“Rome has become
nothing but a rich man’s whore,” Lucius’ drunken mutterings rang in my ears, as
I trudged through the streets of the sodden Army camp on that fateful morning. It
had rained the day before. Then it got cold. And now the mud was hard, semi-frozen
in the cold morning air of autumn. The morning mist that still clung to the
hills had not yet driven away by the sun’s early light. There was a definite
chill in the heavy air, but I breathed it in deeply, gulping it down, letting
my lungs get their fill. The new day did much to clear my head. In spite of the
wine, I hadn’t slept well last night, but now I felt much better, my spirits
improved for the first time in months. I pulled my cloak together, and with
renewed determination, turned towards the garrison’s headquarters.
We had spent the
night carousing at the house of Quintus Licus, a fabulously wealthy merchant
who occasionally invited a few of us “Defenders of the Empire” to his palatial
estate for one of his endless stream of “celebrations.” I should add that this
was not one of his legendary orgies that you may have heard about. Those went
on for days and were justifiably renown throughout the seven hills. Junior
officers were never invited to those events, although occasionally our general
might find himself among that privileged elite. No, it was to the more modest
affairs that we were invited, along with the lesser lights of Roman society --
functionaries and various officials who might someday be of use in one of Licus’
many schemes.
It was perhaps a
measure of our lowly status that our host didn’t even bother to grace this
august gathering with his presence, but left his social obligations to his wife.
The Lady would be our hostess -- seeing that the guests were greeted, and their
needs met, all their needs. And if those guests
included a few handsome young officers from the garrison than his wife, Lydia,
a brash, bawdy woman with big floppy tits and a loud braying voice, would be
only too happy to see to her obligations. The Lady’s appetite was insatiable;
her propensity for enjoying the weapons of hardy soldiers was legendary. The
nickname she has earned in the officer’s mess, “Labia,” seemed apt. Even now
she watched us with half-lidded eyes from her vantage point on the low couch at
the far end of the room; easing back the slippery gown of the finest green
silk, cut fashionably low in front so that her tits threatened to spill out at
the slightest movement. The gown’s hem was casually exposing the entire lengths
of her legs, and she left it where it lay, shamelessly crossing the very top of
her robust thighs. From time to time the lady would smilingly nod her approval
of the merry crowd, waving a ring-bejeweled hand; her heavily painted lips
would crease into a lewd, come-hither grin whenever a young officer happened to
glance her way.
She licked her
lips, half rising from the couch, the gleam of lust flaring in her dark eyes,
when Gaius, deciding to get more comfortable, unbuckled his belt and slipped
off his tunic, to recline once again, bare-chested now and clad in nothing but
his linen loincloth. I nudged Lucius who took one look at the leering lady and
whispered with an ominous groan that now no one would be safe! And I am certain
that the matron’s attentions would have been lavished upon us, had not she,
just at that moment, been diverted by her attending slave. This pretty
tousle-haired lad had been kneeling on the floor beside her couch, and was
engaged in licking and kissing his mistress’ shapely legs, making his way
assiduously from her bare feet along their smooth lengths. And just at the
moment when she sat up on one elbow, the pleasuring tongue slithered inside her
upper thighs, to find a place where it caused the lady to gasp, and then
collapse back in weak disarray onto the satiny cushions. Her thick lashes
fluttered and her kohl-lidded eyes slid closed, her gleaming lips curling in a
smile of dreamy ecstasy, as the purposeful head continued its journey between
her legs, disappearing under the loose folds of that slippery gown. Her hands
came down to find and guide that tousled head burrowing forward in dutiful
exploration. The Mistress of the House of Licus would be kept busy for some
time.
And so we safely
turned our attention away from our pre-occupied hostess, and prepared to lounge
about on the thick silken pillows, giving ourselves up to the tender
ministrations of our absent host’s charming slave girls, nubile young serving
wenches, who pranced half-naked, wearing nothing but the briefest of skirts low
on their hips as they scurried about to serve their Master’s guests.
Lucius was quite
taken with a long-haired girl who moved about us with her flagon of wine; a
nicely-curved lass with flaring hips and proud jaunty tits. When he beckoned,
she ran to him, naked titties bouncing in the most delightful way. And when she
bent over to fill his cup, those full breasts hung down heavily, moving in a
seductive sway before his wondering eyes -- the girl, perhaps inadvertently,
moving forward to offer him those succulent fruits, a tempting handful of which
no man could possibly refuse. Lucius reached up to help himself, loosely
capturing a dangling tit, balancing it for a moment on his curved palm as if to
study it. Then taking the wide fleshy tip between his fingers, he began idly
toying with the conveniently-placed nipple, whilst expounding on his views to
us. He kept the poor girl like that, half bent over. And as he played with the
plaything of the rich man his voice became a bit sad, wistful perhaps at the
injustice of it all. We were but soldiers of Rome and though he might borrow
such pleasures, they could never be his to have and own: the rich opulence of
his surroundings, the hoard of beautiful slave girls owned by such a crass,
money-grubbing trader.
Not that Lucius was
poor, far from it, for he came from one of Rome’s most prominent families and,
like most of my brother officers, he was provided with a generous allowance
which far overshadowed his meager army pay, even if his family’s wealth was not
on the massive scale of our host’s legendary millions. Alas, I was even less
fortunate than Lucius. The son of an honest but poor farmer, I joined the
Legions at sixteen, and had learned early on to take my pleasure wherever I
could find it. Two days after payday, I would inevitably find myself reduced to
the whores who were kept at the barracks for the use of the troops. Thus, I too
leapt at this invitation, only too ready to take advantage of Licus’ “generosity,”
and ease back on the chair, opening my knees to invite, the comely lass who
knelt at my chair to have her way with my staunchly erect manhood.
By now, my
companions were well occupied. Lucius was avidly exploring the writhing young
body of the long-haired slave girl, while Gaius was dallying with an
olive-skinned girl with plump tits and dusky nipples whom he held perched on
his lap. Looking down on the young girl on her knees before me, I let my eyes
appreciate the willowy lines of her lean body, those slender shoulders, with
small pancake tits that seemed to be emerging from that maidenly, flat chest.
The slave girl’s fresh, expectant face was surrounded by a mane of thick auburn
hair, tawny tresses that hung loosely down to halo her delicate shoulders.
I saw the question
in her eyes as she edged forward, and nodded my permission for her to begin;
immediately the vixen’s smile widened. Eagerly, she reached for me, brushing
back my loincloth, which by this time was all I wore, freeing my stiffened
penis to spring up hopefully before her big brown eyes. A shiver of delight
raced through my tense body as the girl’s small fingers traced my naked
manhood, closed on my upright prick.
I watched through
half-lidded eyes, as she shifted back to sit on folded legs all the while
holding my taut sex so lightly in those cool soft hands. With a sure delicate
touch, the talented girl teased up and down my shaft, tracing my fierce
erection with her the pads of her fingertips. I clenched my teeth against the
maddening rise of pleasure. Her adept fingers curved around the shaft and used
those talons to lightly scratch along the smooth hardened length. I heard
myself groan at the fluttering teasing of those delightfully cool fingers when
they slipped up between my legs to softly cradle my the hairy sack of my balls.
The slave girl’s supple fingers cupped my scrotum; and gave a little squeeze to
my masculine equipment before she began gently rolling my testicles in the palm
of her hand. I sighed with contentment and let my eyes close, giving myself up
to the heavenly touch.
With one hand still
cupping my balls, she now brought the other into play, wrapping nimble fingers
around the turgid shaft, squeezing lightly, tightening her little fist till she
held me in an iron grip and she had me groaning and twisting in her hands. I
managed to open my eyes enough to look down on the top of her head and watch
her as she leaned forward, bringing her pursed lips closer so that I thrilled
at the feel of her hot breath sweeping over the throbbing prick that hovered
just before her face. Slowly, she extended her flickering tongue until the very
tip touched the sensitive underside just below the crown of my upright prick. I
clenched my fists and whimpered like a little boy, craning back at the piercing
thrill generated by the feel of that wet, tantalizing tongue as it lightly
fluttered along the underside of my straining manhood.
Switching tactics,
this talented slave flattened her tongue and licked with broad wet strokes,
lapping up the length, swirling around the ridge of the crown then slithering
down to the base. And there she would lightly nibble at the root of the shaft,
soaking my pubic hair. Her velvety tongue slid wetly, lavishly, all over my
scrotum, till her small head was burrowing between my legs, her probing tongue
searching for my perineum and once there she crouched down and stretched up
awkwardly to bury her face between my thighs, electrifying me with jolting
thrills as she pressed nose and lips and chin into my crotch.
I couldn’t stand
much more of this exquisite pleasure; my hands reached out to grab and extract
the girl’s burrowing head. When she came up for air, she went immediately back
to the shaft, lightly holding it in both hands licking greedily, lapping
generously all along its length till my upstanding cock was glistening with the
sheen of her saliva.
Curving my hands to
lightly cradle her head, I ran my fingers through the thick head of hair,
luxuriating in the silky tresses. Tightening my grip, I held her head rigidly
still while I rubbed my super-ready cock all over her pretty face. Then I let
her eager lips nibble on me, guiding her up and down my straining manhood,
letting her lick her way almost to the top, but keeping her from reaching the
sensitive underside just below the crown.
I heard my own
whimpers coming as from a distance as delicious waves of pure pleasure welled
up in me, drowning out all else, as the slave girl continued her obsequious
devotion, methodically covering every inch, working me over with avid lips and
agile tongue, until she had me squirming helplessly, uncontrollably, driven to
distraction by the exquisite feel of that unrelenting tongue action. The feel
of that lavish tongue sliding wetly up and down my shaft was so exquisite I
couldn’t help moaning, tossing my head back and lifting my loins towards her
till I was arching my back as though offering her even more, wanting her to
take my lust-swollen sex even more deeply into her hot little mouth. I arched
my back, my eyes fluttered closed; a groan escaped my tightly-pressed lips as I
surrendered to the delicious waves of pleasure this sensual young woman was
generating in my groin.
Then the tickling
play of that lively tongue stopped, and when I looked down at her through
half-lidded eyes, it was to see her reach out to grab me, and tilt the rigid
shaft towards her as she bent down to slowly take my cock in her receptive
mouth. Inch by inch, that marvelous girl took me in, sliding the taut ring of
her lips down the swollen shaft, ducking her head to so eagerly go down on me. Looking
down on her through narrowed eyes I watched the top of her small head as it
bobbed up and down in smooth easy rhythm.
With surprising
skill my darling little fellatrix was sucking me off, her cheeks hollowing out,
as she vacuumed me with ruthless determination. I groaned, clamping my hands on
her thin naked shoulders and held on, tightening my grip, clenching my teeth as
the most excruciating waves of pleasure rocketed through me. Then the clever
slave girl added a new thrill. She never stopped her energetic sucking, but now
she began to bring her tongue up, swirling it around in an upward spiral each
time she came up. The novel sensation instantly drove me to new heights of
pleasure, it was a pleasure that was almost painful, unbearable, straining my
endurance to its absolute limits as I held on, arching my rigid hips high into
the air, clinging, with gritted teeth, to the last shreds of control.
But the powerful
upsurge in my loins became irresistible under the sheer intensity of the
repeated thrills, thrills that escalated wildly, till they sent me careening
towards the supreme moment of climax. I could hold out no longer. My last
conscious act was to push the eager girl back, extracting my throbbing penis,
and aiming it right at her flushed, excited face. At that exact moment I
exploded in a tremendous climax sending a powerful surge of sperm erupting from
the pulsating shaft to splatter that pretty face. Then I was coming with
furious urgency, spurting thick wads of semen that jetted out to decorate
another man’s slave girl, painting her neat features with ropy strands of thick
creamy sperm in furious pulsations that seemed to go on and on and on.