avid lips and agile tongue, until she had me squirming helplessly, uncontrollably, driven to distraction by the exquisite feel of her unrelenting tongue. The feel of her lavish tongue sliding wetly up and down my shaft was so exquisite that I couldn’t help moaning, tossing my head back and lifting my loins toward 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 female was generating in my groin.
Then the tickling play of her lively tongue stopped When I looked down at her through half-lidded eyes, she grabbed me and tilted my rigid shaft toward her as she bent down slowly to 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 go down on me. Through lust-narrowed eyes, I watched the top of her small head as it bobbed up and down in smooth, easy rhythm.
My darling little fellatrix was sucking me off with surprising skill Her cheeks hollowed 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 drove me instantly to new heights of pleasure-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 which escalated wildly, till they sent me careering toward 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 face. At that exact moment, I exploded in a tremendous climax, sending a powerful surge of sperm erupting from the pulsating shaft to decorate her pretty face. Then I was coming with furious urgency, spurting thick wads of semen that jetted out to splatter another man’s slave girl, painting her neat features with ropy strands of creamy sperm in pulsating explosions that seemed to go on forever.
Chapter Two. The Call Of The North
Even before Lucius had given word to my feelings, I had learned that for a poor but ambitious junior officer, the Legion’s permanent barracks, just outside Rome, could not be considered the most hospitable of postings. And if that officer gambled a bit too much, and was heavily in debt, his plight was even worse. I was restless, increasingly desperate, hating my poverty, and thoroughly bored with camp life. A few days earlier, when I had been ruminating about my fate, 1 happened upon a slave caravan. Such long lines of fresh captives were quite common in Rome in those days. Day or night one could find them bound for the slave markets, wending their ways through the streets of that decadent city, a city insatiable for ever more human flesh.
I watched as two long rows of dusty naked captives, mostly men, trudged past me, their eyes downcast, their tread slow and dull. From their long unkempt hair, powerful builds, and scarred, hard-muscled bodies, it was easy to see that these must have been barbarian fighters, once-proud warriors whose spirit had been broken by defeat at the hands of Rome’s invincible legions. Now they were being led by overseers, who found no need to use their whips on their dazed and beaten captives. The shuffling men moved their feet mindlessly, hands manacled before them, chained to one another in loose coffles of eight men each.
There were lines of captured women, too. And although these were fewer, I studied them with more interest Many were stocky, heavily built barbarians, clearly destined to end up as field slaves or, at best, house slaves, although occasionally there was a well-made body that might elevate its fortunate owner to work in the bedchamber or in one of the city’s pleasure houses. The long lines of would-be slaves were broken by the occasional slaver’s wagon, with the large wheels and wide flatbeds, that held standing captives in cages. The wagons were reserved for captured nobles or for those women who were fated to become specially trained sex slaves. It was unwise to wear out the more-valuable merchandise in the long, exhausting march to Rome.
I watched the sorry parade without much interest as it made its way slowly by, when a creaking wagon came into view and with it a particularly rare prize. The jogging cage held a statuesque blonde. This must be a captive from the Northern peoples, I realized, a rare Teuton to be sure, as I recognized the striking Nordic features that Gaius had once described to me in such loving detail. This Germanic beauty was impressively tall, regal in her bearing, and elegantly made. She stood with cold blue eyes looking out over the crowd, eyes that were remote and unblinking. Most favored captives who found themselves so displayed in the tall wooden cages would shrink back to huddle in a far corner averting their eyes, or they might squat down studying the planks on the floor with head held low in the utter shame of defeat. But this woman did no such thing!
She stood boldly, squarely facing her Roman enemies, strong legs set wide as though to compensate for the roll of the wagon. Her hands clasped the bars at either side of her pale face, as she stood regarding with icy contempt those who sought to subdue her. Enthralled, I studied her magnificent naked body, the lean hard muscles sculpted into long, feminine contours, the breasts, firm, high set, and fiercely proud with prominent pink nipples that seemed to jut straight out My eyes fell to the silvery fleece of her brazenly exposed womanhood, a triangle of soft pale curls that thickened at the apex into a blonde tuft only half-hiding pouting netherlips. Her fuzzy pubic hair was paler than the hair on her head, which was long and thick, and spoke to former glories, although now it was matted and unkempt so it gave her a slightly frazzled, wild look I wondered if her new owner would have sense enough to allow her to keep that long mane of pure gold, or would he insist she be shorn to the sort of blonde stubble some slave owners thought quite fashionable in those days.
As the last of the train passed by I found myself following the parade to the slave market, eager to see if this Nordic goddess would be put upon the block today. Such a splendid specimen would certainly fetch a healthy price from any of a dozen of the best-known procurers, but it was more likely that some wealthy patron would pay dearly to add the blonde beauty to his private collection. Of course, with two coins in my purse, there was no way I could even dream of buying such a woman myself. That was out of the question!
Still, I was intrigued by her. I wanted desperately to see her standing on the raised platform: a splendid nude, presented in all her naked glory for public inspection, posed for the edification of the Roman rabble. Would her regal demeanor falter when the strong, proud female met her fate? Would the look of sullen defiance in her brooding blue eyes give way to fear when she found herself naked and alone on the raised platform before the lusty, bawdy crowd that inevitably gathered to eagerly watch the public spectacles the auctions provided?
Their destination was the largest and best of the pubic auctions run by two brothers named Maximus. By the time I got there, a good-sized crowd was already on hand, with more gathering every minute. The slaves were being lined up, connecting chains undone. They would mount the auction block singly, to be inspected and sold to the highest bidder. The slaves’ manacles were removed, and a wide leather collar was fixed around each neck A thin rawhide strip attached to the collar was used as a lead, so that the handler could bring the slave forward to be presented.
By now the captives would be properly cowed. The heavy whip that was used in the early days of captivity and retained for the most recalcitrant, could be dispensed with easily for this lot To keep their charges in line, the more skillful handlers need only employ a thin hickory switch.
The pace was smooth and businesslike. Each slave was made to mount the steps and there to suffer the indignities of being closely examined by the chief auctioneer, one of the Maximus brothers, who conducted the sort of thorough inspection one would expect to see if he were buying a valuable horse. Once he was well satisfied, the auctioneer set the starting price, and the bidding began.
I recognized this particular fellow: a skinny bald gnome named Glutus, and I watched the obvious pleasure he took in his task I saw the leer than came over his lips when women were about to be placed in his hands. He would make them do his bidding, adopting all sorts of poses to show off their best features while he went over the fine merchandise meticulously with his hands, lingering especially with the females, feeling here and there, probing this or that. The man obviously loved his work!
Bidding that day was hot and heavy, and the line moved quickly. I pushed my way through the crowd, eager to see more as her time came and the big blonde moved to the head of the line to have her manacles removed. She stood with eyes front, ignoring the rough handler who fitted the wide leather collar around her neck, then paused to
