conveniently placed rump, curving my fingers to fit one of the contoured rear-mounds, squeezing lightly.

The sudden and unexpected touch of a masculine hand on her bare ass caused the blindfolded girl to twitch nervously as a tiny whimper of surprise came from her mouth. Her agitation fired my lust, and I slipped my fingers down to touch the softly furred vulva that peeped out at me from between her clenching thighs. The girl shifted uneasily as my fingers sampled the tiny coils of pubic hair and pressed tentatively at the closed fleshy gates.

Intrigued, I drew my stiffened index finger along the fur-edged seam and straight up into the deep division between her spasming asscheeks, giving the helpless girl a sharp thrill that energized her abruptly, making her twitch her ass in a most enticing way. My host watched me, smiling, giving me an encouraging nod. We were in no hurry to begin the punishment; he saw I was clearly enjoying myself, and nodded. Smiling back at him, I turned to the slave at hand.

I clutched her tight-cheeked young bottom eagerly in both hands, curling my fingers along the sides, slipping my thumbs into her rearcrease so I could pry apart the firm orbs to reveal to my eyes her most intimate secret, the pinkish rosette of her newly exposed anus embedded in that shallow valley. I contemplated the soft pink of her asshole. The thought of taking her there fired my lust! The tiny ring of muscle seemed to spasm, winking seductively at me as I watched. I touched her there with one fingertip, pressing lightly, encountering stiff resistance, and getting a muffled grunt from the other end of the slave girl. I smiled to myself. There would be time to force the tiny gate later, after a proper paddling had made the girl more tractable. I eased out my fingers and let her straining asscheeks snap shut, leaving the kneeling slave with a friendly swat on her protruding behind.

Now, still on my knees, I shuffled over to place myself behind the next ass in line, for this one would also be mine before the night was through. Unlike the first girl, whose bottom was small and perfectly rounded, the next girl’s posterior was more shapely, sculpted with fuller flowing curves that formed a heart shape. Her plump ass seemed to jut back in saucy defiance. I traced the rich swells, drawing my fingertips over the magnificent sweep of those feminine buttocks. I thrilled to run my fingers along the curves, savoring the smooth, velvety feel of the tautly curved skin, sensing the underlying muscular tension of that well-made bottom. To test its resiliency, I dug my fingers into the softness, pressing till I encountered the underlying firmness of those heavenly mounds. The girl’s hips twitched under my loving ministrations as I fondled those supple fleshy mounds.

Continuing my examination, I crouched lower and let my cupped hand feel its way along the sculpted contour of one elegantly shaped thigh, starting just behind the knee and letting my fingers shape the swelling lines till they came to the top of the smooth thigh. Then I slid my hand around to sample the flesh of the inner thigh, silken smooth and warm with sexual heat. The girl shifted uneasily to feel my questing hand move up between her legs. I slid my hand up to fit my curving fingers to the plump bulge of her soft, furry vulva, a love-purse that was quite warm and inviting as I let my fingers play over its prominent swell. The girl’s hips writhed with a sensual excitement that she couldn’t possibly control as I fondled the soft folds of her sex. I heard a low moan escape her lips and felt a trace of moisture. I rubbed my fingers together, sampling her love-juices. The girl was clearly becoming aroused.

I slipped a finger between the slightly protruding lips and found her to be surprisingly wet. A quiver of excitement ran through her body, and she whimpered as the slick lips clung to the finger that was exploring her cunt. Her copious flow and excited reactions signaled that the healthy young girl might well be on the edge of coming. But my aim was to explore, not to excite her to orgasm. So, like any good explorer who has made his reconnaissance, I moved on, seeking new territory.

I slid my hands up to clasp those magnificent orbs and rudely pry them apart, opening her like a ripe peach to expose a cringing anus that tightened reflexively upon being revealed to the world. Holding her open with one splayed hand, I applied the fingertip of the other to the flinching rear portal and pressed, persisting in spite of the resistance I felt there, probing with my fingertip, indenting the tight ring of unyielding flesh. An urgent whimper came from the girl as no more than the tip of my finger was inserted up her ass gently but persistently. I diddled her there for a few seconds, while she strained and wiggled, and then I withdrew the offending digit and let the elastic cheeks snap shut, well satisfied with my inspection of her intimate parts. I smiled to myself, pleased at the thought that I might visit that hidden place once again, perhaps after her spanking, for the girl was entirely at my disposal. Having examined the miscreants thoroughly, it was now time to get on with the main event.

I noticed that my host had gotten to his feet to take up his position. He stood eyeing his cringing targets, slapping the wooden blade lightly against his palm, his face set in grim determination. I rose to my feet and took up a similar position behind and a little to the side of the second girl’s jutting posterior. From this position, I could easily reach both tempting targets. Setting my booted heels apart in a widened stance, I sized up the distance to each target, bringing my arm back in a shallow arc to test the range, tightening my grip on the paddle.

Now I took aim at the impudent bottomcheeks on the far end and swung.

“Thwap!” The wooden blade struck the jutting mounds-not hard, but decisively, for I never took Kimar’s “punishments” too seriously. I had no wish to hurt the girl, but only to leave her with a sharp reminder that would have her sitting down most gingerly for several days. The slave girl screeched her outrage into the gag at the sudden shock of the solid impact. I heard a duller thud come from immediately behind me. Kimar had found the range on a girl whose big, curvaceous buttocks had clearly attracted him-a most generous ass that I knew would give him the greatest of pleasure as each solid impact was followed by a keening yelp.

The resounding blows rang out repeatedly, punctuated by the muffled cries, as the two paddles came swinging down to flatten the sets of twin mounds, the first smack followed rapidly by another as we alternated between our dual targets. I watched the way the resilient mounds of the fuller ass bounced back, rebounding nicely at each swiftly delivered slap. And I saw the blade bite deeply into the hard little ass that waited anxiously on the end.

“Thwap… Thwap!… Thwap!… Thwap!” The whipping paddle repeatedly assaulted the solid impudent ass, sending the small mounds wobbling.

“Thwap!… Thwap!… Thwap!… Thwap!” The blade smacked the lush soft mounds, making them quiver wildly.

Thus we paddled the slave girls, lightly but methodically, using a series of rapid-fire shots that had the slaves mewing urgently into their gags. Their muted cries rose in syncopated rhythm with the crisp smacks, resulting in a regular cacophony that filled our tent.

Chapter Eight. The Eagle Turns To The North

Late that summer, ominous reports began to reach our ears of stirrings among the barbarous tribes of the North. Teuton raids on the slave caravans were increasing. Tax officials had been set upon, and now those worthies were refusing to visit the villages without an armed escort. The more civilized tribes were being threatened by the wild men from the North, who promised that the peaceful tribes would pay a heavy price for cooperating with their Roman overlords. The situation got so bad that it was no longer possible for us to remain idly sitting by, so I was not surprised when our orders came from Rome. The legion was to take to the field!

I was not looking forward to the hardship of a campaign after the long, leisurely days spent so pleasantly at Bernesium. It now seemed inconceivable to me that at some remote time, far away in the safety and comfort of Rome, a young lieutenant had actually complained of boredom and yearned for martial glory. Now, facing the imminent prospect of confronting the dreaded Northmen, I felt far less enthusiastic. Still, a Roman soldier must do his duty, so I ordered preparations be made for our first sally from the comforting security of our cozy, well-fortified home.

We hoisted the eagle and, with banners flying, we set off heading north; first to the farthest rim of outposts, and then beyond, to enter into the deep, forbidding forests. It was dark and gloomy under the huge trees, and the men trudged on in eerie silence. My horse seemed unusually nervous, twitching and snorting as if he sensed the danger that was all around us.

Less than a day’s march into the forest, our column was attacked.

The raid was sudden: a fierce, brief attack that came upon us in a flash as we were making our way patiently along the floor of a shallow valley. A piercing, bloodcurdling scream rang out, and we looked up to see a band of raging pale giants racing down the hillside through the trees, blond hair flying wildly as they flourished the axes and the heavy clubs these savages preferred as weapons. We barely had time to draw our swords and fall automatically into the defensive turtle, shields interlocked. Standing firm, we prepared to meet stoutly the pell-mell charge of the fierce barbarians.

In an instant their charge broke over the wall of shields, and they were upon us. The fight was fast and furious, a wild melee of war clubs thudding down on bending shields, and Roman broadswords slashing out at the barbarians’ flailing limbs. After only a few minutes of vicious fighting, the Teuton leader cried out, and the band fell back, melting away to disappear back into their forest haunts.

It had not been a very determined assault-more of a skirmish, really-one that didn’t appear to be well planned, but broke upon us helter-skelter. Perhaps a small raiding party had seen our column and decided to bloody a Roman nose or two before scampering off; or maybe they’d been sent to find us, to feel us out and test our strength, to see what Rome had sent against them. We bound our wounds and rested. And then we moved on.

The next day, our scouts reported smoke coming from a valley up ahead. As we crested the hill, we looked down on the smoldering ruins of a devastated village. The few dazed survivors who crawled from the woods when they saw the Roman standard told the tale of the vengeance of a mighty Teuton chieftain named Unix, who had demanded tribute and wreaked havoc on the village when they were unable to pay, slaying the men, burning their huts, and taking their women.

In broken Latin, one of the survivors assured us that he knew where Unix had made his camp, and he offered to lead us there. I talked it over with Sergeant Metellus and we agreed that the man seemed trustworthy enough. Moreover, it was obvious that we would have to come to terms with this Unix eventually if we were to subdue his revolt, so we decided to lay plans for an attack. We would move quickly but cautiously, throwing our scouts before us and stealing toward the barbarian encampment, hoping that the element of surprise might be on our side this time.

We marched that day and well into the night. Sometime after noon on the second day, our guide cautioned us to move more quietly as we were getting closer to the enemy camp. I had the men wait while the sergeant and I accompanied our guide, scrambling through a narrow defile and onto a rocky ledge that looked down on the sprawling enemy camp. We crept up behind some rocks and raised our heads cautiously.

The scene below was peaceful. Campfires were burning; blonde women clustered about them while children played at a stream nearby. At one end of the camp, there were carts piled high with loot, and a band of defeated captives sat dejectedly, heads hung low, guarded by a single warrior. Probably taken in some recent raid, these hapless men and women were now the slaves of this upstart and his men. We noticed that they had the same crude dress and blond complexion as their captors. Unix was obviously making war on other Germanic tribes as he struggled to establish his supremacy over them. We counted several dozen warriors, most of them unarmed, although their arms were stacked nearby. These fighting men were not deployed for defense. Here and there an occasional guard had been posted, but the camp was clearly not on alert.

It seemed inconceivable to me; the gods must be with us! Surely by now the raiding party must have warned them of the presence of a Roman column in their own backyard, but there was a curious air of lax tranquility about the barbarian encampment It was as though they were oblivious to any danger; or perhaps they were so confident of their strength that they had become arrogant, rashly disregarding any warnings they may have had.

We stole back to where my men waited hidden behind the rocks and planned our attack Because the camp lay in the middle of a large plain, we would be seen as soon as we emerged from the rocks, thus giving our enemy plenty of time to spread the alarm and grab their weapons. Therefore, we would split our force.

I would lead a contingent down the defile, tumbling across the plain, brandishing our swords, shouting and charging with a great clamor. As soon as the Teuton warriors rushed onto the field to meet us, we would turn, as though in sudden panic, and flee back toward the rocks. Once we had the overconfident enemy strung out and racing eagerly across the plain, we would stop suddenly and turn on them, while at that moment Sergeant Metellus, leading the main body of our men, would fall on them from their flank The maneuver took disciplined timing, but my troops had practiced it many times, and they knew what to do.

The charge went as planned; the alarmed barbarians scurried for their weapons and rushed out onto the plain. We feigned cowardice at the fierceness of their charge and let them chase us. Then, at my signal, we dug in our heels and wheeled about, preparing to meet our onrushing enemy. We clashed and immediately found ourselves in a furious fight, swords flashing and clubs swinging wildly as we fought toe-to-toe. I managed an anxious look at the surrounding rim of rocks just in time to see Metellus with the main body cresting a small hill to begin their charge.

At that point, my attention was fully occupied by a blond giant who grabbed my ankle and pulled me from my mount I hit the ground with a thud, momentarily stunned. He screamed and swung a murderous mace at my head, which I managed to duck away from at the last second. It hit the ground next to my ear with a bone-jarring thud. I spun over and leaped to my feet just as the second blow came swinging my way. This time he swung in a high circle, leaving himself open. I saw my chance and I took it, lunging with my blade to catch him under the arm and stab upward straight into his chest With a sharp cry, the big man went down, nearly tearing the sword out of my hand as his massive body twisted and fell. My head was singing as I pulled the sword free in a fountain of blood and swung around, bloody sword at the ready.

I was much too busy to keep track of the battle, but I saw that our comrades had joined us. Now we had the enemy in our pincers. A horn sounded from somewhere. Suddenly, a second force of the enemy appeared-hidden reserves, perhaps, who were now rushing to join the fray. Maybe we had been tricked, but I had no time to think about that. I found myself slashing furiously, severing limbs and felling blond warriors left and right as I hacked my way through the press of desperate fighting men.

For a while, we struggled in a battle in which neither side would yield. Then we began to surge forward slowly. The barbarian line faltered and then began to break up. Suddenly it cracked, dissolving into small islands of savages, still fighting desperately even as their comrades began to desert them-at first a few, then in droves, falling back, turning and running from the terrible battle. My men sensed that victory was ours and, shouting triumphantly, chased after the stricken foe, scattering them as they ran for the safety of the woods.

I saw the blond chieftain holding his own under his standard of animal pelts and made my way toward him as his guards fell around him, one after the other. The noose of legionnaires was getting tighter around the Teuton standard, when somehow the mighty warrior managed to tear himself away from our grasp and, taking a few of his men with him, fled toward the defile and possible escape. I motioned for a party of legionnaires to come with me, and we went off in hot pursuit. It took us a while chasing the little band through the hills, till at last we managed to corner our foe with his back against the face of a cliff.

I stood facing the powerful, well-built warrior. I had no doubt that this was Unix, their chieftain. He stood taller than the other men, his loincloth torn and bloody, the hard muscles of his torso sheened with sweat and dripping with blood that trickled down from a sword wound that had been opened at his side. But he was not defeated. His eyes were fierce and blue, and he trembled with excitement as he wheeled around to face us. His hands and arms were bloody from the slaughter and he had lost his shield, but his right hand still held the wicked battle-ax, its deadly blade gleaming red. I shouted for him to yield, even though I knew that this proud barbarian would never allow himself to be taken alive to be hauled back to Rome in a cage.

He looked at me for a moment above the fray. Then, with a fierce shout, he plunged toward me, swinging his ax wildly. It was no contest, for by now the Teuton chieftain had lost his few remaining companions and the big man went down alone under the weight of our numbers, swinging defiantly at his pursuers till the very end.

By the time we made our way back to the scene of the battle, the last remnants of the enemy were being dispatched. We heard the pitiful cries of the wounded as the swords came down; the smell of blood was strong in the air. Parties of soldiers had begun looting the enemy camp, gathering the captured booty that was now ours, rounding up the women and children, sorting out those that would be taken to serve Rome. I found my trusty sergeant in the middle of organizing the mopping-up operations.

He stood talking to a Teuton girl: a slender reed of a girl, fair featured and small-breasted. Her name was Minta. The young woman had been a slave of Unix, and now she would be a slave of Rome-perhaps a most valuable slave, as the clever girl spoke Latin, as well as Gaulish and the Germanic tongue of the Teutons. For the first time since the onset of the battle I looked at my sergeant and smiled, and he smiled back. We stood there saying not a word, smiling at one another, bloody and dirty and weary but triumphant at this, our first victory, and a most decisive one at that!

As we were congratulating ourselves, a shrill scream made me spin around just in time to see a crazed woman flying at me from behind one of the wagons. She was brandishing a nasty dagger over her head and would surely have struck me, had not Metellus alertly stuck out his foot to trip her and send her sprawling across the grass. Her weapon was knocked from her grasp by the impact, and she quickly got to her hands and knees to scramble after the knife when two of my men pounced on her. She howled her rage and struggled under them, screaming all the while in that guttural tongue of the Northmen. I knew only a few words, but I recognized the Teuton words for “Roman pigs.”

She was subdued expertly. One of the men who knelt on her with his knee pressed between her shoulders gathered up a fistful of long blonde hair and pulled back her head, exposing her throat, while he drew his dagger. He would have dispatched her on the spot, had I not stopped him with drawn dagger in midair. At my command, the soldiers dragged the would-be assassin to her feet and brought her to me.

She was a magnificent blonde animal! Even though her face was contorted with sizzling rage, she possessed the proud Nordic features of her kind. Hers was a face of rare beauty, the angular plane of her cheeks defined by fine high-set cheekbones, a long sculpted nose with flaring nostrils, precise lips, and big eyes of icy blue that, flashing in insolence and cold anger, penetrated to the soul. Her hair was wild and matted, but it had the quality of pure spun gold. Hanging in silvery blonde sheets, it fell in bangs across her forehead and framed her long oval face, as she stood before me, twisting in the painful grip of her grim guards.

As she was brought face-to-face with her new Roman master, she screamed her defiance, repeating the same words again and again. Minta translated. “Kill me! Kill me!” the young woman demanded. She wished only to die, for she swore she would rather face death than submit to a Roman. Of course, I had no intention of granting that proud beauty her wish. It would be a tragedy to slay a such a magnificent creature who so obviously had been made to give men pleasure.

Now I regarded her blazing eyes and let my gaze deliberately drop to take in her tall, handsome, blonde body. Her single garment was a crude tunic of animal hide that hung from her shoulders to mid-thigh, belted at the waist with a thin strip of leather. I asked her name and waited while Minta translated. She said nothing, but eyed me coldly. I nodded to the guard who stood behind her. By applying pressure to her arm, we got to her spit out her name: Helva.

I nodded, then ordered the men to strip her, pulling off the tunic, ripping off the loincloth she wore underneath, so that she was left standing before me in nothing but her sandals. For a moment, I stood regarding her long-limbed body. Her breasts were not large, but their gentle swells were so taut that they stood out like thickened disks, circles of bare relief standing out on her exquisitely made chest with wide pink nipples, precisely centered. Between her long, lean thighs, a softly mounded pubis waited invitingly, sporting a thick fleece of silvery gold that only half hid the thick pink labia that nestled in a profusion of tiny curls.

I had the guards force the big blonde to her knees. Then I strode closer, to stand over the naked woman as she knelt there before me, head hung low. I was pleased to feel the silkiness of her fine blonde hair and couldn’t resist taking a strand to rub between my fingers. Then, digging abruptly into the silken mass, I clenched a fistful and pulled back her head, forcing my blonde captive to look up at me. I looked down into her resentful blue eyes and I told her of her fate. Her feelings in the matter were of not the slightest concern to me, I explained, while Minta translated my words.

She would live, but her life would no longer be hers. From this day forward, she would be a slave of Rome. As such she must learn to serve at the pleasure of her masters, to do without question whatever was demanded of her. Above all, she must learn obedience. And if she learned well and became a good little slave, she would be treated well. But if she was a bad girl, then she would surely be punished. Then I twisted the handful of hair, bringing pain to her eyes.

The girl spat at me!

I laughed and tightened my grip, hurting her, till she cried out Then I tossed her head down, and had the men stake her out This fiery hellcat must be tamed, her pride broken, her will bent, her body taken and enjoyed by the Romans she so thoroughly feared and despised.

The men made quick work of it, even though she continued to struggle in vain. There were four of them, one at each limb, and they held her down easily while the stakes were driven into the ground and her arms and legs stretched out and tied in place. Her constant screeching annoyed me, so I had her gagged. That helped, although her muffled keening continued unabated for a while, till it trailed off eventually in helpless frustration.

Now she lay quiet. The sight of the naked blonde, spread-eagled on the ground, every sinew of her long, streamlined body pulled taut by the restraints that bound her wrists and ankles, fired my loins. A surge of lust shot through me, and my cock twitched with eager expectation. The sinews of her arms and legs took much of the strain, drawing her sleek torso taut and stretching her tits into two elongated, slightly flattened, swells crowned with choice nipples, pert and erect. The bottom ridge of her rib cage was dimly visible under the tightly stretched skin. Below that, a slight hollow had been formed as the skin of her belly was pulled taut as a drum between the points of her prominent hipbones. My eyes were drawn to the triangle of pale silvery pussyfur that marked the mounded pubis, the little fleshy pad that sat there so soft and inviting, the stretched-open vagina, dark fleshy lips agape, showing the brighter slick folds of pink inside. I wanted to curl my fingers up between her outstretched legs and shove them up her splayed-open cunt while palming her Venus-mound, pleasuring her till she was maddened by lust. I wanted to see this proud savage squirm in helpless arousal. The very thought had my prick stirring, swelling, and blossoming forth in full erection, as I contemplated that superb vulnerable body. But I would reserve that sweet pleasure for myself for some later time. For now, she would entertain the troops.

This method was used to initiate the captured women who were destined to spend their days in army brothels. On several occasions, I had seen an entire cohort of legionnaires serviced in just this manner. But this slave must be used more carefully. I meant to use our prized captive as a reward for my heroes. Metellus was given the task of selecting those lucky men who had especially proven themselves in battle. Naturally, I allowed him to have her first, rewarding him for his loyalty and courage. Of course, he deferred to me, but I told him I was content to wait. I meant to have her, too, but not just yet… and not in the same manner as my men.

Now the lusty legionnaires began to line up, grinning and laughing in ribald good humor, greatly pleased with their unexpected good fortune. And when our captive fully realized what was about to happen, her blue eyes grew wide with alarm over the gag and her muffled crying started all over again. She yanked on her bounds and squirmed, but there was very little she could do. Her agitated movements only served to further inflame the randy men who huddled around her, sporting mighty erections.

The good sergeant dropped on his knees between those magnificent wide-spread legs. He lifted his tunic in front and drew out his well-endowed equipment, letting her see his splendid manhood in its fully aroused state as he knelt upright before her. He reached up to run his hands over her splendid body, mauling her served-up tits and then, too excited to wait any more, he guided his prick into her gaping pussy and fell on her. Helva received his full weight, and the big thick prick that simultaneously slid up her cunt, with a deep throaty groan.

We watched him fuck her while she threw back her head and shut her eyes, receiving the savage pounding as the randy noncom worked himself up to a lust-driven frenzy, bucking furiously. It took only a few seconds of this intense fucking till he tossed back his head, his body arching and, straining upward, came with a long strangled cry. We watched him dismount wearily, depleted and breathing heavily. His softening prick, still throbbing, carelessly dribbled the last trickles of ropy sperm on the girl’s open thighs. He staggered away to collapse in a heap, while the second man knelt down eagerly to take his place. And so it went, one after the other, until the sex-ravaged woman had accommodated my sergeant and six of my best men.

Now I stood over her, looking down into those dazed blue eyes, and realized that all the savage anger had been beaten out of her. There was no loud crying now, no frantic twisting in her bounds. Her splayed cunt twitched, the pinkish folds throbbing in the aftermath of her multiple orgasms, oozing a trickle of Roman seed mixed with her own copious spendings. I placed a sandaled foot between her pussylips and nudged her well-used sex with my toes. The blonde girl groaned, but otherwise lay inert, thoroughly drained, without the least shred of resistance when my men loosened her bonds, only to flip her limp body over and retie her, this time stretched out facedown.

At last, for the first time since she had been taken prisoner, I was able fully to appreciate the beauty of Helva’s lush naked bottom-a splendid, sculpted ass, nicely curving twin mounds that swept up prominently, with shallow depressions at the sides of her cheeks. It was my turn to get my hands on that fine young body. Kneeling between her outstretched legs, I used both hands to explore the sinuous lines of her long, streamlined body, running them up the backs of her taut-muscled calves, relishing the satiny smoothness of her elegantly curved legs. I followed the sleek contours up to the hollows behind her knees and beyond, traveling up the smooth skin at the back of her tapering thighs. My fingertips sampled the silken band of flesh along her inner thigh, and then I traveled a few inches higher. My questing fingers explored the soft purse of her thick wet pussylips. I pressed along her love-cove, feeling my way along the rubbery, slick lips, sticking a finger in there, and getting a soft, shuddering moan from the blonde, before I ran my teasing finger up the perineum and then drew it along the center crease of her handsome ass while Helva twitched in a simmering excitement She thrilled to the stab of pleasure when my finger touched the center of her crotch.

And now I spent a few leisurely moments delighting in the warm satiny feel of Helva’s splendid ass. I fondled it lovingly, caressed those twin curvaceous mounds, so neatly symmetrical, so soft, yet so deeply resilient. I couldn’t resist cupping my hand and whacking her ass, delivering a solid slap to test its spongy resiliency. Helva’s head jerked up in shocked reflex, and she yanked on her bonds, clenching her fists in spasms of rage. I calmly laid my flattened hand on the small of her back and, with a deep caress, brought it up the sweeping slopes to clutch a single rubbery orb and squeeze firmly, digging my fingers into her valley and holding her rearcheek in a tight grip. I played with Helva’s superb bottom, feeling her up, mauling, kneading those twin mounds to my heart’s content, while the girl herself squirmed in rising sensual heat, writhing in spite of herself as her healthy young body responded yet again to the touch of a man.

Her excited squirming had made me hard as a rock, my prick aching, demanding satisfaction. I moved my clothes up out of the way and brought my erect manhood up along the crease of her rear, pressing my loins down against those heavenly pillows, my prick snuggling happily between them as I rubbed it up and down her hot, tight valley.

Easing off, I clasped her butt and slipped my thumbs into the crease. I pried her open to get at her anus. I touched my finger to her there to find her warm and dry and incredibly tight. The little rosette stubbornly resisted my probing finger.

Suddenly angry, I slapped her on the rump, hard.

“You have a lot to learn, my beauty,” I muttered, my lips close to her ear.

Now I made some extra preparations for my next attempt to storm that tiny gate. First I called for rolled blankets to be placed under her loins. This additional padding had the effect of pulling her outstretched limbs even more tightly and elevating her lifted rear end to even greater prominence. Next, I had them bring us some oil, and this was poured in a generous stream down her rear divide while I pulled her straining asscheeks apart. I worked some oil into her cringing rear portal and rubbed a bit on my hardened cock.

Now I was ready to resume my place between her legs. Holding her open with one splayed hand, I guided my prick to its target With increasing excitement, I held her open and pressed down on her anus. She cried out at my determined assault. Suddenly furious, I stabbed at the clenched ring of muscle, struggling with the tiny gate, fiercely determined, till I felt it begin to yield. I slapped her rearcheek again and again, smacking her smartly as I kept up my unrelenting pressure. My captive howled her outrage into her gag as I slipped in and gained an inch or so. I felt the tiny ring of muscle loosen and immediately contract as I gained entrance, but I was in! Now I fell forward, letting her take the fullness of my weight, while driving my rigid cock smoothly right up her ass. She shook her blonde mane frantically, and a soft gurgling sound came out from around the gag.

I savored the sweet tightness I found there, the way her savaged asshole clenched me, the way her buoyant mounds felt pressed solidly against my hips. I let my hips rock forward, delighting in the bouncy resiliency of that wonderful ass while a strangled groan escaped from the impaled woman.

Soon I was fucking the blonde barbarian’s asshole in slow, even strokes, pulling out almost to the very tip and then lunging to bury my sword to the hilt up her rectum. Her little anus clung tightly to my shaft, sucking me in, as I drew back. Fired with lust, I speeded up, drilling her more quickly now with brisk, short strokes. Soon I was bucking furiously, crazed with lust and fucking her ass with wild abandon while my men cheered me on. I felt the teasing trickle of pleasure rising up in my loins, felt it gather power till it became a mighty surge of lust, a raging, unstoppable river that erupted into the Teuton’s undulating ass, sending jets of Roman seed deep into her bowels. The explosion of pleasure shook me as I fired my essence into her bounding ass. I felt her inner heat, her tightening on me as if her asshole were milking my throbbing cock dry. I fell back, extracting my still-pulsating prick to let the last dribbles of my sperm decorate her pretty rear end.

Well-satisfied that our new slave had been properly introduced to her subservient status, I felt that one further refinement might be added as I stared thoughtfully at her twitching ass. Calling Minta over, I had her crouch down by the head of the pinioned slave and translate my words. I told her that her Roman master would undoubtedly want to revisit that choice rear end of hers, and there was considerable room for improvement there. Therefore, I would see to it that a proper buttplug was inserted to exercise that portal and remind her that she must be much more accommodating in the future.

At my command, a squat wooden plug was fashioned, oiled, and promptly inserted in the ravaged anus of the outstretched blonde, while she whimpered plaintively from behind her gag. And that was how she spent her first night as a Roman captive. Spread-eagled and tied down, the rude buttplug lodged well up her behind, the squat end left to jut out from between her clenching asscheeks, moving each time she contracted her buttocks, the well-fucked woman could do nothing but contemplate her fate. The other captives were brought over to see her in this sorry state so that they, too, might reflect on the price of obstinacy to the will of Rome.

Chapter Nine. Taming The Blonde Barbarian

In Bernesium it is said that the people still talk of my triumphant return. It was a glorious day, with banners flying, crowds cheering, slaves marching in bondage and, trailing behind me, the fairest captive of them all, a magnificent blonde barbarian, trussed up and swinging from a pole. When we were a day out of town, I had my men prepare Helva for the last few miles. She was made to lie facedown on the ground; her arms were pulled back and her legs bent at the knees so that her wrists could be bound to her ankles, one loop of rawhide binding all four limbs together. The method of tying her up pulled her body back till it was lightly bowed. Now a long smooth wooden pole was passed under her bound wrists and ankles, and a soldier at each end hoisted it up, raising our captive so that her long body hung swaying beneath the pole, nipples pointing to the ground. In this ignominious manner, my blonde beauty was paraded through the village behind my horse, her place in the column a sign of her special status, telling the world that the commander had claimed her as his own personal sex slave.

Next came our victorious troops, smiling and waving to the crowd of townspeople. Bringing up the rear were the rest of the slaves, marching naked with hands bound before them, a sprinkling of young men and boys, and then a score or more of female slaves-blonde Nordic women whose fair features were much admired by the gaping crowd, who murmured in wonder as they passed by.

The slaves were taken to the penned-in area used by the slavers just west of town, where they would be sorted out further. They would be held there to await the arrival of Kimar, for they would be sold to him (and to no other passing slaver, in accordance with our agreement). For this exclusive consideration, I would receive a princely sum, over and above the sale price which would, of course, have to be reported to Rome. It goes without saying that a few captives might be held back, saved from the old slaver’s clutches to be reserved for my personal use. I also meant to make a gift of one or two to Gratius for his kind hospitality in the past. I had not mentioned it to him, but I knew he was hopeful of such largess once he had laid his greedy eyes on the lines of fair-haired slave girls.

Upon my triumphant return, he had been the first to rush out and greet me, welcoming me back with gushing enthusiasm, and placing his house at my disposal quite generously. In fact, he went so far as to insist that I move out of my modest quarters at the fort to take up residence in one wing of his palatial home, for I was truly a hero of Rome and he would be much honored to have me as his guest. I knew he had at least one eye on my prize captives, but I accepted graciously, sure that some sort of deal was in the making.

I selected three of my newly acquired slave girls to accompany me to my new quarters: Helva, of course; clever Minta, who had proven to be quite useful as a translator, and who, it turned out, showed surprising enthusiasm as a sprightly sex slave; and a third girl, a slender Germanic beauty named Iryna. Of the same delicate-boned and long-limbed race, Iryna was a bit younger and not quite as tall as the statuesque Helva; but there was something about her slim thighs and trim youthful body that stirred me powerfully. I noticed her cool beauty as she marched in line, head held high, pale blue eyes on some distant horizon. The small blonde face with neat, precise features. The bright golden hair that fell in smooth sheets to her shoulders. The slender limbs and lithe torso with the most appealing little breasts, two small, taut globes with slightly upturned nipples that stood up, perky and expectant. This was the trio I took with me when I left the cold, drafty fort and moved into a spacious suite of rooms overlooking the lake.

That evening I had my new sex slaves brought to the baths. We all needed to be cleaned up after the march home, and spending a few leisurely hours in the scented air of Gratius’s baths seemed the ideal way to ease away the aches of the campaign. Steam was rising from the shallow pools, the air rich with the aroma of fragrant oils and perfumes as I entered to find my girls waiting for me. As I had ordered, the three waited on their knees, sitting back on their heels, lined up in a row. They had been scrubbed and cleaned and, as befitted their new status, each wore the high leather collar, along with the wrist and ankle bands, of a sex slave.

Helva knelt erect on the left. Her hair was still wet, and the crown of her blonde head, which was tilted down, gleamed like burnished gold. She knelt with eyes downcast, for she would not meet my gaze unless 1 demanded it I watched her circular breasts rise and fall in gentle undulations, pink nipples moist and taut. Beside her, Iryna waited, her head held high, her damp blonde hair richly dark hung lank to her neck and softly sloping shoulders. She was watching me alertly, her blue eyes following my every move. Like the rest of her slim torso, her breasts were curiously white against the even tan of her limbs-two small white globes, each neat handful capped by impertinent nipples.

At the other end, Minta knelt, her head bowed respectfully. In light of her willing and cooperative attitude and her status as my official translator, she had been given one of the gauzy tunics worn by Gratius’s house slaves, while her two fellow slaves, unruly and not yet trained, were kept totally naked. I had come to appreciate this sprightly girl on the homeward march. She was eager to please and, far from sharing the other girls’ hatred of Rome, she was warmly affectionate and always willing. I learned that although she was a German, she was from a different tribe than the others. She had been captured in one of Unix’s raids and given to the imperious Helva, who had treated her with contempt. Naturally, she was overjoyed to find that her proud mistress had been reduced to the level of a mere sex slave, both of them now equal in their subservience to their Roman master.

Now 1 studied that slightly built nubile body with its firm titties, small crescent-shaped breasts that invited the touch. I delighted in sampling those skimpy little tits by rubbing them between my fingers, pulling on the elastic flesh till the girl squealed. I savored their dreamy feel, for the pale pliant skin was as smooth as silk. Her little breasts were tipped with neat caps and protruding nipples, precisely made nubbins, tiny stems that stuck out boldly. Her rich blonde hair was also damp. She wore it pulled back and tied in the Gaulish manner. Her filmy tunic was plastered to her body. Not for the first time, I felt a definite stirring of lust.

I ordered the slaves to kneel with their backs perfectly straight, hands behind their necks in a presentation position that Kimar often used to best show off a girl’s charms. Then, while the other two held the mandated pose, I summoned Minta to attend me. She had quickly learned the proper way to undress her lord and master, and I delighted in the feel of her soft, knowing hands as they passed over my body, undoing clasps and drawing off my belt. She removed my tunic and undid my loincloth, careful not to touch my swelling manhood, for such a move without my expressed permission would amount to gross impertinence! Then I eased back onto one of the couches, while my dutiful slave bent over me to untie my sandals and slip them off my feet.

Once naked, I stepped down into one of the inviting pools of warm water. I invited Minta to join me. She drew off her tunic swiftly, stripping her narrow form to bare the clean lines of the smooth front and the slight rises of her crescent-shaped titties that perched so proudly on her chest Her small, inviting pussy was a lightly furred mound hazed with a pale soft down; the pink lips small and puckered. I also summoned Iryna to join us in the bath. The two slave girls would bathe me while I kept Helva on her knees before me so that I might enjoy the pleasure of seeing her nude beauty as I gave myself up to the tender ministrations of my handmaidens.

Wading up to my knees in the water, I turned my back to Iryna while offering my front to Minta. The girls started to work on me, rubbing all over my body, first with invigorating stiff brushes, then with soft wet washcloths. Minta worked with her usual enthusiasm, covering every inch of skin methodically. I watched her scrub her way across my chest, taking her time there, pausing to play with the wet chest hairs, toying with my nipples, her nimble fingers working their way down my flinching belly, teasing along to skirt the edge of my pubic hair. I allowed her to wash my masculine equipment, but cautioned her to be quick about it, as I was already stiffening and I didn’t want to be brought to climax so soon in the game.

Meanwhile, Iryna was moving her hands over the knotted muscles of my back and shoulders, pressing lightly. Her hands, moving dutifully but indifferently, lacked the enthusiasm of Minta, who was kneeling before me, lifting my scrotum impishly to scour under my balls, her small wet face upturned and smiling at me. Even when I leaned down to present my butt for Iryna’s attention, her hands simply passed over my proffered cheeks in a perfunctory manner. The girl could benefit from a good dose of salts under her tail, and I would see to it!

I climbed out of the water and had the slaves wrap me in scented towels and then dry my body methodically. Next I reclined naked on the couch, lying on my side while the slave girls brought scented oils to rub into my skin. Iryna knelt behind me, massaging my back, while Minta’s clever fingers once more explored the front of my body. As these small feminine hands worked their wonders on my tired and aching muscles, I gazed at the kneeling blonde who knelt before me, arms raised and elbows back, brazenly showing me her breasts while her pretty face remained and passive and expressionless.

“Beauty,” I called her, for that was the name I’d chosen for her, “play with yourself!”

The blonde head turned in my direction at the sound of her nickname, which she recognized by now. Her pale blue eyes held a look of loathing, implacable hatred mixed with cold insolence. She had picked up a few words of Latin, and I had ordered that she was to learn our tongue quickly. But just to be sure she understood, I now had Minta translate for me.

“Tell her I want to see her play with herself,” I ordered jovially. “Her tits…and her pussy, too! 1 want to see how she does it.” I knew my proud captive would find the orders distasteful. She might even refuse. But I meant to press her, to test her obedience constantly till she learned to obey even the most perversely outrageous orders and to do so with alacrity. Minta seemed to thoroughly enjoy repeating my orders in the harsh Germanic tongue.

For a long moment, I met the smoldering anger in her steely blue eyes. We held each other’s unflinching gaze. The blonde moved first, lowering her head under my unrelenting glare. I heard a tiny sigh of resignation. Then she brought her hands up to place them over her softly mounded tits. Pressing lightly she began to move the mounds of flesh with her joined fingers, rubbing them in slow circles, doing what I had ordered, but obviously without much enthusiasm.

“Better than that! Go on, feel yourself up!” I shouted impatiently.

Obediently, the long fingers closed on those lovely breasts and she curved her palms to cup herself, fondling the titty-flesh, moving it more passionately now, though her movements still had a certain mechanical quality.

I found the sight of the pretty blonde fondling her own tits to be highly erotic, even though she did her best to suppress any sign of excitement on her part. She mean to prove to me that while she could be made to perform for me, she would take no pleasure in such perverse acts. However, her healthy young body was starting to betray her. Her tender nipples were beginning to emerge from their circles of crinkled flesh, stiffening under the mild stimulation they enjoyed.

“Your nipples-play with your nipples!” I urged vehemently. My voice, heavily laden with passion, had suddenly gone hoarse.

I watched as her long slender fingers delicately took each pink tip in turn. The blonde pinched her nipples, rolling the little buds between thumbs and forefingers.

“Pull on them!”

Still holding herself erect, the blank expression on her pale face never wavering, the young woman obediently plucked the burgeoning stems, pulling the pliant flesh, twisting the captive nipples that darkened and blossomed under all this attention. I ordered her to wet her fingers in her mouth and to continue her efforts till she had her nipples fully erect. Only then did I allow her to quit.

“Enough! Now your pussy! Spread your legs, Beauty, and play with yourself!” I managed to get out, though my voice cracked under the strain. Minta’s translation held an unmistakable note of glee.

The agile fingers quit the sensitive nipples. I smiled to see those fully expanded tips standing proud, glistening and hard with arousal. I watched her shift to widen her knees and bring both hands down as her fingers nosed along the sides of her blonde triangle. Her slithering hands become bolder as they edged closer to her sex. Her right hand moved in so that she might hold her left hand cupped protectively over her blonde pubis.

Her hand moved slowly, rubbing sensually, stirring the first waves of self-pleasure. I studied her Nordic features more closely, alert for the first signs that all this self-stimulation was getting to her. There was a definite tinge of pink along the ridges of her cheekbones as she experienced the first flush of arousal while she rubbed along the converging sides of her pubis. Her eyes were half-lidded now, the pretty lashes lowered. I saw her lick her lips, her tongue peeking quickly as her right hand slid down between her legs to capture her blonde sex. I watched her hand closing and opening rhythmically as she palmed her pubic mound. Her breathing deepened under the delicious waves of pleasure she was generating in her hot box.

I passed a hand across my brow to find it hot and damp. Her steamy performance was also getting to me. My cock stood upright, throbbing with eagerness, straining taut as a bowstring and aching with desire.

“Sit back on your heels, and open your legs…wider, all the way, like the whore that you are!” I ordered harshly. The girl hesitated; but she did as I commanded, shifting back, spreading open her thighs to show me her pink pussy.

“Now, get a finger in there, two fingers…! want to see you fuck yourself!”

Her head snapped up, her eyes fluttered open, and she looked up at me. Suddenly I saw her questioning eyes harden. She hesitated, teetering on the verge of outright refusal. But even if she thought better of it and decided to comply, it was too late. Even her slight hesitation was enough to condemn her to a proper dose of punishment. For a moment we waited, and all time stood still Then she let her head drop and her hands fall uselessly to her side, passively refusing to accede to my perverse wish. This was what I had been waiting for.

“You refuse?” The blonde head never moved “Then I’m afraid you must learn the cost of disobedience. Kneel now… hands behind your head!”

Once more the exquisite young woman assumed the presentation position, closing her knees slowly, straightening up, bringing her hands up to the back of her neck I called Minta over and whispered my instructions in her ear, watching her smile widen into an evil grin as she realized what I had in mind. She was surprisingly eager to carry out her task. Gathering up some rawhide strips, she stepped up behind the kneeling blonde, pulled her arms down, and tied her hands behind her. This was done efficiently as the slaves’ wristcuffs had a set of brass rings sewn in them. A line running through the rings could be knotted quickly to secure the wrists together.

Next the captive was gagged, her mouth stuffed with a damp washcloth. Minta pinched her nipple, and when Helva gasped in surprise, the wadded cloth was forced between her gaping jaws. A wide leather strap tied around her head held the gag in place. Helpful little Minta was beaming, extremely proud of her handiwork as she pulled the kneeling girl to her feet and led her over to present her to me.

Helva seemed surprisingly docile as, with hands tied behind her back, she let herself be led to me by the smaller girl Yet even though she seemed to accept her fate passively, the cold anger in her eyes still smoldered with the same implacable hatred For a moment, I studied her hard eyes above the strap. Then I nodded curtly. Minta turned her captive around and forced her to her knees, so she was kneeling in front of one of the low couches. With a rude shove, Minta toppled the big blonde forward to lie upended over the couch.

It must have been the memories of her own abject slavery at the hands of Unix, when Minta was forced to serve the haughty blonde, that brought such obvious pleasure to her small astonished face when I handed her a paddle and ordered her to use it on her former mistress’s served-up ass. The girl could hardly believe her good fortune!

Now, while she took her place behind the bent-over blonde, eyeing the inviting ass with pleasure, I beckoned the fair Iryna to me. She came with her usual indifference and let me take her by the hand. With just the slightest trace of reticence, the lissome blonde allowed herself to be drawn down to lie across my widespread thighs. She shifted her hips to rest more comfortably, her tall, thin body fully stretched out over my lap, hip pressed against my hard penis, her long hair sweeping down to the floor on one side, while her slender legs angled down with her toes touching the floor on the other. I sighed in deep admiration of the ass she presented to me: that choice upturned bottom, two sleek hemispheres, elongated ovals that begged to be caressed…or to be spanked!

I fitted my curved hand to those taut little mounds and moved it slowly, absently stroking her rear end, up and down those delectable twin curves, while I turned my attention to Helva’s punishment. Minta had taken up her position, careful to stand to one side so that she would not block my view of Helva’s well-made bottom, the mounds stretched taut and offered up so nicely. I watched the wiry girl tighten her grip and slowly draw back the wooden paddle. Then she brought her weapon down with surprising force in one smooth, well-aimed swing.

“Thwap!”

The resounding slap of the pliant wood paddle as it met Helva’s pale flesh was reassuringly solid. Helva’s shoulders quivered as she received the full shock of the impact. Minta grinned and I noticed an excited gleam in her eyes as she widened her stance and brought back the paddle, eager to deliver the next smack.

“Thwap! Thwap!… Thwap! Thwap! Thwap!” The punishing paddle bit into the vulnerable rearmounds with a dull thudding cadence, sending the girl squirming furiously, twisting her loins in a futile effort to escape the businesslike walloping. Angry cries came from around the gag as Helva shrieked her outrage.

Watching Helva’s spanking had my rockhard prick throbbing with the ache of desire. I dipped a hand between Iryna’s loose thighs and explored the mysteries I found there, shamelessly fingering her sex while she writhed helplessly in my lap. I took her netherlips between my fingers, feeling her heat and sampling the wetness of her pussy while Iryna moaned and my fingers played with the soft folds of her rapidly moistening cunt. Now Minta was toying with her victim, pausing to study the reddened throbbing cheeks, running the wooden blade up and over the swelling prominence, tapping them ever so lightly just to see them clench in fear.

Wildly excited, my eager hands greedily fondled Iryna’s firm young loins. Minta was waiting for just the right moment. When she saw the tense mounds relax, she hauled back to deliver a decisive smack…followed by another and another.

“Thwap! Thwap! Thwap! Thwap!” The continuing thud of the wood splattering those fleshy mounds, the sight of the wiry slave spanking the big blonde, heating her ass till she cried out and wriggled frantically, drove me wild. I fitted my hand to the sweet curvature of Iryna’s tempting little butt and squeezed, digging my fingers into the meaty mounds, kneading those swells till I had her twitching uncontrollably, whimpering with passion. I kept my eyes on the captivating scene before me as I began spanking the writhing girl in my lap, smacking her taut little butt lightly, pausing to caress the blushing mounds with the cupped palm of my hand, then spanking her some more.

Enjoying myself thoroughly, I kept alternating between these two approaches-caressing her ass and punishing her ass-teasing the lithe blonde with mixed feelings till I got a soft moan of pleasure from her inverted head. A shiver of desire rippled through her shoulders, followed by a hot little wiggle of the hips that told me this reserved, quiet girl was undoubtedly aroused, energized by the masculine hand that warmed her bottom.

Minta had paused once again. She stood with her hands on her hips, admiring the angry pink blush that had formed across the smiling undercurves of Helva’s handsome ass. Her thin smile widened into a truly evil grin as she saw her former mistress work her butt muscles, the mounds clenching as she tried desperately to harden herself to receive the next punishing slap. Her poised butt was tense, the skin taut, the sides hollowed out, and the centerline reduced to a narrowed slit, as her victim held herself fearfully, waiting. Minta also waited, letting the anticipation build. Then she struck, whacking those hardened asscheeks with a glancing slap topped off by an extra snap of the wrist.

“Thwap!”

Now she settled into a smooth easy rhythm, spanking her victim, not terribly hard but methodically, pulling her hand back only halfway, but giving a little snap to her wrist as the wooden blade bit into the cringing mounds. The blonde threw back her head and shrieked her protest.

The little slave seemed driven, delivering short, choppy strokes, alternating her attack from one side to the other, precisely smacking each rearcheek of her former mistress. As she watched the wobbly mounds dancing under her relentless blows, her eyes narrowed into gleaming slits. Her lips were drawn back, and her jaw was set as she attacked the blonde’s agitated rear end with almost maniacal fury. Muffled grunts, at first interspersed with the solid thunk of the wooden paddle splattering the fleshy mounds, quickly became continuous as they escalated into high-pitched keening cries, effectively muffled, but shrilly insistent while Helva twisted in anguish.

I was walloping Iryna’s ass hard now, spanking her vigorously as she yelped and kicked up her heels, twisting excitedly in my lap. I relished the feel of her heaving loins as she bounded up and down in my lap to the steady rhythm of my hand. As she writhed in fiery agitation, her naked haunches pressed against my upright prick, sending a deep shudder of pleasure through me. Before I realized what was happening, there was a startling surge of ecstatic delight I came, my seed spewing forth in thick creamy spurts that shot up into the air to rain down on Iryna’s delightfully bouncy ass.