Crimson and Steel

by Ric Bern

  In an instant she was being manhandled into a new position. Limbs flailing, she was under his control. Now on her hands and knees, Ulf pulled her so that her rear was high in the air. He swatted both cheeks in turn, brutally hard. Work-hardened hands fell on her ass, and she could feel it jiggle and shake. His slaps resounded in the cave. Gripping her hips, he thrust himself deeply again and pounded into her pussy with abandon. His weight forced her to grip the furs in her fists and lay flat on her face as she was assaulted from behind.

  Every now and again one of his calloused palms would come crashing down on her full rump, and the pain would shoot like a lightning bolt to her pussy, where it was converted to pure pleasure. Each time she was spanked, her sheath would clench tight on his throbbing cock, and she noted that this encouraged him to continue his assault. She was certain that her ass was covered in bright red handprints and that the kohl she had just applied was smeared. No man had ever made her feel so good about looking like such a mess.

  Asmin reached one of her palms between her thighs and stroked their union, running the soft pads of her fingertips over her clit as well as the meaty cock that had invaded her pussy. Ulf fully sheathed into her and held still so that she could grip his seed sac and roll the heavy, nectar-coated balls in her palm as his cock throbbed inside of her. With that he reached up and gripped her by the hair, taking great handfuls of her thick locks and yanking back like reins on a horse.

  She called out as he forced her back to arch, and again her pussy throbbed and clenched on his cock. Asmin sobbed in pain and writhed in pleasure, her head turning this way and that as he tugged. Her scalp burned in delicious agony. Her pussy tightened and milked his cock, and she tried to touch herself, but she could not reach with her back so bowed. She cried out, completely under his control, so ready for release.

  Ulf pumped into her, suspending her on his cock, jaw clenched. He thrust awkwardly three times, then pulled hard on her hair and felt her nectar flood out in release as he erupted inside of her pussy. She guttered out sobs as he released her hair, and he leaned over her, rocketing ribbons of cum into her womb. His glans pulsed over and over again until he had drained the last bit of his seed into Asmin, and he lay atop her back panting. They rested for long moments in that manner.

  He rolled to his side and pulled Asmin into his embrace, throwing his heavy thigh over her body to bring them as close as possible. Ulf cupped her chin and gently brought his mouth down on hers. His other hand idly played with her hair as he smiled at her and pecked at her face. First he planted a wet kiss between her eyes, then the tip of her nose, her chin, and finally her lips. He supped gently from her for a long while as she snaked her arms around his thick neck.

  Asmin returned his kisses eagerly, her hands roaming his sinewy back and inhaling his musky, wild scent. He smelled of the woods—clean and free.

  “I mussed your makeup.” He smiled softly, stroking his thumb across her cheek to wipe a smudge away.

  “Oh, let me fix it.” She spoke up self-consciously, starting to rise.

  “And let us eat.”

  Asmin went to the creek and washed her face in the chilly water as Ulf tended the cauldron. When she returned she took the turtle shell bowl of rabbit stew he offered and placed her hand in the middle of his chest, urging him to sit. She then sat on his lap and fed him his meal with a homemade wooden spoon, nibbling his lip between bites and teasing him by playing with his hair. Once he was finished she ate what few bites she could as his hands groped all over her and his lips found her secret spot between her shoulder blades.

  “Come, follow me.” Ulf held out his hand. “There is a hot spring.”

  Asmin took his hand and followed him through the woods. Deftly dodging brambles and briars in their susceptible state, Ulf brought her to a clearing. A hot spring gurgled up from the earth and had carved a natural pool where water swirled and aerated. Steam rose from the surface, which was illuminated by the gentle light of the moon.

  “There is a niche where we may sit,” Ulf said, pulling her closer. “I rest here when I wish to feel rejuvenated.”

  The he stepped from the granite ledge and into the swirling water, his foot catching another ledge so that the water came just below his knee. He stepped down with his other leg, then gripped the upper ledge and eased himself into a sitting position. Ulf held his strong arms up for Asmin, and he helped her into his lap in the warm, roiling mineral bath. Maneuvering her swiftly, he positioned her so that she faced him and straddled him.

  He captured her lips, suckling her, and nuzzling her nose with his own as his light beard chaffed against her smooth flesh. His calloused palms slid under the surface of the water and caressed her back, his fingertips smoothing up and down the line of her spine as he drew her tongue into his mouth. Asmin’s breasts bobbed in the water, and her nipples scraped tantalizingly against his weathered chest as they moved, forcing him to pull back and look at them. He admired them, closing both hard paws on her teardrop-shaped bosoms and hefting their weight. His smoldering emerald gaze went from her face and back to her chest, and he unconsciously licked his lips.

  Asmin let out a shuddering coo and cupped her slender fingers on his nape under his shaggy mane. Closing her eyes and arching back her neck in total surrender, she rose up on her knees and took her left breast in her hand. She leaned in and offered her erect nipple to him.

  Ulf closed his lips on her breast and suckled, hollowing his cheeks and drawing her pink nubbin painfully into his mouth. His broad tongue swirled over the tiny nubs of her breast, and Asmin felt her pussy engorge and flush with nectar. She stifled a cry to Ishtar as his leathery palms went to her rear under the water, and he rolled her ass. He squeezed and clutched his fingers as he took her nipple between his teeth and tugged. He then turned his attention to her right breast and gave a throaty hum of satisfaction.

  Asmin laced her fingers in his hair, dug them gently into his scalp, and scratched his head. She nuzzled his hair as he nursed from her, then called out and whined pitifully as one of his searching digits penetrated her sex. Her sheath clenched on to his thick knuckles, and she stiffened. She whimpered, leaning back her head and biting her lower lip, as Ulf slowly moved his finger inside her.

  The barbarian released her breast and looked at her, the fire returning to his eyes. Reaching between them under the water, he took his cock in his fist. Asmin rose up on her knees to align herself properly and impaled herself on his prick. His dick split her slowly as she nestled onto his lap, inching down his shaft in a series of shivers. Once firmly in place, she wanted to show him how grateful she was for his hospitality.

  Asmin ground down on his shaft, gyrating her hips in languid circles as she lavished his neck with her lips and breathed hotly in his ear. Her sharpened nails returned to his nape, and he growled. She had found his special spot. Fingernails scratched and teased his neck as she bucked her hips against his, grinding her mound on his lower abdomen and working her pussy on his prick. She flexed her inner muscles and tightened her grip on his manhood. She kissed his throat and purred, then flicked her tongue over his nipple.

  In a moment he turned her around, yet he never removed his cock. She still straddled his lap, but now she faced away from him. The sudden, forceful movement had urged her body to release a torrent of nectar. She felt aroused at how much she enjoyed being manhandled by this brute. Mostly rich, old men had bedded her, not a virile woodsman like Ulf. Then he scooted forward on the granite bench so he could find purchase with his feet. He leaned forward and gripped Asmin by her upper arms and thrust into her vigorously. She could do naught but cry out.

  Her only connection to Ulf was his cock, and his meaty paws locked around her limbs as his hips drove his dick into her like a piston. She bobbed in the water as he pounded into her and stretched her pussy in a new and strange angle that delighted sensations deep within her core. Her clit was being assaulted in this new position and his fat, purple veins throbbing in her sheath were driving her to the br
ink. Asmin gasped for air, and little pinpoints of light assaulted her vision. His entire body tensed. Once more his seed sac bunched up tight to his shaft, and he loosed thick ropes of cum into Asmin’s clenching womb.

  The pair sat for a long while in the pool, the runaway slave curled in his lap. Asmin laid her head on Ulf’s broad chest and relaxed as he idly stroked her between her shoulder blades and held her hand beneath the swirling water. Moonlight bathed them in the steaming bath, and they were content.

  “How came you to live alone like this?” she asked as she turned to look up into his gemstone eyes.

  “You think me odd,” he replied in his mellow baritone, smirking down at her. “Am I a crazy hermit? Or a witch-man? A bit of both? Hmm?”

  “Well, I’ll bet that mad hermits don’t fuck like you do,” she said coquettishly, giving his cock a tug under the roiling water. “And if you are a witch-man, I am not afraid. Tell me: How is it you live alone? I can tell you missed women. What else are you missing?”

  “I do not miss that city,” he said. “That is a festering pot of stinking flesh. A man cannot breathe inside its walls. And do not trust a Roman. Liars and thieves, the lot of them.”

  Asmin felt her protector tense as she rested in his lap. His voice rose, and his ire stirred like the water. She soothed her hands over his chest and shushed him softly. “It’s all right,” she comforted. “Tell me what happened.”

  “I was hired on with other men of my tribe to travel far from the shores of Geatland, my home, and be warriors in the service of a Roman general. We donned the crimson and steel of the Empire and swore oaths to the praetor. I learned to march and to be a part of a unit and to accept the beating of a centurion when he felt it necessary. I suffered those indignities gladly, because I knew that I would make war on the German tribes if I stood with Rome. I would share in the plunder as well as take regular pay from the general.”

  Asmin touched his face, frightened and entranced by the smoldering fury in his visage as he shared his past.

  “War never came. The praetor marched us to field and positioned us, but we never engaged. All of our movements were but to force negotiations and the trading of hostages. What glory is in that? What honor is taken in that? I challenged the elders of my tribe who had traveled with me. I told them I wanted to go home, where I could live as a man and be free and have plunder with a war band. But they would not meet my gaze. They had changed. They had softened and become happy with a regular salary and a cot to sleep on.”

  She looped a strand of wild hair behind his ear and noted that his anger was quickly turning to sadness.

  “I called them cowards. I tried to shame them into returning home and being free. They fell in love with the city and all they could buy with their coin. I was the only one who wanted to leave. But I had taken an oath to the praetor. In the end I was the coward. I broke my oath. I left my gear behind and slipped out one night.”

  “But why did you not go home?” she asked.

  “And arrive alone? My people would know I abandoned my brothers. I have cut myself off from those I love. I cannot go home, and I will not return to the city. I hear I have been banished in my absence,” he finished, and then emitted a lamenting, scoffing laugh.

  Asmin snuggled more deeply into his chest and squeezed his neck. Neither one of them had a place to be, a home. They were both outcasts. She kissed his neck and felt his arms come around her in an enveloping embrace. The silent moon watched them sit as such for a long while that night.

  Eventually they returned to his den. After drying by the fire they curled around one another on his bed of padded furs. They lay together like spoons in a drawer with Ulf’s head tucked just above Asmin’s. Their legs tangled together as intimately and naturally as brambles in a thicket.

  Chapter Six

  Javad laid facedown on a silken divan and curled his toes in pleasure. Stripped to the waist, he relaxed his girth and sighed as a pair of soft hands massaged his hairy back with scented oils. Resting his sagging cheeks on folded hands, he took in the sights and sounds of the bathhouse. Spread before him was the opulent playground of the noble citizens of the city. The footprint of the pool was roughly the size of a small domicile, and it was lined with marble statues depicting Bacchus, Hercules, and satyrs. An effigy of Venus made into a fountain that poured water from an amphora stood at the far end. Aristocrats young and old frolicked in the tepid green water. Many were receiving massages around the pool as Javad was, or were having manicures or other health and beauty treatments performed. Wine was being consumed in abundance, and though late in the night, none seemed at all concerned with the time.

  The pleasant serenity of the bath was interrupted as Braxus and a crew of his cronies mounted the steps and pushed their way into the main chamber.

  “Javad,” the charioteer cried out. The thick silver chain around his neck swayed as he took purposeful strides toward the Easterner. “Javad, I want my property now.”

  The slave master struggled to roll over as the masseuse scrambled away. He had just achieved a seated position when Braxus shoved him back down on the divan.

  “Where is your man, you sniveling Persian pig?” He jabbed an iron finger into Javad’s flabby chest until he cried out in pain.

  “Oh, leave him be, you jug-headed poltroon,” came a voice tinged with gentle mockery, echoing from the edge of the pool. Braxus spun to see a full-figured woman of forty looking up at him with hazel eyes, lips turned up in a smirk.

  “Don’t you start, Kallista,” he warned, stepping toward her. “I’ve no time to suffer your insults this night.” Patrons began easing away, and many had already snuck out of the building entirely.

  “Insults…from me?” She feigned surprise, luxuriating in the tepid water. “I would never cast barbs at someone as powerful and…vigorous…as you, arena champion.” Her eyes devoured him from calves to curly hair. She wrinkled her freckled nose and took a sip of wine, feeling a familiar tingle between her thighs.

  “I’ll deal with you later,” he said with a growl rumbling at the back of his throat and pointing a finger toward her. He then spun on his heels to face Javad, but he had disappeared from the divan. A quick glance revealed that he had donned his orange robe and was attempting to hide behind a statue of Mercury. Kallista tittered and covered her mouth when she saw how his belly protruded from the trim figure of the messenger deity.

  “You!” Braxus snarled and stomped after him as Javad tried to run on his stubby legs. The charioteer gripped him by his shoulders and spun him around. Shaking him, he again yelled, “Where is your man? Where is my woman? I want her, fat man. You will give her to me, and you will return my money.”

  “Please, Lord, please,” Javad said pleadingly. “You have not given me time. The praetor said by morning. My man will find her by then and bring her back. Patience, Lord, patience; I beg of you, patience.”

  “He’s not going to find her in the dark, fat man. Why should I wait? Why not kill you now?” Braxus pressed his forehead to Javad’s and gripped the hilt of his poniard. The muscles in his jaw clenched and flexed.

  “Because I will slay you where you stand,” resounded an answer. Marcus and four of his Nordic guards stood at the entrance, fully armed and armored. “Stand down, Braxus. That is an order.”

  Braxus turned to face the praetor, some twenty feet away. He scowled and took a step back, but he left his hand on his dagger. Nostrils flaring, the fire in his gut compelled him to fight on. “He has my property, Praetor,” said Braxus, glowering over lowered brows. “I want it back.”

  “You others, out,” Marcus ordered. Braxus’s comrades hesitated, and this caused fury to explode behind the general’s eyes, a throbbing sensation emanating from the core of his skull. He gave a curt nod to his guards. The Northmen fell on the bullies and dragged them out of the bathhouse, clubbing them with balled fists. Braxus stood amid the tumult, wary as a jungle cat, fist still clenching his sheathed knife. While the guards were busy with the ru
ffians in the street, Marcus stepped toward Javad and the charioteer in the suddenly empty bath.

  “You know you want to draw your knife,” he said in a low voice. “Do so. I am armed. There will be no dishonor. I would love nothing more than to rid my city of trouble-causing vermin.”

  “Ha! The people love me.” Braxus circled about on the balls of his feet as Marcus stalked him.

  The praetor rested his fingertips lightly on the pommel of his gladius. “The people? No, the mob loves you. More precisely, they love blood, and you give it to them. Other people’s blood, that is. How about if I gave them your blood right now? Hmm?”

  Braxus scoffed. “They would rise up at my murder. Their hero slain by a jealous old man in the middle of the night? Your life would be forfeit.”

  “Such conceit,” Marcus said with a sly smile. He savored the taste of the younger man’s hubris as though it were a roasted meat he could roll about in his mouth, sucking out the juices. “I hope I am there the day you die. If I am not the one to slay you, I will envy the man who does.”

  Upon intoning that last word the Nordic guard reappeared and flanked their master. “Take him into custody,” he commanded, glowering at Braxus with menace.

  The arena champion laughed. “The mayor will release me in the morning, you old failure of a field commander. You accomplish nothing by this. Nothing!” Burly legionaries clamped his wrists in manacles as a red-bearded giant boxed his ear. Braxus was dragged from the bath in silence, his ear ringing.

  “And you, Javad.” Marcus sighed, turning to face the cowering slaver. “What am I to do with you?”

  “Mercy, Lord, mercy,” the Persian said pitifully. “I still have time by your terms, Lord. My man will return in the morning with the girl.”

  “Stop. Just stop,” he spat out impatiently. “This is what is going to happen: In the morning the mayor is going to hear that his pet charioteer is in jail. He will release him forthwith. You will be waiting for him at the gate of the jailhouse. You will refund him all of his gold coin. If your man has not returned by then with the runaway, you will ride with him on the road to meet him on his way back into the city. You see, you will refund his coin, and he will still receive the property. Then you will leave here, and you will never return. Do you understand?”