by Don Winslow
Still without a word, we moved stealthily, creeping up to take up positions at either end of the row of kneeling women. I stood behind the fourth girl, a slim-hipped slave, whose pertly rounded bottom pointed back at me with saucy impudence. My host went down on one knee to conduct a detailed examination of the first girl in line, enjoying himself by lewdly fondling her helpless ass. I followed his example, squatting down to inspect more closely the girl who was positioned at my end. I adored the symmetry of that small, neat bottom, the way the under curves were well defined so that the mounds jutted out from those slim, tapering thighs. I found that she kept her legs held together squeezing a lightly furred pussy so that it bulged out between the smooth columns of her lithe, young thighs. The sight sent my penis soaring to impossible heights as it came to me that, aside from being ideal for chastisement, the pressing bench would allow a master to take a slave in any number of interesting ways. As I crouched down behind her, contemplating the girl’s helpless bottom, I couldn’t resist placing a hand on the conveniently-placed rump, curving my fingers to fit one of the pleasingly-contoured cheeks, squeezing lightly.
The sudden and unexpected touch of a masculine hand on her bare ass caused the blindfolded girl to twitch nervously; a tiny whimper of surprise came from her stoppered mouth. Her agitation fired my lust and I slipped my fingers down to touch the softly-furred vulva that peeped out at me from between the clenching thighs. The girl shifted uneasily as my fingers sampled the tiny coils of pubic hair, and pressed tentatively at the closed fleshy gates.
Intrigued, I drew my stiffened index finger along the fur-edged seam and straight up into the deep division between her spasming cheeks giving the helpless girl a sharp thrill that abruptly energized her, causing her to shake her tail in a most enticing way. I looked over to see my host watching me, smiling, giving me an encouraging nod. We were in no hurry to begin the punishment; he saw I was clearly enjoying myself, and nodded. Smiling back at him, I turned to the female slave so nicely at hand.
Eagerly, I clutched that tight-cheeked young bottom in both hands, curling my fingers along the sides, slipping my thumbs into the girls’ rear crack so I could pry apart the firm domes to reveal to my eyes her most intimate secret, the pinkish rosette of her newly-exposed anus, embedded in that tallow valley. I contemplated the soft pink of her delicate asshole, and the thought of taking her there fired my lust! The tiny ring of muscle seemed to spasm, winking seductively at me as I watched. With one fingertip I touched her there, pressing lightly, encountering stiff resistance, and getting a muffled grunt from the other end of the slave girl. I smiled to myself. There would be plenty of time later to force the tiny gate, after a proper paddling had made the girl more tractable. I eased out my fingers, and let the straining rearcheeks snap shut; leaving the kneeling slave with a friendly swat on her protruding behind.
Now, still on my knees, I shuffled over to place myself behind the next ass in line, for this one would also be mine before the night was through. Unlike the first girl whose bottom was small and perfectly rounded, the next girl’s posterior was more shapely, sculpted with fuller flowing curves that formed a heart-shape. The plump ass seemed to jut back in brazen defiance. I traced the rich swells, drawing my fingertips over the magnificent sweep of those pleasingly feminine buttocks. I thrilled to run my fingers along the curves, savoring the smooth velvety feel of the tautly curved skin, sensing the underlying muscular tension of that well-made bottom. To test its resiliency, I dug my fingers into the softness, pressing till I encountered the underlying firmness of those heavenly mounds. The girl’s hips twitched under my loving ministrations, as I freely fondled her supple, fleshy cheeks.
Continuing my examination, I crouched lower and let my cupped hand feel its way along the sculpted contour of an elegantly shaped thigh, staring just behind the knee and letting my fingers shape the swelling lines till they came to the top of the smooth thigh, and there I slid my hand around to sample the flesh of the inner thigh, silken smooth, and warm with sexual heat. The girl shifted uneasily to feel my questing, masculine hand move up between her legs. I slid my hand up to fit my curving fingers to the plump bulge of her soft, furry vulva, a love-purse that was pleasantly warm and inviting; I let my fingers play over its prominent swell. The girl’s hips writhed with a sensual excitement that she couldn’t possibly control as I lavishly fondled her most intimate parts, the soft folds of her sex. I heard a low moan escape her banded lips, and felt a definite trace of moisture. I rubbed my fingers together, sampling her love juices. The girl was clearly becoming aroused.
I slipped a finger between the slightly protruding lips and found her to be surprisingly wet. A quiver of excitement passed though her body, and she whimpered as the slick lips clung to the finger that was actively exploring her cunt. Her copious flow, and excited reactions, signaled that the healthy young girl might well be on the edge of coming. But my aim was to explore, to stimulate, but not to excite her to orgasm, and so like any good explorer who has made his initial reconnaissance, I moved on, seeking new territory.
I slid my hands up to clasp those fleshy cheeks, and pry them rudely apart, opening her like a fecund peach to expose a cringing anus that tightened reflexively upon being revealed to the world. Holding the girl open with one splayed hand, I applied the fingertip of the other to the flinching rear portal and pressed, persisting in spite of the resistance I felt there, probing with my fingertip, indenting the tight ring of unyielding flesh. An urgent whimper came from the girl as no more than the tip of my finger was gently but persistently inserted up her ass. I diddled her there for a few seconds, while she strained and wiggled, and then I withdrew the offending digit and let the elastic cheeks snap shut, well satisfied with my inspection of her intimate parts. I smiled to myself, pleased at the thought that I might visit that hidden place once again, perhaps after her spanking, for the girl was entirely at my disposal. Having thoroughly examined the miscreants, it was now time to get on with the main event.
I noticed that my cohort had gotten to his feet to take up his position. He stood eyeing his cringing targets, lightly slapping the wooden blade against his palm, his face set in grim determination. I rose to my feet and took up a similar position behind and a little to the side of the second girl’s jutting posterior. From this position I could easily reach both tempting targets. Setting my booted heels apart in a widened stance, I sized up the distance to each target, bringing my arm back in a shallow arc to test the range, tightening my grip on the paddle.
Now I took aim at the impudent rearcheeks on the far end, and swung.
THWAP! The wooden blade struck the jutting mounds not hard, but decisively, for I never took Kimar’s “punishments” too seriously. I had no wish to hurt the girl, but only to leave her with a sharp reminder, one that would have her sitting down most gingerly for the next week or so. The slave girl screeched her outrage into the gag at the sudden shock of the solid impact. Immediately, I heard an answering, dull thud come from behind me, and I knew that Kimar had found the range on a girl whose big, curvaceous buttocks had clearly attracted him: a most substantial ass that I knew would give him the greatest of pleasure, as each solid impact was followed by a keening yelp.
The resounding smacks rang out repeatedly, punctuated by two muffled cries, as the two paddles came swinging down to flatten the sets of twin mounds, the first smack rapidly followed by another, as we alternated between our dual targets. I watched the way the resilient mounds of the richer, bigger ass bounced back, rebounding nicely at each swiftly delivered slap. And I saw the blade bite deeply into the hard little ass that waited anxiously, cringing at the far end of the line.
THWAP . . . THWAP! . . . THWAP! . . . THWAP! The whipping paddle repeatedly assaulted the solid, impudent ass, sending the small mounds wobbling.
THWAP! . . . THWAP! . . . THWAP! . . . THWAP! The blade smacked the lush soft mounds, sending them wobbling in a wild dance.
Thus we paddled the slave girls, lightly but methodical
ly, using a series of rapid fire shots that had the slaves mewing urgently into their stoppers. Their muted cries, brayed in syncopated rhythm with each crisp smack, blended into a regular cacophony that filled our tented world.
Chapter Eight
THE EAGLE TURNS TO FACE THE NORTH
It was late that summer that ominous reports began to reach our ears of stirrings among the barbarous tribes of the North. Teuton raids on the slave caravans were increasing. Tax officials had been set upon, and now those worthies were refusing to visit the villages without an armed escort. The more civilized tribes were being threatened by the wild men from the north, who were promising that the peaceful tribes would pay a heavy price for cooperating with their Roman overlords. The situation got so bad that it was no longer possible for us to remain sitting idly by. And so I was not surprised when our orders came from Rome. The legion was to take to the field!
I was not looking forward to the hardship of a campaign after the long leisurely days spent so pleasantly at Bernesium. It now seemed inconceivable to me that at some remote time, far away in the safety and comfort of Rome, a young lieutenant had actually complained of boredom and yearned for martial glory. Now facing the immanent prospect of confronting the dreaded Northmen, I felt far less enthusiastic. Still, a Roman soldier must do his duty, and so I ordered preparations be made for our first sally from the comforting security of our cozy well-fortified home.
We hoisted the eagle, and with banners flying we set off heading north; first to the furthest rim of outposts, and then beyond, to enter into the deep, forbidding forests. It was dark and gloomy under the huge trees; the men trudged on in eerie silence. My horse seemed unusually nervous, twitching and snorting, as if he sensed the danger that was all around us. It was less than a day’s march into the forest, when our column was first set upon.
The raid was sudden: a fierce, brief attack that came upon us in a flash as we were making our way patiently along the floor of a shallow valley. A piercing blood-curdling scream rang out, and we looked up to see a band of raging pale giants racing down the hillside through the trees, blond hair flying wildly as they flourished the axes, and the heavy clubs these savages preferred as weapons of war. We barely had time to draw our swords and fall automatically into the defensive turtle, shields interlocked. Standing firm, we prepared to stoutly meet the pell mell charge of the fierce barbarians.
In an instant their charge broke over the wall of shields, and they were upon us. The fight was fast and furious, a wild melee of war clubs thudding down on bending shields; Roman broadswords slashing out at the flashing limbs of tussling barbarians. After no more than a few minutes of vicious fighting, the Teuton leader gave out with a shout, and the band fell back, melting away to disappear back into their forest haunts.
It had not been a very determined assault, more of a skirmish really—one that didn’t appear to be well planned, but broke upon us helter-skelter. Perhaps a small raiding party had happened to chance upon our column and decided to quickly bloody a Roman nose or two before scampering off; or maybe they’d been sent to find us, to feel us out and test our strength, to see what Rome had sent against them. We bound our wounds and rested. And then we moved on.
The next day our scouts reported smoke coming from a valley up ahead. As we crested the hill we looked down on the smoldering ruins of a devastated village. The few dazed survivors who crawled from the woods when they saw the Roman standard, told the tale of the vengeance of a mighty warlord named Unix, a Teuton chieftain who had demanded tribute, and wrecked havoc on the village when they were unable to pay, slaying the men, burning their huts and taking their women.
In broken Latin, one of the survivors assured us he knew where this Unix had his camp, and he readily offered to lead us there. I talked it over with Sergeant Metelus, and we agreed that the man seemed trustworthy enough. Moreover, it was obvious that we would have to come to terms with Unix eventually, if we were to subdue his revolt, and so we decided to lay plans for an attack. We would move quickly, but with caution, throwing out scouts before us and stealthily making our way towards the barbarian encampment, hoping the element of surprise might, this time, be on our side.
We marched all that day, and well into the night. And it was some time after noon on the second day when our guide cautioned us to move more quietly, as we were getting closer to the enemy camp. I had the men wait while the Sergeant and I accompanied our guide, scrambling through a narrow defile and onto a rocky ledge that looked down on the sprawling enemy camp. We crept up behind some rocks, and cautiously raised our heads.
The scene below was peaceful. There were campfires burning; blond women clustered about them, while children played at a stream nearby. At one end of the camp, there were carts piled high with loot, and a band of defeated captives sat dejectedly, heads hung low, idly guarded by a single warrior. Probably taken in some recent raid, these hapless men and women were now the slaves of this upstart and his men. We noticed that they had the same crude dress and blond appearance as their captors. Unix was obviously making war on other Germanic tribes as he struggled to establish his supremacy over the northern people. We counted several scores of warriors, most of them unarmed, although their arms were stacked near by. These fighting men were not deployed for defense. Here and there, an occasional guard had been posted, but the camp was clearly not on alert.
It seemed inconceivable to me; the gods must be with us! Surely by now the raiding party must have warned them of the presence of a Roman column in their own backyard, but there was a curious air of lax tranquility about the barbarian encampment. It was as though they were oblivious to any danger; or perhaps they were so confident of their strength that they had become arrogant, rashly disregarding any warnings they may have had.
Carefully, we made our way back to where my men waited hidden behind the rocks, and there we planned our attack. Because the camp lay in the middle of a large plain, we would be seen as soon as we emerged from the rocks, thus giving our enemy plenty of time to spread the alarm and rush to arms to meet our charge. Therefore, we would split our force.
I would lead a contingent down the defile, tumbling across the plain, brandishing our swords, shouting and charging with a great clamor. As soon as the Teuton warriors rushed onto the field to meet us, we would turn, as though in sudden panic, and flee back towards the rocks. Once we had the over-confident enemy strung out and racing eagerly across the plain, we would suddenly stop and turn on them, while Sergeant Meletus, leading the main body of our men, would at that moment fall on them from their flank. The maneuver took disciplined timing, but my troops had practiced it many times; they knew what they had to do.
The charge went as planned; the alarmed barbarians scurried for their weapons and rushed out onto the plain. We feigned cowardice at the fierceness of their charge, and let them chase us. Then at my signal, we dug in our heels and wheeled about, preparing to meet our onrushing enemy. We clashed and immediately found ourselves in a furious fight, swords flashing and clubs swinging wildly as we fought toe to toe. I managed an anxious look to the surrounding rim of rocks just in time to see Meletus with the main body cresting a small hill to begin their charge.
At that point my attention was fully occupied by a blond giant, who grabbed me by the ankle and pulled me from my mount. I hit the ground with a thud, momentarily stunned, and he screamed and swung a murderous mace at my head, which I managed to duck away from at the last second. It hit the ground next to my ear with a bone-jarring thud. I spun over, and leapt to my feet, just as the second blow came swinging my way. This time he swung in a high circle, leaving himself open. I saw my chance and I took it, lunging with my blade to catch him under the arm and stab upward straight into his chest. With a sharp cry the big man went down, nearly tearing the sword out of my hand as his massive body twisted and fell. My head was singing as I pulled the sword free in a geyser of blood and swung around, bloody sword at the ready.
I was much too busy to keep track of th
e battle, but I saw that our comrades had joined us, and now we had the enemy closed in a loose pincer. From somewhere a horn sounded, and I realized there was a second force of the enemy who appeared suddenly, hidden reserves perhaps who were now rushing to join the fray. Maybe we had been tricked, but I had no time to think about that, as I found myself slashing furiously, severing limbs and felling blond warriors left and right as I hacked my way through the press of desperate fighting men.
For a while we struggled in a battle where neither side would yield. Then slowly, we began to surge forward, and the barbarian line faltered and then began to break up. Suddenly, it cracked, dissolving into small islands of savages, still fighting desperately even as their comrades began to desert them, at first a few, then in droves, falling back, turning and running from the terrible battle. My men sensed that victory was ours and at their triumphant cry, chased after the stricken foe, scattering them as they ran for the safety of the woods.
I saw the blond chieftain holding his own under his standard of animal pelts, and made my way toward him, as his guards fell around him one after the other. The noose of legionnaires was getting tighter around the Teuton standard, when somehow the mighty warrior managed to tear himself away from our grasp and taking a few of his men with him, fled towards the defile and possible escape. I motioned for a party of legionnaires to come with me and we went off in hot pursuit. It took us a while, chasing the little band through the hills, till at last we managed to corner our foe with his back against the face of a cliff.
I stood facing the powerful well-built warrior, and I had no doubt—this was Unix, their chieftain. He stood taller than the other men, his loincloth torn and bloody, the hard muscles of his torso sheened with sweat and dripping with blood that trickled down from a sword wound that had been opened at his side. But he was not defeated. His eyes were fierce and blue, and he trembled with excitement as he wheeled around to face us. His hands and arms were bloody from the slaughter and he had lost his shield, but his right hand still held the wicked battleaxe, its deadly blade gleaming bright red. I shouted for him to yield, even though I knew that a proud barbarian like this would never allow himself to be taken alive to be hauled back to Rome in a cage.