Introduction

 

In her dream, a wolf was tearing chunks from her body, and she was screaming, pulling at the straps that bound her. The pain was horrible, but it was her helplessness that begat her rage, and it was her rage that kept her sane. She focused on the sweat dripping off her nipples and reminded herself that it was the hook-and-collar, the nipple weights, and the darkness of her dungeon cell that were the cause of her suffering.

...And the legit.

The legion's commander, the legate, had ordered Sextus to "pacify" her for her deflowering, and this torture, this horrific agony was the direct result of that command. Legatus Legionis Lucius Flaccus had the right to fuck any slave girl he wanted, including virgins.

The right to fuck...

Who were these monsters who thought they had could kill and enslave innocent people? How did they justify their crimes, their perversions? Writing a law did not make it right, it only made it Roman, and she hated all things Roman. She had never even heard of Rome before the legionaries invaded her village and killed her father. She had never known anyone who would kill a woman in retaliation. The Romans had crucified her mother as payback for the legionaries he had killed defending his home. It had taken her a full day to die on their Roman cross. When she did mercifully pass, Sextus turned to her and pronounced her punishment.

"Put the pup in with my dogs," he had ordered. "If they don't eat her, she can live with the beasts until she's ripe enough for the block."

The vicious mastiffs, which the Romans used to guard their camp, could have easily ripped out her throat, but instead, for some unknown reasons, they had welcomed her into their space, shared their food and water, and kept her warm with their bodies. The dogs saved her.

Not that she knew it at the time. For weeks, she did not care what the Romans did to her; she had been numb, dazed with grief over the murder of her parents. Perhaps the dogs sensed her lack of fear and responded to it. They treated her like one of them, and she began to think of them as her family. At Sextus's order, she ate, slept, suffered, and ran naked with the beasts-all to the great amusement of the Romans-which resulted in her acquiring unusual strength and speed, hunter instincts, and a killer's temperament. The dogs also taught her caution and patience-from them she learned that to exact revenge she needed to survive, and to do that she needed to act like a cowed pet, a beaten cur until...

A sharp pain in her shoulder made her cry out in the darkness.

"Make sure she is suitably cowed when you send her to me," she remembered Flaccus ordering his chief torturer, the legion's dux carnifex, and Sextus nodding dutifully.

Suitably cowed...!

This was the way high-born Roman commander spoke. It kept them at an arms-length from the dirty business of torture and execution. She understood his fear-in many ways, she was an animal, too wild and too "gamey" for a patrician like him to tame.

Sextus had immediately ordered his men to restrain her with the fearsome hook-and-collar, which turned the natural curve in her back into an exaggerated arch. They then carried her to the dungeon where they raised her bound arms behind in a cruel strappado. The combination of the ass hook and the strappado was unbearable, forcing her to choose between agonizing shoulder pain and impalement. The only relief came when she stood on her toes, but this was only temporary.

If only they knew what was in her head, she thought, the torture would be worse.

In defiance of their rules, she had learned Latin by listening closely to the men talking as she lay on the floor with the dogs. The law forbid slaves learning the Roman language beyond a few basic commands.

A sudden burst of pain in her tits forced her to her toes. She recognized Sextus's handiwork in the pain. Ironically, he had earned his well-deserved reputation by allowing his torture victims an opportunity to retreat occasionally from their pain. This built their hope that they could survive his torture. A victim needed hope, she thought, as another wave of agony surged through her body.

"Be friendly, sympathize with them, give them the idea that they will survive...," he told the aspirants he trained as legion torturers. "A successful interrogation is all about refocusing the prisoner's thoughts. Even when the objective is punishment and not interrogation, controlling thoughts and being attentive to the details will produce better results."

Details...

Her torture was a good example of his attention to detail. He had made tiny loops from rawhide strips and used them to hang heavy weights from her nipples. It was a detail that created the backdrop of suffering over which he laid the sharp stabbing pain.

"Details...," Sextus had repeated to the attentive students watching. "These weights will keep our Taexali dog-girl in pain no matter how she turns her body."

All this agony simply to please the legate...

Slaves had no rights in the Rumabo slave depot, but it was traditional that no one, not even the officers fucked a virgin. It was a practical constraint not a moral one-virgins were simply worth too much on the block with their hymens intact to waste on a man's momentary pleasure. Most of the time, they honored this tradition, but occasionally, when a slave girl aroused the legate, he indulged.

She had seen the look in his eyes as he passed by her dog cage. Each day, he had lingered longer, staring at her naked body. Once, when Sextus had her out on the chain with the dogs preparing for a hunt, Flaccus had stopped and stared at her for a long time, his eyes traveling along her naked body, taking in her long lean muscles, her hard ass and tits, her long neck. He gaze had lingered on her face, savoring the harsh Celtic angles and plains.

She had tried to hide her loathing from him, her hatred of all things Roman, but her indifference came across as arousal. In truth, she was curious-no man had penetrated her yet and she did wonder what it would be like. Sextus had been careful to preserve her virginity for the block, but he could not protect it or her from Rumabo's randy commander.

Protect her...

She was still thinking about her strange choice of words, Roman words, when Sextus reentered the cell carrying a torch. He ran his hands over her bare shoulders and felt her straining muscles trembling; he checked the tension of the hook-and-collar by lifting the chain; then he tested the effectiveness of the weights by pulling down on the cords.

"He will sell you immediately after the deflowering, my pet," he whispered, running his hands along her flanks. "Legatus Lucius Flaccus does not keep the slaves he fucks around for long. The rumor is that he doesn't want anyone to know anything about his sexual performance."

He did not know she could understand Latin. He was like a man talking to his horse.

"I don't think that of course-the commander is a powerful man, a prime example of Roman virility. There is always ugly and loose talk in the ranks about a legion's commander's fucking."

Sextus had had too much to drink and was talking too freely, even if he assumed he was speaking to a dumb animal.

"The legate enjoys inflicting pain, especially on innocent creatures like you, Xara. People think I am a monster for the work I do, for the care I take in performing my duties, but I am simply doing a job. I am...like the men who clean the latrines or those who cook our food. Does anyone accuse them of begin demons because they do their work...well...with...pride? Do they?"

He was beginning to slur his words. She knew he would pass out soon, leaving her to suffer, but the germ of an idea was forming in her mind.

"I would have...kept you...as my pet...forever," he mumbled. "You were a fitting companion...for...my dogs, but I cannot go...against the..."

 

 

Chapter One - first kill

 

The can struck her bare leg and sent a sliver of pain into her brain. She wanted to scream, but her pride made her accept the agony without reacting. Sextus has used a log whip on her and the dogs. Compared to the feel of his braided leather on a bare back, the legate's cane was nothing.

He struck her again on the flanks, three times.

Flaccus was not the kind of man who admired pride in a slave. He wanted her terrorized, pacified, and submissive. He could have simply ordered her to walk faster-and like any good slave girl, she would have complied instantly-but in his mind pain was an essential part of deflowering a girl. A slave who accepted pain without expressing it was being resistant-something he could not allow. Fear, he often said, was the basis of Roman conquest and rule. Without it, the empire's millions of slaves would revolt, and there would be chaos, disorder, and savagery in the land...as there was before the Romans came, ergo, fear was good.

Xara suddenly realized the stupidity of her stoicism and glanced back at him with terror on her face. He smiled at her surrender and struck her again to emphasize that he always punished resistance even after surrender.

He had brought terror into her eyes, he thought, but she was still refusing to scream.

Instilling fear in a slave destined for sexual service was essential. How else could her new owner control a strong and supple beauty like this? He had ordered Sextus to pacify her, but he could see that the torture had not had the desired effect. He would have to do it himself. As the commander of the legion stationed at Rumabo Imperium, everything, from the maintenance of the stockade wall to the disciplining of a resistant slave girl, was ultimately his responsibility.

He laid a series of vicious strokes on her legs, eliciting a brief yelp, but it was still too little for his liking. He needed to be careful though, he reasoned, too much caning and he would need to delay her sale, which would mean gossip; a commander could not afford to have his men think he was weak, even in the use of his cock. Not only that, but he was the commander of a slave depot and needed to constantly exhibit his expertise with the creatures. Any bloody fool could beat a girl like Xara into submission, but the goal was to instill fear without crushing her spirit. It was this mixture of fear and spirit that made fucking such a beautiful sub-human like her so special. It was this combination that got them the best auction price.

Inflicting such targeted pain took the experience of a seasoned professional like him. He should never have left this girl's preparations to Sextus; the man was a genius with interrogation and punishment, but in matters requiring more subtlety, he was a disaster.

Her flashing legs distracted him for a moment. Sextus had delivered her a subligaria, a white loincloth, with the hook-and-collar still attached and her arms bound tightly behind her back at the wrists and elbows. The loincloth was a nice touch, he decided. It would be red with her blood when he finished...clear evidence of the power of his cock, power befitting the commander of the Ninth Legion.

The commander of the Ninth Legion...!

Emperor Hadrian had once personally awarded him the corona aurea for outstanding service in the conquest of southern Briton. He was a hero of Rome, one of her favorite sons. His command of the Rumabo Imperium, the largest fort and slave depot in Briton had been a fitting reward for his years of loyal service. A fitting reward...which came with many benefits and privileges such as the one he was now enjoying.

He struck her again on the thigh and her body jerked back with a cry of sudden pain. Better, he thought! A deflowering without a suitable amount of pain was...un-roman. It was traditional that he terrorize her right up to the moment of his penetration.

Tradition...

Tradition was important to we Romans. It connected the past with the future. It formed the bedrock on which our superior Roman civilization rested, the glue that held the empire together. Tradition and fear...two sides of the Roman coin.

He struck another fierce blow to the backs of her bare thighs, and she responded with a full-throated scream. Now they were getting somewhere, he thought; however, there was still something wrong with her reaction.

Was it anger...? Was it possible he had heard anger in her scream?

The thought was irrational and disconcerting, yet it lingered. After a night of torture at Sextus's hands, she should be as pliant as a whipped dog. Could she be trying to resist in the only way a slave could resist-by holding her feelings inside? If so, it was totally unacceptable, and he would need to deal with it immediately. He could not allow a Rumabo slave girl, especially one destined for sexual service to express any feeling other than a sincere and almost pathological desire to serve her masters...certainly not anger.

He caned her again in anger and she scampered faster up the guardhouse steps, but still not fast enough for his liking. Admittedly, her hook-and-collar made quick movement painful, but the thought that she was resisting in some subtle way had taken root in his mind.

He clearly had his work cut out for him today.

He paused to enjoy the sight of her frantic movements, her desperate attempts to avoid the worst of his cane. Despite his resolve, the quickness of her legs, of her bare feet on the smooth stone, of her twisting torso were intoxicating. She was truly a beauty now that she was clean of the muck and scent of the Sextus's dogs. She was a black-haired minx, the daughter of a Briton bitch who Sextus had crucified in well-justified retribution for her husband's resistance. Xara would sell for a substantial sum at the auction, he imagined. He would have her stripped and suspended by her wrists outside the auction house where she would not only attract buyer interest in herself, but also promote the auction as a whole.

It was a brilliant promotional idea; perhaps it would be even better if she were in pain of some kind or perhaps wearing a chastity belt to suggest that her cunt was valuable...? He would ask the chief auctioneer his opinion. Using a well-formed girl like this to excite the interests of the international cadre of slave buyers who visited the fort was a well-worn but still effective tactic.

But that day was a way off. Today, he wanted her penetration to be perfect, not just for him, but also for her new master. Roman domination was her life now, and he wanted to be sure that there was integrity in her sale. Grooming young slaves for the block took patience and commitment.

He moved quickly and struck her three more blows with the cane. The thought of those long, well-muscled limbs wrapped around his waist in coitus made him tremble with excitement. He had penetrated scores of virgins in the stone guardhouse, and he knew it was important that he keep tight control of his libido. The sexual excitement of fucking a slave girl virgin could be too much and result in premature ejaculation. It was easy to do-the stripping, the bondage, the requisite caning of soft thighs, and the spanking of a hard quivering ass could be too much for a man of his potency. Too much anticipation would work against him perhaps even cause him to embarrass himself, which would be a catastrophe. The men needed to respect their commander and that would be in danger of he came on himself.

Which was why he often brought beautiful slave girls to the stone building to fuck. It was far enough from the walls to hide any sexual missteps, but not too far to put himself in danger from the savages who continued to lurk outside the fort. Be patient, he reminded himself! Savor each bite of this juicy fruit slowly.

Good advice... It was hard, though, hard to resist such a ripe young body, hard for him to watch her bound body move in the hook-and-collar. Her bare shoulders and severely curved back preyed on his mind, making his cock as hard as stone. He wanted to lay his cane on her entire naked body and watch her writhe, listen to her cry and plead for his mercy, but the necessity of clear skin for the action block held him back.

Why should such practical matters constrain his pleasure, he asked himself? The legate should not be subject to such plebian concerns. They needed to find a way to keep his girls, the ones he fucked silent until their auction-perhaps a heavy leather hood with a good lock...? He would speak to the chief auctioneer about this idea as well. Xara's slim figure and her pointed tits and ass were inspiring him.

"Patience...," he whispered to himself. "She will be yours soon enough, begging for you."

She was a beauty all right, a trophy that would set any man's passions aflame; and he was plucking her at exactly the right moment, at the very peak of her sweet taste. He had been watching her for days in her cage and on her dog leash. Her time with Sextus's mastiffs had allowed her to ripen to just the right degree of hardness. He usually liked them softer, more nubile, but a firm fruit was often good as well. Perhaps other slave girls could profit by being with the dogs.