Chapter Three

 

She didn’t expect the amount of chains, weights and locks, not to mention an iron collar that were fitted to her. Neither did she expect to have to ride in an ox cart. She thought as an aspiring gladiatrix she would have been treated with more respect as befitted her rank.

“Until you have been fully trained and proved successful in the arena, you are still a slave,” the driver told her. “And a lowly one at that. Now get your arse on the floor.”

Africanus stumbled into the waggon and seated herself on the floorboards, her back against the railings and legs stretched out in front. The driver whose job it was to deliver her intact selected the collar from the pile of chains and fitted it around her neck. At the front and back of the collar were rings large enough for a length of chain to pass through. At the rear he put a length of chain through the ring and locked it to the railings. She put out her wrists and these were fitted with shackles joined with a short chain, not unlike the manacles criminals wore when they were taken to the arena for execution.

“Lift your wrists and put them over your tits,” he commanded.

Africanus obeyed and placed her fastened wrists between her breasts. These he secured to the front ring in the collar with more chain.

“Now your ankles,” he said, rummaging in the pile for another pair of shackles.

He fitted a shackle to each ankle and chained them together. Just when she thought he’d finished, he lifted a heavy weight from the pile, a solid lump of iron with a ring at the top. This he placed in her hands and passed a length of chain through the ring, wound it around her neck and back to the weight.

“You have to hold that all the way there,” he told her gaily. “And if you let it fall the chain around your neck will tighten and you’ll strangle yourself. So it’s up to you.”

Feeling more like a condemned criminal than a trainee gladiatrix, Africanus sat in her barred cage holding the weight tight against her chest. The populace of Marcellum paid her little heed as the cart rumbled through the streets. Just another whore on her way to the cells they thought and carried on shopping. Quintus was taking no chances with his latest acquisition, for one thing, she didn’t come cheap, and secondly a girl as fit as her, with legs of that length could run like a gazelle if the chance presented itself. Once out of that cart she’d be up and gone in a trice, better to be safe than sorry.

The training school was about a mile outside of the town and the cart rumbled to a halt under the shade of an olive tree. The driver got down from his seat and unlocked the barred door and climbed inside, locking the door behind him.

“Drink?” he offered, raising a pitcher to her parched lips.

She drank greedily, spilling most of it down her front. The driver watched a stream of lemon water run over her chest and through her breast cleft. She had good breasts with nipples poking invitingly at her flimsy tunic.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked, lifting the weight higher until the top bumped her chin.

“My arse is sore from these fucking boards,” she swore. “And this weight is too heavy for me to hold. Does my master know you’re treating me like this?”

“Your master ordered me to chain you,” he told her. “We’ve had too many runaways between the town and the school. Now let me see if I can make you more comfortable. Can’t have you suffering in this heat, can we now?”

He carefully positioned the weight at the centre of her chest so that both breasts were visible either side of it. They looked incredibly inviting under that sweat soaked tunic. He could even see the darker hue of her areolae showing through the material, not to mention those erect nipples forcing themselves higher and higher. He was always told that when a woman’s nipples went hard it meant she was begging for a fuck. There was little he could do about that without releasing all the chains and manacles and that bloody great weight, but he could fondle those beautiful tits. It was the only chance he was ever likely to get.

He reached out and placed both hands on her breasts, taking great care to thumb the nipples rapidly to and fro. They stiffened at once; hard buds of excited tit flesh just longing for an eager mouth to suck them.

“Are you supposed to be doing this?” Africanus asked, wide eyed and breathing fast.

He couldn’t answer because his mouth was clamped over her left breast, lips sucking hard on the nipple, so hard it lifted from the areola. She bucked when his teeth bit into the bud.

“That hurt,” she protested, and let the weight slip.

An ominous grunt escaped her throat. He looked up just in time to see the chain tightening around her neck and quickly lifted the weight clear of her chest.

“I told you not to let go of that weight,” he said testily, and slapped the side of her head.

“How can I keep still when you’re sucking my tits,” she retorted, beginning to wonder if all this was part of his duties.

He thought for a moment and looked at the position of the sun. A little after midday, he thought, wondering if there really was time to loosen her shackles. Perhaps if he released the chain at the back of the collar and the manacles around her ankles he just might be able to get her on her back with her wrists still secured to the iron weight. It could rest on her chest while he fucked her. She wouldn’t strangle herself; he’d make doubly sure of that.

“Do you know the penalty for attempting to escape?” he asked. In her position it seemed a pretty stupid question. “It’s one hundred lashes,” he told her, keying the lock at her ankles. “And who’s to say you didn’t try it?” he suggested darkly.

“You shit,” she blurted, suddenly grasping his intention. He was going to fuck her, and if she complained she’d get a hundred lashes.

He unlocked the padlock at the back of the collar and eased her shoulders gently onto the floorboards, keeping the weight deftly balanced on her chest.

“Now don’t move,” he chuckled, “because if that weight slips it’s the underworld for you.”

They both knew he wouldn’t dare let that happen, not with such a valuable cargo, but there was nothing she could do in the way of resistance.

“You’ve got good legs,” he complimented, lifting her calves and resting them on his shoulders.

His erection was massive and throbbing, she could see the veins around the shaft pulsating in time with his heart beat. The shiny purple head nodded as if eager to bury itself inside the dark mysterious crack between her thighs. With a gentility that surprised her, he lowered his bulk over her body and took his weight on one hand whilst using the other to guide his cock into her slit.

“You’re wet,” he said, plunging hard into her.

“It’s the heat,” she lied, gasping as he rammed his cock fully home.

Africanus was no virgin, but her sexual experience was limited. The grinding house guards had fucked her while she had been shackled to the pole, and occasionally she had permitted one or two of the male slaves to have her when the opportunity presented itself, but it had all been hurried, over and done with in minutes, hardly worth the effort, when she had come it was more of an accident than a compliment. Now, here in the middle of nowhere on a public road she was being fucked by a driver, a menial no better than herself, but it was the fear of discovery that made her thrill to the cock pounding away at her groin. Holding the iron weight added to the thrill. Her hands on its sides were the only means of stopping herself from being throttled, and there was nothing she could do about it.

His technique was not what she expected; he wasn’t riding her brutally, but taking his time, plunging in and out with long steady insertions, touching her clitoris at every stroke.

“Do you always treat your captives this way?” she gasped, blinking from the sunlight.

“Only when they’ve got legs like yours,” he grunted, sliding his arms around her sweating thighs.

“What about my cunt?” she asked. “Can you feel it around your cock?”

She squeezed her vaginal walls, closing the petals around the shaft, feeling the pulse increasing in the veins.

“Your cunt is like silk,” he stuttered, angling his hips, spearing her sex tunnel left and right.

Just then a troop of horse came thundering by. The horsemen caught a brief glance at a pair of long, black silky legs pointing to the waggon roof and a pair of buttocks bouncing up and down between them. But there was no time to halt, only to shout a few ribald words of encouragement and they disappeared in a cloud of dust.

They must’ve seen us fucking like a pair of goats, she thought, a chill going round and round inside her belly. She wondered who else was going to come along that road and see them fucking inside that cart. In the distance another vehicle approached, a sort of covered carriage drawn by a pair of white horses. Some nobleman or senator on his way to Rome probably.

Africanus locked her heels over the small of the driver’s back. Her strong thighs flexed crushing against his ribs. He was riding her faster, working towards his climax, just like Proteus had done, except now there was no pain or humiliation, just the sheer orgiastic pleasure of having a man inside her dripping tunnel. In the stifling heat, he too was sweating. Drops of perspiration dripped from his chest and face plopping onto her belly and breasts. He managed to keep his balance on one arm whilst daring to reach over and fondle her breasts. His fingers squeezed tight, nails digging into the wobbling globes, but the sharp unexpected pain only added to the pleasure of his cock slamming relentlessly into her sex. Underneath, the rough broken boards dug into her back and bottom, splinters pierced her skin like darts. It was coming from everywhere at once. Her whole body seemed to be assailed with pain, even the weight and collar grew heavier and tighter.

“I’m coming,” she moaned, unlocking her heels and flinging her legs wide.

Something sharp dug into her buttocks and she tried to lift her bottom but his cock kept her impaled, forcing her harder to the floor. Whatever it was stabbing her buttocks only heightened the pleasure of her orgasm, and she came with a warbling groan, kicking wildly at the waggon railings, drumming her heels on the bars. The driver emptied into her, flooding her sex with hot streams of juice. He managed, even as he came to snatch a quick glance at the passing carriage. Whoever was inside took a furtive look at the amorous couple now uncoupling behind the bars, then closed the curtain and continued on his way.

“You’re the best fuck I’ve had in a long while,” the driver told her, hauling her upright.

He had the decency to cover her breasts before shackling her back into position. He let her drink a bellyful of lemon water and let himself out of the cart, locked the door and went back to his seat, joyfully whipping up the ox and adjusting his tunic as the wheels rumbled over the cobbles.

The sun had almost set when they arrived at the gladiatorial training school. An unnatural silence hung over the roofs and buildings, and in the semi darkness Africanus saw the cart pass under a low arch and into a courtyard surrounded by a high wall. The driver unlocked the door and swiftly unshackled his passenger. Africanus sighed aloud at being released, especially from that weight and the collar around her neck. Her bottom still hurt from the splinter that had pierced her skin. Still, she thought, as a shadowy figure advanced carrying a torch, a good hot bath will put things aright. She could hardly wait for the morrow to arrive when she would begin her training. Wielding a sword was going to be fun.

“Come with me,” the figure said, turning on its heels.

A door opened and Africanus stumbled in the dim light along a bare stone corridor, lined with studded doors. The figure keyed a lock and the door creaked open.

“Your cell,” the figure informed, and Africanus went in.

“What about a bath?” she shouted after the figure. “I’m all covered in dust.”

But the figure could not have heard, because the door was locked behind it. A lamp had been left burning on a small cabinet and when her eyes became accustomed to the light she saw a crude bed covered with straw. On the cabinet were half a loaf of bread and a pitcher of water. A pot for night use stood under the bed. An awful sinking feeling went through her stomach. But too tired to think about it, she lay on the straw and fell fast asleep dreaming of the driver and his rampant cock.

 

The cell door crashed open and Africanus looked up with a start. She was squatting over the pot emptying her bladder.

“You stink like a ferret,” the man in the doorway said, wrinkling his nose. “You had better get yourself cleaned before the lanista sees you.”

He waited until she had finished before leading her out of the cell, watching her with a leer as her water drummed into the pot. As they were leaving a girl slave came in and collected it. Urine was a valuable commodity and was used by fullers, its acidic properties were ideal for cleaning clothes.

“If you don’t measure up,” the man said, “that’s where you’ll be sold.”

All the way along the passage he described how slaves spent their lives calf deep in urine tramping with their bare feet on the dirty clothes sent to be cleaned.

“Thanks,” Africanus muttered, entering the bath house.

A girl slave told her to stand over a stone sink, whilst another threw a bucket of cold water over her smelling skin. Seizing scrubbing brushes they went to work with a fury, rubbing the stiff bristles over her buttocks and legs, not stopping until all the dust and sweat had been removed and her skin again shone like polished ebony. They gave her a towel to wash her own private parts. Instead of wearing the tunic, she was given a clean white cloth which one of the girl slaves wrapped around her hips. It was short, barely covering her buttocks. If she bent over for all the use it was, she might as well been wearing nothing. Bare breasted, she walked into the courtyard and her first day as a gladiatrix.

The lanista, the gladiatorial trainer, was a former gladiator, now in his late forties, but still remarkably strong and well built. “I am Drucus, your trainer,” he told her.

His manner was not unkind, but in his eyes Africanus instantly recognized cold, calculating strength, not a man to cross at any price.

He came up to her and slapped her buttocks and he seemed to be satisfied at their firmness. He slapped her thighs and hips and back. His strong hands manipulated her shoulders and biceps. He slapped her belly and said it was too soft, but that was nothing to worry about; a month of training would get rid of any excess fat. Her breasts stung when his palm slapped each one in turn. Large and well shaped, he told her, nothing to worry about there either.

“She’s in good shape,” he complimented, squeezing her breast. “But there is a lot of hard work ahead of her before she’s ready for combat.”

He was addressing Quintus who had come into the courtyard. “You’ll need to keep a sharp eye on her,” he said testily. “She fucks at the slightest opportunity.”

The lanista grinned lasciviously. “If she fights as well as she fucks I’m sure she’ll do well. But it wouldn’t go amiss to have her paired with another woman. They fight differently from men, and it wouldn’t be fair to match her against a trained gladiator.”

“I can fight as well as any man,” Africanus said boldly.

“Put her to the test,” Quintus ordered. “And we’ll see if her boasting rings true. Fetch Circo.”

The gladiator was fair haired, a prisoner of war from Britannia, solid muscle from head to toe. His biceps and chest rippled with strength. He wore a pair of leather breeches and at the sight of the near naked black woman his cock bulged.

“This is no time for licentious thoughts,” Quintus grunted. “Give them the rudis.”

A rudis was a wooden sword used in training. Not until a gladiator was judged a skilled combatant was he given a gladius, a real sword.

“Keep up your guard,” Drucus advised, handing her the rudis. “Move fast and never turn your back. Good luck my black beauty.”

Already he was warming to the girl. A month of hard physical training would do wonders. He wondered if Quintus was speaking the truth when he said she fucked at the slightest opportunity. She looked the sort who liked her cock. There was no doubt in his mind that she could fuck like a stoat if needs must, and with an arse that could crack walnuts, she’d make a magnificent ride.

Africanus and Circo stood facing each other and raised their rudis, crossing them and waiting for Drucus to give the order to begin. He held a long wooden shaft between them, and when it was swiftly raised Circo displayed his consummate skill. He moved so fast it was bewildering, the wooden blade went everywhere at once, in one second it slashed at head height, and in the next cut across her belly. He moved as lightly as a girl, smacking the blade against her rump, then on the backs of her thighs. Her breasts wobbled and slapped when the blade hit both globes in quick succession. A hard thrust poked into her navel and she buckled over only to receive another singeing blow across her shoulder blades. They had only been fighting for less than a minute and Africanus was reeling from blow after blow. Circo could hardly believe what he was seeing in front of him, a tall, magnificent black woman with a body he would readily kill for, leaping in all directions, breasts swinging like huge melons, an arse that wobbled and danced every time he struck it. Normally, matched against such a novice, he would have disarmed her in seconds. But he was in no hurry. No hurry at all.

“Aaagh!” Africanus groaned, as the rudis smacked on her flank.

She turned sideways and another blow whistled into her bottom. It was surprising just how much it hurt, a short wooden sword coming at full speed from a man twice her strength. Try as she might, she just wasn’t up to his skill, let alone the speed at which he moved. She ought to have been disarmed minutes ago, but she still held on to her rudis, doing her best to parry each cutting blow. He was playing with her, she knew that. She also knew her strength was failing fast. Her movements were slower and her judgment poor. He was hitting her more frequently, especially across her bottom. He seemed to have a fondness for beating her buttocks. The short skirt was no protection against the rudis and was quickly ripped from her hips. He sent the blade edge into her naked crease and she let out a long howl like a wounded she wolf. Dancing on one foot, she lifted her left thigh and saw the blade swing fast under her legs. It cut clean and deep into her slit so hard her body lifted from the ground. Drucus winced and would have stopped the contest there and then, but Quintus refused him.

“Let her fight ‘til she’s unconscious,” he said. “Perhaps then she’ll realize that female gladiators are not made in a single day.”

“But she has good qualities,” Drucus admitted.

Quintus nodded assent. She had taken a beating but was still on her feet, even though her buttocks were swelling from the constant bruising and welting thrusts.

The final stroke came when Circo caught her across the shoulder blades sending her tumbling head over heels. She lay spreadeagled on the ground, panting like a race horse, her legs wide open. Although it was against the rules of combat, Circo couldn’t resist sending the flat of the blade winging into her sex. She grunted and rolled over, sand sticking to her sweating skin.

“You may return to your duties,” Quintus said drily, and Circo marched off hoping it wasn’t the last bout he’d have with her.

“I think you’re right, she needs another woman to fight against,” Quintus admitted reluctantly.

She had put up a good fight, but was no match for a man.

“Now you see what lies ahead of you,” Quintus told her as he stood over her, wondering if she ever would be fit for the arena. “Drucus will work on your body strength for at least a month, by then I’ll have another woman for you to fight, and we shall decide which type of gladiatrix suits you best. After you have washed and had your bruises salved you will take the loyal oath to me and your trainer. From now on you belong to both of us, body and soul.” He turned to go, but something went through his mind and he turned on his heels. “Who gave you permission to fuck with the driver? You were supposed to rest on your journey.”

“It was the heat,” she replied softly, rubbing her aching bottom, and not wishing to betray the man. “It makes me horny.”

“In that case I think you need cooling,” he said. “This isn’t a brothel and you won’t be sharing your bed with anyone, unless I give you permission to do so. Is that clear?”

“Yes, master,” she whispered, feeling like a cheap whore, and wondering how he could have known she fucked the driver.

“Have her taken to the frigidarium and cool her passion, then beat her,” he said gruffly and stalked off, thinking that hiring a professional gladiatrix was going to cost yet more money. He hoped Africanus would be worth the extra expense. If she wasn’t, he’d sell her to the fullers. See how she liked wading knee deep in piss for the rest of her miserable life.

The frigidarium was just one of a series of baths ranging from hot to tepid to freezing. Usually the bathers passed from hot to cold, giving the body time to adjust to the varying temperatures. Africanus wasn’t given the opportunity to languish in either the hot or tepid, but was hurled head first into the near freezing water of the frigidarium.

At least, she thought, ducking her shoulders under the water, if my arse is frozen, I shan’t feel the whip lashing into me. After a few minutes of immersion her body became immune to the coldness, and she leaned against the edge of the bath, arms outstretched along the rim, legs floating on the surface. It wasn’t like the tub at Clodius’ establishment, but a real bath constructed of stone and marble, large enough to hold twenty or more people. She closed her eyes thinking of the bout she’d just fought. Circo had beaten the shit out of her, almost literally for once or twice she came close to emptying her bowels when he smacked the rudis on her rump. She had a lot to learn; that much was certain, but there was no doubt in her mind that under Drucus’ tutelage she would learn fast, but she was certain that there was much more to being a gladiatrix than merely slaying the opponent. In the fullness of time she would learn all there was to know, but for the present all she needed was to soothe away the ache in the freezing water.

She lay still admiring the frescos decorating the walls. Numerous scenes depicting gladiatorial combat had been executed with startling realism. She studied each painted figure, some were heavily armed, others less so, some were bare headed and others wore huge, wide brimmed helmets. There was one that was particularly frightening; a full faced helmet with mere slits for the eyes to see through and shaped like a wolf’s head. The depicted gladiator carried a sinister sword bent at the middle. It didn’t take much imagination to picture the sort of fearful damage it could inflict. She was studying a gladiator wielding a trident when a girl slave came hurrying into the frigidarium.

“You must get out now,” she said urgently. “The mistress wants you. Put on your skirt and come with me. Quickly now.”

Mistress, she wondered. What would the mistress want with me? Whoever the mistress happened to be.

She clambered out of the water shivering and, hugging her freezing breasts, ran around the water’s edge and into a small, sun filled courtyard. In no time at all the sun warmed her skin and suddenly she felt happy with life. All around the perimeter grew exotic plants with brightly coloured flowers and broad spreading leaves. The flags underfoot were chequered squares of red and white marble, and in the centre a small pond was filled with goldfish and lilies. She never imagined that people could live in such splendour.

“So you are Quintus’ latest acquisition,” a feminine voice echoed under the portico.

Africanus saw a woman beautifully dressed in a purple robe with gold trimmings. Her hair was curled and piled high on top of her head. It was difficult to guess her age. She could have been anywhere between five and twenty, and forty. Her face was broad with splendid dark, roving eyes, full, wide, painted lips and high cheek bones. She walked tall and erect, taking long, purposeful strides. Her hips seemed to dance with every step. In her right hand she carried a cane, long and supple with which she swished the air as she walked.

“I am the lady Octavia,” she introduced. “Your new master’s wife and I have the pleasure of delivering the punishment. It will make a pleasant change beating a full grown woman instead of these chits of girls my husband seems to employ. I suppose you are the one who fucked with the driver.”

“Yes, mistress,” Africanus replied dutifully. “I am she.”

She was beginning to think that playful dalliance with the driver was causing her a great deal of trouble and had given the impression that she was little better than a common tart.

The lady Octavia came across the coloured squares and putting the end of the cane under Africanus’ skirt, lifted it off her hips.

“I can see you’ve been in combat,” she said, angling her head on one side, closely scrutinizing the marks left by Circo’s rudis. “Lucky for you it wasn’t a gladius, or you would’ve been cut to shreds.”

“Yes, mistress,” Africanus replied, breathing in the lady’s scented perfume.

“You know why you are being beaten?”

Africanus nodded dumbly, but she didn’t know it wasn’t only because she fucked the driver, but because Quintus had underestimated how costly it would be to train her, and he was taking out his anger by allowing his own wife to give her a thrashing. She had a penchant for beating her slaves and making her a present of the black gladiatrix would assuage her anger when he told her he had to take out yet another loan.

“You have splendid buttocks,” lady Octavia remarked, placing her soft hand on Africanus’ bottom. “And so firm. I wonder how the Gods blessed you with such a beautiful body. It would be a shame to add further blemishes to such smooth skin, so I’ll let you off with only ten strokes.”

“You’re very kind, mistress,” she whispered, feeling the hand travel up her back.

“And these breasts,” lady Octavia continued, drawing nearer. “Why, they put my young slaves quite in the shade. Your nipples are bigger than some of my slave’s tits.”

It was an exaggeration, but the point was well made.

“I do have large tits, mistress,” Africanus agreed, looking down at the finely manicured nails pinching her nipples.

“I’ll cane you now and one of my slaves can salve you directly afterwards and perhaps a little later on you can provide me with some entertainment. Bend over and touch your toes. But first, would you prefer a gag? The cane can be very painful on naked skin, particularly when it is stretched, and crying out is seen as a sign of weakness.”

“I would prefer a gag,” Africanus said, not wishing to give the wrong impression to anyone who might be listening, especially Drucus whom she wanted most to impress.

“Very well, I will allow you that. Take off your skirt.”

Africanus slipped it from her hips and, following her mistress’ instructions, wound it into a tight rope. She put the middle of it in her mouth and knotted the ends behind her head, then bent her bare bottom to the cane.

Lady Octavia took a step to the left of her and touched the cane lightly on her bottom, gauging where the first lash would fall. It came with a savage whistle, striking across both cheeks and with such force it dug deep into her flesh. A muffled grunt escaped Africanus’ lips and she toppled forward bumping her head on a pillar.

“Keep still and show more self control,” lady Octavia advised, smiling widely at the welt already forming on the glistening skin.

The second, third and forth strokes landed above the first with perfect precision, the same distance apart, working upwards towards the base of her spine. The fifth and six strokes came in graceful, yet fast uppercuts, slicing under the cheeks and into the crease where thighs joined to buttocks. Lady Octavia saw the instant effect that produced, but kept silent at the sight of the erect nipples and quivering thighs. It would be worth remembering for later. The remainder of the lashes fell in diagonal strokes, criss crossing over the cheeks, making Africanus grunt and snort at every stroke.

“You may stand up,” lady Octavia said happily. “And take off your gag.”

Africanus untied the knot and opened the skirt. Her mouth had left a wet discolouring and a sticky mess of nose mucus dripped to the flags.

“Wipe that up,” the lady said, displaying a hint of anger. “I won’t have my private garden fouled by a slave.”

Africanus got onto her hands and knees and used her skirt to wipe up the mess. She stood up and wrapped it around her hips and then placed her folded hands neatly over her groin.

“I think tomorrow Drucus is going to start your training, after you have taken your oath of obedience, of course. At the end of the day you will take your bath and report to me in my private quarters. Do you understand, slave?”

“Yes, mistress,” she bowed.

“Now thank me for beating you.”

“I am thankful for the beating,” Africanus echoed.

And the lady adjusted her plaited hair whilst a slave escorted the gladiatrix back to her cell.

As promised by lady Octavia, a young girl slave appeared with a pot of balm and bottles of aromatic oils designed to heal wounds and soothe bruises. She spread a cloth over the straw and Africanus laid herself on it, hands clasped behind her head. It seemed that taking good care of the gladiators’ was all part of the training ritual.

The young slave tipped some oil over Africanus’ belly and rubbed it softly into the pores, humming quietly as she did so. She was dark skinned and very pretty; her hair had been tied in a bun at the nape of her slender neck.

“Tell me about your mistress,” Africanus said, feeling the oil already cooling her burning skin. During that brief meeting in her private garden Africanus was sure she had missed something, and that something was dangerous, but she couldn’t quite fathom what it was.

“She is the wife of Quintus, our lord and master,” the girl informed, smiling and revealing rows of perfect teeth as white as orange pith.

“I know that. I want you to tell me all about her. How does she treat her slaves?”

“Oh, she’s very kind, especially to us young ones. She only beats us if we’ve done wrong.”

Africanus sighed. “Well I gathered that. What sort of entertainment does she like?”

“Eh?” the girl asked, looking confused. She tipped more oil over her charge’s breasts and began manipulating the ample flesh, her slim expert fingers squeezing and pressing. She rolled the nipples between her fore finger and thumb smiling absently all the while.

“Your mistress said that I should provide her with entertainment. What exactly did she mean by that?”

The girl looked even more confused. “Oh, I think she wants you to put on a mock fight. Sometimes the men have to do that, fighting during a party. No one gets hurt. It’s all for fun really.”

A groan escaped Africanus lips. She had only been there a day and the idea of giving a display of mock combat was absurd. Clearly the girl was either simple or just genuinely didn’t understand what she was driving at. Perhaps there was nothing to drive at. The suggestion might have been an innocent one and it was she who was getting suspicious where no necessity existed.

I must learn to relax more, she told herself, and closed her eyes as the girl gently eased open her thighs and tipped more oil onto her pubic mound. Quite oblivious to the gladiatrix’ throaty purrs, she wiggled her oil soaked fingers inside the gaping sex, and then when the lips were thoroughly wetted, slipped her tiny hand into the sex tunnel. Her elbow moved slowly to and fro while her wrist twisted from side to side. Africanus was so wet from both the oil and her own juice that she hardly felt the diminutive knuckles teasing her inner petals. But she certainly felt the beating of her heart increasing with each turn of the fist, and the sudden flush of sweat breaking on her brow.

“If you go on doing that, you’ll make me come,” she warned.

“Come all you like, miss. It’ll make you feel better after such a hard day.”

“I’d rather have a hard cock,” she grimaced.

For a split second the girl hesitated as if Africanus had said more than she knew, but she continued on with her oiling and salving, turning the gladiatrix on her belly and applying generous amounts of oil on her caned buttocks, working it hard into the crease, and still humming that infuriating tune. Her constant manipulating of the muscles and tendons worked wonders and when she finished Africanus had fallen into a deep slumber.

The girl gathered up her bottles and pots and tip toed out of the cell, a crafty knowing grin creasing her lips.

“The mistress is going to love you,” she whispered, and crept quietly away like a thief.

At the end of the passage she stopped, her way blocked by the massive frame of Circo.

“Nydia, what are you doing here?” he asked abruptly.

“Oiling the new gladiatrix, master,” she answered coyly.

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. It was unusual for a girl slave to be roaming around the gladiators’ quarters at this time of night, even if she was speaking the truth, which he strongly doubted. His hand went under her legs, crushing her sex mound and pinning her against the wall.

“If you breathe a word of my being here you little lizard, I’ll snap your pretty little neck.”

“I won’t say anything, master,” she gulped, clutching the bottles tightly on her chest.

He growled and dropped her, then for good measure, slapped her face, a blow which left her reeling.

She waited until he had turned a corner and padded silently after him, keeping a respectful distance lest he should suddenly turn. She heard a cell door open and close and came quietly on, keeping well in the shadows until she reached Africanus’ cell. The lamp was still burning and through the grating saw the distorted shadow of Circo loosening his breeches. A sly knowing smile went across her face and she crept closer. She stopped and furtively secreted herself in an alcove where she could see everything that was going on.

In that peculiar state of being neither asleep nor awake, Africanus drifted in and out of consciousness, unsure whether the hand slipping between her legs was real or imaginary. She stirred and a hand closed quickly over her mouth. In the dim, wavering light, she looked into the face of Circo. He took his hand away from her mouth and put his forefinger to his lips. She nodded, understanding she was not in any danger.

Her sex still throbbed in the aftermath of the oiling and Nydia’s slithering fingers. Circo rubbed his palm into her sex and she moved over the bed making room for his muscular, rippling torso.

“It’s all right,” he whispered hoarsely. “No one knows I’m here. We can fuck until dawn.”

In her alcove, Nydia put down her bottles and wiped away a bead of sweat trickling down her cheek. If Circo discovered her presence he wouldn’t think twice about carrying out his threat, but it was worth the risk. She made it her business to know everything that went on in the ludus and this was well worth knowing.

Again, Africanus experienced the tantalizing thrill of illicit sex, the overriding fear of being caught in flagrante dilecto, and the punishment that would swiftly follow. Circo was between her open thighs, kneeling up so she could see, even in that poor light, the sheer strength and power of his body. His cock was fully erect, his balls tight with longing. He slid his arms under her knees and lifted them from the bed.

“A woman is all the better when her legs are in the air,” he told her, lifting them higher and higher.

Her long, shining legs were dead straight, toes pointing to the cell roof. She understood how he wanted to take her and leaning forward, grabbed her ankles and spread them wide. Circo couldn’t help but utter a low whistle at the beauty of her thighs and paused, giving himself time to caress the long length of silky skin. It was too much to resist and he slipped backwards and dropped his head between her legs. A musky aroma of feminine sex wafted into his nostrils. The heat coming from her open sex warmed his face. It was a long time since he’d had a woman and he was seized with a desire to explore, touch and kiss every inch of her body. Hard man though he was, made brutal and savage in the arena, he still knew how to treat a woman. He would take his time and not leave until her body was sexually wasted. He placed the tips of his fingers inside her sex and parted the lips, taking time to feast his eyes on the quivering petals, the soft pink skin and stream of juice running freely into her pubic curls. His tongue flicked around the lips tasting the sweet essence of her excited sex. Her belly shook and creased deeply across the navel and he heard her moan.

“Please fuck me now. Please, I want your cock.”

But Circo only pressed his mouth harder, letting the tip of his tongue tease her clitoris until her head rolled uncontrollably and her loins shook with longing. Her juices were running over his tongue like a river, coming from the depths of her sex in a rich creamy flood. He swallowed her juice and licked his lips. There was nothing like the earthy taste of a woman in heat to savour on the palate.

“Give me your cock,” she pleaded, letting go of her ankles and grabbing his hair.

She almost ripped it from the roots before he took his mouth from her dripping sex and threw himself over her body.

His hands went straight to her breasts, rolling them under his palms, squashing them so hard it hurt. The pain going through her drove her wild and she reached down, closing her hand around his throbbing shaft.

“In my mouth,” she gasped. “Let me suck you.”

Circo hesitated. In the heat of passion her voluptuous lips could easily suck him off and that was not what he wanted.

“Slowly, girl,” he whispered, aiming the purple glans into her mouth.

She sucked it in and ran her tongue around the deep, sensitive groove at its base, tasting his earthy aroma. For a while he held her head still, not letting her take in his whole length, just allowing her to suck and lick the swollen head. When her passion abated he let her take in his cock, her hot mouth gliding slowly down the shaft, then back again to the groove where her tongue flicked and curled.

“Suck my balls,” he whispered, easing his shaft out of her mouth.

Africanus opened her mouth wide and, using her fingers, pushed his throbbing scrotum gently between her teeth. Taking care not to cause him pain, she nibbled at the fruits filling her cheeks, rolled them over her tongue and soaked them with her hot saliva. Between her legs her sex lips were quivering and so sensitive the merest touch would have had her screaming, but they both knew that would be fatal. Instead, he slipped his balls from her mouth and kissed her full on the lips. They did not stop kissing until their lips and tongues ached. Then, when she lay panting and breathless, he plunged his cock into her sex and filled her with one mighty thrust of his loins.

“How you fuck!” she sobbed, throwing her arms and legs around him.

He was caught in her powerful limbs and she clung like a limpet, pressing her sweating body against his own heaving torso. Locked in a tight embrace, they rocked to and fro, unhurried, prolonging the delicious moments of deep, satisfying sex.

Nydia had left the alcove and crawled on her hands and knees to the grating, through it she saw Circo’s buttocks gyrating ceaselessly against Africanus’ sex, heard her low moans and whimpers as he thrust harder and deeper.

“I want it too,” she whispered, jealous of the black girl now impaled on Circo’s massive organ.

It was all she could do to stop herself from slipping into the cell and begging him to fuck her. She reached for one of her bottles and slipped it into her sex. Her other hand closed over her budding breast and squeezed it hard. Her hand pumped fast and she came in seconds, so fast her head swam. She put her fingers inside her and wetted them then sucked them into her mouth. The bottle fell from her other hand and smashed on the flags. She froze; cold, clammy sweat formed under her arms and she looked tentatively through the grating. Circo paused, listened and went on thrusting his loins. A gush of air whooshed from Nydia’s lungs and she crawled back into the alcove her sex dripping its juice in a slimy, glistening trail.

Africanus lifted her bottom off the bed and thrust her hips furiously against Circo’s groin. His cock was deep inside her but she wanted it deeper.

“Bite my tits,” she wailed, clawing at his head.

Circo’s head plunged over her breasts and, placing his strong hands either side of the wobbling orbs, he pressed them together and sucked both nipples into his mouth.

“Don’t suck. Bite. Bite them hard,” she sobbed, longing for the increased pain that would heighten her arousal.

Circo obeyed and closed his teeth over the erect buds, rolling and crushing the tender teats until she her fists beat against his ribs in pain.

“Fuck me harder,” she shrieked. “Fuck me ‘til my cunt throbs.”

She was losing control and shouting at the top of her voice. Circo quickly closed his hand over her mouth, stifling her shrieks. In the darkness, Nydia saw his other hand reach for her thigh, pinching and clutching at the abundance of flesh quaking beneath. Africanus was going wild at the fresh onslaught of pain going through her thighs and belly. The more pain he inflicted the greater her orgasm. He knew what she wanted and returned his mouth to her nipples, biting so hard tears flowed down her cheeks, yet all the while she gasped and panted, thrashed her legs and arms with wild abandon. No one had ever taken her with so much passion or force. His cock was spearing her vaginal walls forcing them wider from his manic thrusts, but she closed her legs around him, crushing his ribs between her flexing muscles. Circo could hardly breathe but fought hard against her shaking thighs.

“I’m going to come,” he rasped, putting his arms around her shoulders and flattening her breasts against his rippling chest.

Their nipples touched and they both let out a long groan. Circo gave three gigantic heaves of his pelvis and erupted into her. Africanus slammed her hips against his middle and with one colossal shudder reached her climax. They lay entwined, panting and moaning, still locked together as the final drops of love juice oozed from their sexes. They lay there until the heated sweat turned cold and sticky. Circo uncoupled from her writhing body and lay still beside her staring at the ceiling. He didn’t have the courage or heart to tell her that his master had sold him and they would probably never meet again.

Africanus slid her thigh across his middle and he reached for her bottom, smoothing the cheeks and patting the splendid moons of her arse.

“You’re a glorious fuck,” he told her honestly. “The Gods have favoured you well.”

But she did not reply. Her breathing came regularly as she lay in contented sleep in the arms of the man she wanted to be with for the rest of her life.

Nydia crept out of the alcove and made her way along the passage, moving silently like an assassin, looking neither left nor right, but moving quickly as if she feared the approach of dawn.