Introduction

 

Nasrin jumped back as one of the buyers cupped her breast. She was wearing a white tunic, but the arrogant way he felt her tit through the cloth made her skin crawl. She had known in her mind that her enslavement had demoted her on the social scale, but it was not until this moment that she fully understood the depth of her descent. He smiled at her, enjoying her surprise and shame. These Romans were brutes, savages; they had no respect for a captive, even one of high rank like herself.

High rank...!

Did that still apply to her, she wondered? She was a slave now, livestock...chattel. The Romans viewed all their slaves as subhuman no matter what their previous rank. She was an animal to them now-a dog or a horse-except that she could think and speak. Maybe this was appropriate-she had surrendered hadn't she; she had begged the soldiers who attacked her city to spare her life. Didn't that plea come with the implied promise that in exchange for her life, she would submit to their bondage? The Gods allowed victors to put those who surrendered in bondage and to demand their obedience.

The only thing that set her apart now from the other slaves were her looks. She was olive-skinned, tall, and shapely, with the long legs of a young colt. "Wraparound legs" one of the guards had said. She had learned later that he was referring to her legs wrapped around her fucker's waist. The very thought of it made her feel faint and dizzy.

"Bring me the Persian girl," the auctioneer said.

A guard slipped his hand under between her legs and guided her up the steps by pushing on her Venus mound. She tried to squirm away again, but he had his index finger between the lips of her labia. She stood trembling in rage and shame on the unpolished marble stage with the guard on one side and the auctioneer on the other. She could feel the coolness of the stone on her bare feet.

"I have something very special for you today, my friends. If it pleases you, I present Nasrin of the ancient city of Persepolis in faraway Persia. Her father was a caliph, a ruler...before our legions arrived."

There was a ripple of laughter and some indifferent applause from the crowd. Most of these men were professional buyers, they didn't have time for a sales pitch. Most were talking, others looked bored or distracted. For a moment, she felt another wave of anger-no one cared about her or her family, no one cared that her captors had demoted her from human being to...to something else.

One of the low-born Persepolian slaves who cleaned the pens had told her that mostly hardened slave buyers-wholesalers or agents for wealthy Romans-attended the auction today. They would mark up the slaves they bought and offer them to rich people, or sell them at a local, retail auction to whoremongers and tavern keepers.

"The slaves they earmark for sex, like you, Lady, are lucky," she had told her. "Just lay back and open your legs and your mouth when told and they will treat you well."

Lucky...!

She didn't feel lucky. Her father had arranged for her to marry a prince, the son of the local Persian magistrate. She would have had her own slaves if the Romans had not come to Persepolis...if the magistrate had not surrendered the city without a fight.

She raised her eyes and looked out at the milling crowd. They didn't even care about her story, only about her appearance, which the auctioneer would reveal to them when he ordered her to disrobe. These buyers had no interest in a clothed sex slave no matter how beautiful her face, no matter how luxuriant her hair, or how shapely he bare legs.

"Get on with it, Appius, will you; we don't have all day."

The auctioneer, Appius, frowned. Slaves, even sex slaves, had become commodities these days in major cities and rural outposts alike. York, at the very edge of the empire, was no exception. No one cared about his presentation of the fine points of...

"Will you get on with it for fuck's sake," someone else yelled. "We are not interested in your bullshit today!"

He turned to the guard.

"Strip her," he ordered in a surly tone.

The guard moved his hand to the tie holding her tunic on her shoulders and Nasrin instinctively twisted away, slapping at his hand. Everyone in the auction hall heard the slap and froze. In Persia, if someone had tried to strip her in public, her father would have had his hand thrust into the flames of a furnace and burned off. This was her first thought; her second was panic-she had forgotten herself. She was a slave.

The crowd exploded with faux horror. Faux because a slap was not a lethal act, and horror because slaves did not strike their masters. This applied even a new slave, even to one of such haunting and exotic beauty. All thoughts of business suddenly vanished from their minds; this was an opportunity for something exciting.

"Punire eam (punish her)," someone shouted with the perverse glee of an angry sadist. The crowd picked up the chant and became raucous.

"Pun-ish her...pun-ish her...pun-ish her!"

Appius, sensing that this was a way to increase interest in her sale, nodded to the bare-chested guard who grabbed her thin wrists, pinning her arms back. A second man found a slave-yoke, a light one specifically designed for recalcitrant girls, behind the stage and hurriedly carried it up the steps. In seconds, the two burley men had her arms stretched out horizontally and strapped to the wood. Offstage, another guard lowered two ropes which they tied quickly to hooks on at the two ends of the yoke.

"Hurry, you fools," Appius hissed, sensing the crowd's impatience.

The guard nodded, and another attendant offstage pulled on the rope lifting Nasrin a few inches above the stage floor. She began to kick out frantically with her exquisite legs as if trying to climb stairs. The yoke was effectively crucifying her with all the attendant pain. The first guard, the one who had goosed her onto the stage, grabbed her legs and strapped her ankles together with a belt as his partner hurriedly fetched the six-lash ferula (slave whip). He waited until he had the crowd's attention then unfurled the lashes, shook them out, and assumed a position to the girl's rear ready to administer her punishment.

The crowd quieted, anticipating an exciting whipping, but Appius had more in mind than a simple whipping. He waited a minute as she twisted then he walked to her front and pulled the cord on her tunic with a showman's flourish. The garment fell away from her lush body revealing her pointed tits, large swollen vulva, and her hard ass.

The mob, surprised by the extent of her beauty, began to buzz with approval as the men assessed her value, calculating the markup they would add for their clients. For most of them, profit came before pleasure.

"PUNISH HER...!" someone shouted.

Appius hesitated for a moment, ensuring that he had everyone's attention, then nodded to the whipmaster who put half-a-dozen vicious strokes on her ass and the backs of her thighs. She screamed and franticly twisted her lovely body in an instinctual jerking movement to escape. Again, the crowd was surprised by her reaction

Punishing a slave onstage was not unusual, but it was rare for a slave this beautiful to respond to the pain with such wild abandon. Typically, a slave would jerk some and moan under the whip or even go limp-enter a state of catatonic disbelief and dissociation-but Nasrin did not do either. She began to undulate as if some invisible lover was fucking her. Everyone understood what it meant-the pain, by the bondage, and the extreme humiliation of public punishment were turning her on, arousing her. The movement suggested that she might deliver an uncommonly intense sexual experience in bed, a possibility that would raise her value significantly. The crowd stirred again signaling its approval and arousal. Appius egged them on, speaking in a low voice as if in suggestion.

"She is a fierce beauty from the orient, gentlemen. Imagine the joys your clients will have taming such a woman. Imagine what that body would be like twisting under them with their cocks tucked tightly inside. This one is a rare opportunity."

He nodded again and the guard laid another half dozen strokes a third time. Nasrin was screaming and writhing now, her lithe body undulating wildly as the pain echoed from top to bottom. The well-trained whipmaster reached up and pushed a cloth into her mouth so her screams didn't drown out the auctioneer's message.

"Allow me to demonstrate how our establishment picks slave girls for our most loyal customers. First you apply withering pain as we have just done then..."

Without warning, he put one hand on her ass and the other on her cunt then he inserted his middle finger deep inside her vagina. Instantly, her eyes flew open, and the writhing stopped, replaced by a serpentine movement that extended her undulations. In seconds, she was fucking him with a look of total engagement on her face. The auctioneer silently signaled the guard, and he removed her gag then resumed his lashing with twice the force.

She went wild. There was no screaming now; her pain and the stimulation of Appius's finger had triggered fired her libido and she was fucking it with the blind fury of one possessed. Her eyes suddenly rolled back into her head and her body arched as a monstrous orgasm shook her like a rag doll.

Appius removed his hand while her body was still clenching at it with one contraction after another. He pretended that she had crushed his finger, and his amusing antics broke the crowd's awed silence. Everyone started talking at the same time. He smiled to himself; he needed them animated now, fully engaged in her disposition.

"One hundred denarii," a man shouted.

The auctioneer ignored him. He had set the reserve on the Persian girl at five-hundred denarii.

"Gentlemen, this is not the reaction of a one-hundred-denarii-girl. Who will start the bidding at the fair price of five hundred denarii?"

Someone near the back, who clearly didn't want the crowd to notice him, raised his hand. The auctioneer recognized him as a procurer recently arrived from Rome. A gang from Rome's Trastevere district had chased him out of the city for what they called "perversions." The auctioneer knew that if they called his abuses "perversions," they must have been unspeakable, and he would regret selling him this exquisite beauty. Still, a bid was a bid.

"I have five hundred denarii in the back, who will someone give me six?"

"Six."

"I have six, will..."

"Seven."

"Eight."

He saw disgraced procurer holding up nine fingers, but he pretended not to see. He would only sell her to him if there were no other bidders.

"One thousand...will someone pay me one thousand denarii for this beauty with her orgasmic cunt."

"ONE THOUSAND...!"

A young soldier with the rank markings of a tribune augusticlavii, an equestrian, stepped forward then turned haughtily back towards the crowd with his hand on his sword as if daring someone to outbid him. He had the arrogant air of a Roman patrician, which he was. No one offered another bid. The auctioneer clapped his hands once, hard.

"Sold...to the young hero from the legion for one thousand denarii."

The crowd relaxed while the guard untied the semi-conscious girl. His partner was already preparing another beauty, a well-formed Dalmatian dressed in the same white tunic, for the stage. Appius stepped down to exchange words with the young officer, who was obviously someone of importance with his equestrian markings.

"She's a beauty, Tribune," he said quietly. "You have gotten her for a good price."

"A thousand denarii for a female slave does not seem like much of a bargain. That's what a talented gladiator would cost in Rome."

"But we are not in Rome, my Lord. As you must know, prices in Briton are high. Everything of quality is dear here."

"Yes..."

"May she keep you hard and warm wherever you serve the empire, Tribune. I would not have enjoyed selling her to some of the buyers present here. Disgusting men...perverts who abuse and, well...enough said. May I know your name, Tribune, and your intentions?

"I am Atticus Versus, Tribune Augusticlavii of the Second Legion, stationed in Vindolanda."

"Vindolanda...? The fort north of the Great Northern Forest...?"

"Yes."

Appius nodded, impressed.

"Thank you for you service, Tribune. It is my fond hope that we will soon be harvesting thousands of slaves from the north...for the empire. So, why did you want the Persian so badly?"

Versus stared at him for a moment. The question was personal, but he understood the man's curiosity. It was not every day that an officer from the legions, even a high-born officer, bought a rough, untrained girl for one thousand denarii. Not only that, but it was also his business to know his customers."

"I recently ended my engagement to a high-born lady, and I decided to treat myself to a comely slave to assuage my disappointment. The legate of the Second Legion, my legion, is encouraging more normal practices of Roman habitation in Vindolanda."

"That is wise, Tribune, very wise. A young, well-articulated man such as yourself should not be without a woman even in the wild north. I hope the Persian will serve you well in this regard. We have a very generous repurchase policy if you tire of her, and if your tastes continue to run towards olive-skinned Orientals, we are one of the few dealers in York who specializes in girls from Persia, Arabia, Syria, Judea... They are quite exotic and spirited...as you saw."

Versus nodded, impatient now to be on his way.

"She will be ready for you in just another minute, Tribune. So, tell me, how goes the war? I hear the savages are especially fierce in the north, that they attack our legions like rabid wolves, throwing themselves at our men with blue-painted faces and naked bodies."

"Yes...yes, they are a handful."

A guard appeared with the still-dazed Nasrin. She was wearing her white tunic again and a rough collar with a rawhide tether attached. The guard had gathered the tether in a loop, which he handed the tribune with a bow. A pair of iron shackles just above her elbows and another on her wrists kept her arms pinned behind, accentuating her marvelous figure.

"We normally charge for the collar and the shackles," Appius whispered, "but for one of our finest...please accept them with our complement. You can arrange payment with my accountant...in the back, my man will take you. If you have any further need of our service, please let me know. Good luck, Tribune...with the savages."

"We will soon have them pacified and serving the empire" Versus said absently, his eyes on the girl. "Nothing can stand against the legions for long."

The auctioneer nodded.

"Good luck, soldier and thank you for your service."

Versus nodded then turned and followed the guard to settle his bill. Nasrin followed a step behind.

 

 

Chapter One - Uulia

 

Tribune Atticus Versus turned back to stare at the girl walking behind his horse. She was incredibly beautiful especially in her bondage, with her wrists chained together and the rough leather collar still around her thin neck. He had shifted the tether from her collar to her wrist shackles as he did not want to drag her unknowingly by the neck if she stumbled. A thousand denarii was not much given the allowance his family sent him-no more than the price of a good horse-but he didn't want to damage her; there was no telling when he would get to travel south to York again. He was sure the legate had sent him on this horse-buying mission as a consolation for...

A consolation...!

He didn't need the legate's comfort. The truth was that he should be consoling the Plecio family. If only the savages had not stripped Lollia in front of the entire legion; if only she had not screamed for mercy in front of everyone; if only it was not common knowledge that she had fucked the Pict chief, that she had sucked his cock on demand for weeks while she was his captive. He had not had any option but to break off their engagement. There was no way he could bring her, in her damaged and unclean state, into his family after all she had done. His Versus ancestors would have turned over in their graves if he had allowed the engagement to continue.

He glanced back at the Persian again. Slaves usually traveled nude to preserve their clothing, but he had allowed her to continue to wear her white tunic. It didn't matter, he would strip and fuck her soon enough. For now, it amused him to watch her magnificent legs move, to see the shape of her luscious body through her covering, to watch her face and hair and dream of them between his legs. It was important for him to maintain the decorum and dignity of an equestrian, even in this Briton wilderness, but he couldn't wait to fuck her, to strip off her clothes and...

She would never take the place of a wife of course. Lollia would have fucked him and been the mistress of his home, the mother of his children, but that dream was over. He bought this Persian for one and only one purpose-sex. Not only was his cock straining for release every night these days, but he could not stand the looks of pity from the men and the other officers-their look on consolation was unbearable. It was as if his fiancée had died; Lollia had not died. His ending of the engagement was simply a matter of family honor. He didn't expect these plebian men to understand, even some of the officers did not understand how he could discard such a beauty, such a fine match as Lollia. How could they understand what family honor was all about? How could they understand the...

He glanced back at the Persian again then scanned the surrounding forest for signs of the savages. They had had a treaty with the Atrebates that allowed free and safe passage through the Great Northern Forest, but that treaty was over now. For some strange and unknown reason, the Atrebates chief, Togodumnus, had allied with the Picts. It was as if he believed the impossible-that the Picts and the other northern tribes could defeat Rome. It was just stupid but typical of the unsophisticated savage mind.

He had five centuries of troops with him for the journey back to Vindolanda, two-hundred and fifty men, so he wasn't all that worried, but it was still necessary to be vigilant. The savages would pay a high price to attack them even here on their home ground, and they wouldn't do it until they were ready. The new Pict chief, Drust, was still recruiting warriors, consolidating his forces for a guerilla war that the prefect expected to start next spring.

The Prefect...

The prefect had proposed his marriage to Lollia to her father, the legate, a few days after he had ended their engagement and he had agreed. He had little choice-Lollia was now a pariah among the patrician class. Although the prefect held the high post of military advisor to the prefect, he was still a pleb, a soldier risen from the ranks. If only the savages had not taken Lollia, she would have had a wonderful life as the wife of a Roman patrician. Now...

There was nothing he could do.

He glanced back at the Persian, Nasrin...that was her given name. He would need to give her another name, a Roman slave name. His father had always said that it was better to give a slave a new name so they could begin to disassociate from their old lives. Giving them a new name was also a useful way to highlight their bondage, he had said-they no longer had the right to their own name-only their master had that right. Imagine asking a horse or a cow to name themselves.

But what name should he give her? Picking one was harder than he thought. If he gave her the name of another family member or a friend, he would be insulting that person. Even giving her the name of someone he knew casually could prove embarrassing. If he were home, in Rome, he would have assigned the task of finding a name to the family's major-domo, the slave who managed the household staff, but he didn't have a major-domo at Vindolanda...he didn't even have a body servant. He would have liked to have taken one of the slaves from those they had captured at the Spey River Gorge, but the legate had taken every savage for construction of the fort. He could buy his own in York or Rumabo of course, but he didn't like to flaunt his wealth in front of the men. If only there were...

Uulia...!

The name popped into his head the moment he stopped thinking about it. Uulia... He had known a girl named Uulia once, as a child. She was the Rome-born daughter of their Greek accountant. He had had a crush on her from the moment he had seen her.

Uulia...Uulia...that was it. Whatever she had been called before-Navrin or Nasrin or something like that-before was now ended. Her new name would be Uulia.

"Step lively, Uulia," he called back, testing the sound of it and finding it pleasing.