She threw her red robe over her shoulders but remembered to leave her shoes on. “You said you could make people disappear,” she reminded him, putting her long white arms around his brawny shoulders.
“For a price,” he said, placing his hands on her hips.
She looked into his eyes and felt her sex quiver. “I like your chin,” she whispered, rubbing the backs of her knuckles against the coarse stubble.
“I like your arse,” he said, slapping it.
They kissed long and hard. Business could wait. They had other things to do.
She looked down at the hard shaft prodding the pit of her stomach and felt herself moisten. He seemed to bring something out of her that no other man could, a sort of girlish sense of fun that was so decidedly lacking in the arms of her husband or Glaucus for that matter.
“I think I’m in for a rough time,” she giggled, and hugged his massive, masculine frame, feeling the hairs on his chest grazing against the softer flesh of her breasts. She loved it when their nipples touched.
“You’re in for a dirty time,” he told her, and put his hand under her bottom crease, squeezing her pubic mound.
“I like dirty men,” she giggled and slapped her forearm, then her upper arm in quick succession. She clenched her fist and her forearm shot up as she shouted, “Go!”
He didn’t need telling twice. He’d had a few whores since their last meeting but none quite like this one. When the lupanar whores were foul mouthed it just sounded common, but when this one swore it sounded amazingly sexy.
“I’m in a dangerous mood,” he warned her.
“I like it when you’re dangerous,” she said in a husky voice.
He rummaged under the fallen tunic and drew out a leather belt.
“Oh, you’re going to beat me,” she said, trembling with anticipation.
“Wrong. Now get on that bed.”
She climbed onto the creaking frame and reached up to the bed end and clasped her hands, doing just as he ordered. He wound the belt tightly around her wrists and tied the ends to the top railing. She hung there, arms straining, head and shoulders off the pillows, wondering what he was going to do next. Beneath her bottom the sheet was soaking. She only had to look at him and she almost had an orgasm. Remarkable she thought how one man could be so ordinary, and another so muscular and sexy. Life with him would be just one long orgasm. And she shuddered.
His erection was massive, like his chest and arms.
He took hold of each ankle and spread them wide apart, then tore a strip of cloth from the sheet and tied her left ankle to the post. He did the same again and tied her right ankle. He snatched one of the pillows from under her shoulders.
“Lift your arse.”
She heaved her hips off the mattress and he pushed the pillow under her buttocks. Naked, bound and totally under his control she shivered with longing. She hoped he would fuck her soon or she would orgasm even before his cock as much as touched the lips of her cunt.
“I told you I’m in a dangerous mood,” he said, reaching for the solitary candle.
He inserted the unlighted end inside her sex and, with the flame still burning, worked it slowly in and out.
“Be careful you don’t burn me,” she smiled nervously, feeling the heat against her pubic curls and insides of her thighs.
He did not smile in return, but pushed the burning candle deeper into her, stopping when the flame flickered at the entrance to her gaping sex.
“It’s hot,” she murmured, and wriggled her bum.
“It’s going to get a lot hotter.”
He left the candle where it was and leaned over her quivering belly and kissed her nipples, rubbing the stubble of his chin hard into her soft breasts. She shivered and tugged at the belt, longing to put her arms around him. Her hips squirmed and she arched her back.
“That fucking flame’s getting closer,” she said, not smiling.
“It’s going to get closer still if you don’t shut your mouth.”
He lay across her breasts, flattening them under the weight of his chest and kissed her full on the mouth. She could feel his chin rubbing against her face. One of his hands went to her side and squeezed the flesh below her ribs. She never knew how sensual and sexy that was; having her flesh squeezed like that, especially when she was being kissed. With her husband it was in over in minutes. Hardly worth the effort of going to the baths and washing it all off. With this one she wouldn’t mind staying unwashed for weeks.
“That fucking flame’s burning my cunt,” she writhed.
He reached down and pulled the candle a little way out of her.
“If you don’t keep still,” he told her, “I’ll let your cunt roast.”
She caught her breath. He would never do that to her, but the threat made her belly heave.
Standing beside the bed and turning her head to the side, he placed the head of his cock on her lower lip, running it back and forth along her mouth, just keeping the silky glans resting on the tip of her tongue.
“Now suck. But don’t move or your curls are going to go up in smoke.”
She could feel the dull heat of the candle flame warming her pubic mound and drew his cock deeper into her mouth. How to suck a man like that with a massive throbbing cock and not move, just keep dead still, not even a twitch, just suck and suck until he came. A fine bead of sweat trickled down her temples. Her brow was sweating and more ran through her eyebrows stinging her eyes and running over the bridge of her nose. Her chest was soaked in sweat, and somewhere between her legs the heat increased.
“Please take that candle out of me,” she asked, pushing his cock from her mouth with her tongue.
“Not until you’ve sucked me right off.”
She sucked him again, working her head up and down the shaft, getting faster and lashing her tongue in and around the groove, anything to make him come before her cunt went up in flames. Her mouth opened wide and engulfed his cock. She could feel it throbbing on her tongue. Then he came gushing down her throat and she coughed and swallowed.
“Will you take that fucking candle out of my cunt!” she swore, getting frightened.
He leaned over and blew out the flame. Someone knocked at the door and he shouted for whoever was outside to enter.
A brothel servant came in, saw the whore tied to the bed with a smoking candle protruding from her thighs, and placed a bottle of wine on the table. Plutarc paid him and the boy left never batting an eyelid, one never knew what one would come across in a place like this.
“You gave me a fright,” she laughed.
“You said you like me in a dangerous mood. You also said you liked dirty men,” he reminded her.
She didn’t know how dirty until he drank half the bottle, belched and stood over her aiming his cock directly at her naked chest. A fast stream of urine rushed from his cock and splashed over her breasts. She giggled helplessly. It went everywhere, a steaming pool of piss gathering in her navel and soaking into her curls. Her breasts and belly were dripping. She closed her eyes when he shot it over her face and hair. Her wrists and ankles tugged and strained against their bonds. She hoped he would mount her.
“You’re an animal,” she laughed, and clenched her buttocks against the orgasm quaking in her sex.
He took a knife from his pouch and slit the strips of cloth. The belt was taken from her wrists and she sat up and hugged him. Her body was still dripping with his water.
“I need a piss,” she said, reaching under the bed for the pot.
“You don’t need that,” he said, kicking it away.
“Please, my belly’s bursting.”
“Then hang your arse over the window.”
“You want me to piss in the street?”
“Either that or your gut bursts.”
She padded to the window and looked nervously below. One or two drunks staggered by, and on the opposite side of the road a whore was servicing a client standing against a wall, balancing on one leg, the other wrapped around his thighs.
She turned and sat on the ledge clinging to the window shutters for support, then eased her bottom over the sill. A jet of urine hissed from her and hit the pavement with a loud smack. Someone shouted that she ought to have more respect, baring her arse to all and sundry. Plutarc laughed when he heard that and dragged her into the room.
“Get down on your hands and knees,” he grunted.
“You want me to lick up my own piss?”
“Either that or the candle goes back in your cunt. And this time it stays there.”
She got on her hands and knees. He strolled over and sat astride her back, raising the bottle to his lips. He squirted the wine from his teeth, making a loud hissing as it splashed between her shoulder blades. Then he slapped her ribs.
“Giddy up,” he smirked, digging his knees into her sides.
Her back bent under his weight as she crawled around the room, going through the yellow puddle and across the floor. At the bed she stopped and he slithered down her back and over her bottom. He reached over her and grabbed her hair.
“Open your thighs.”
At last. This is what she really wanted. He was going to ride her hard from behind. What did they call it; mare and stallion? He certainly had an erection like one. She could feel its hard length sinking into her arse crease. She shuffled her knees over the boards and dropped onto her forearms, thrusting out her bottom. Penetration was always so much deeper and satisfying that way. His hands gripped her hips and held her rigid. His cock went around her sex lips and up through her crease.
“Ohh,” she grunted, and rocked on her elbows.
He was so hard she wanted to scream, but his hand had taken a length of her hair and wound it around her face passing through her mouth on the way. He tugged on it as if it were the reins of a mare he was holding. Then he rode her hard, smacking against her cheeks and slapping her thighs and back. He took another mouthful of wine and swallowed half of it, the rest he sent whistling into her hair. She was soaked in wine and urine, her hands and knees were raw and black from the dirty floor, but she couldn’t get enough of the manly cock slamming into her sex. Just the feel of his hands squeezing the flesh above her hips was enough to make her squeal.
“You’re treating me like shit,” she swore, loving the sound of the word.
His balls emptied into her sex and she screamed in release as he pounded into her even harder as he came. Then he thrust her away from him and she crawled forward shivering from her orgasm. She had never felt so dirty or wasted, or so satisfied.
“You said earlier you had some business you wanted to talk about,” he said.
They were lying on the bed, her head rested on his chest and her fingers were tugging gently at the hairs. Her right thigh lay across his middle and he stroked the curve of her hip. Her skin seemed permanently pimpled from the thrill of his touch.
“I want a couple of people to vanish from the face of the earth.”
“Mm, mm. Who are they?”
She hesitated, swallowing hard. Once the decision had been made and the contract agreed there would be no going back. She had thought of nothing else and had made her mind up irrevocably.
“One of them is my husband who owns the ludus. The other is just a business associate.”
He was silent. His arm went around her shoulder and stroked her hair. He was thinking so hard it almost gave him a headache.
“I see. Who exactly is your husband?”
“His name is Quintus Varus, and the other is called Glaucus Severus.”
The names meant nothing to him. “And when do you want them removed?”
She had thought about that too. That would take some careful planning. It wouldn’t be wise to move too fast.
“Soon,” she said evasively. “My husband first. Then the other one.”
It all depended on Glaucus and Africanus. As soon as she was ready to be fielded independently and Glaucus was ready to buy out Quintus she would make her move. Her husband would meet with an accident, or simply vanish and according to the laws of the Senate, she would inherit, and any debts he had incurred would be wiped out because she was not officially a signatory to the business. The ludus and Africanus would be hers. Glaucus would sponsor her in the Colosseum, and when she had made enough money out of him he too would meet with an accident. Then she could sponsor her own gladiatrix and the other gladiators. All the profits would go straight into her purse. Nothing personal about it. Business is business.
“I’ll let you know when,” she said, and stroked his cock.
“I need details of their movements,” he said.
“I can give you that when the time is ripe. Now please fuck me.”
He got off the bed and stood upright, pulling her after him and swinging her around so that she stood against the wall and put her arms around his shoulders He penetrated her and she swung her legs around his hips, locking her ankles over the small of his back. She looked over his shoulder and hugged him close. A tingling thrill went through her now that her breasts were crushed against his chest. His hands were under her buttocks supporting her weight as he carried her across the room and rested her arse on the window sill. She didn’t care who saw her bare arse. Her legs tightened around his middle and they hugged so close they could only breathe in short, jerky pants. Slowly, she eased forward until her whole weight was suspended on his cock. She caught her breath and ran her hands over his muscular back.
“You’re all muscle,” she whispered, jiggling her bottom.
“You’ve got lovely thighs,” he said, putting his hands under them and pinching them.
He was a man she could so easily fall in love with, but common sense told her to keep him at arm’s length. She could fuck him whenever she wanted, and when she was rich and independent she could have him without having to masquerade as a prostitute and creep through the streets in the dead of night. But she had to admit being a part time prostitute was exciting, a world away from the watchful eyes of her husband and all the pretence of being a respectable citizen’s wife. And the man who was pounding her sex really knew how to fuck.
“Next time we meet I’m going to piss all over you,” she promised.
“The last time we met I promised you a sound whipping, and you’re going to get one.”
The thought of that made her work her arse so fast they came before they knew it, and he carried her to the bed and threw her bottom up over the filthy sheets. She saw him pick up his belt and coil the buckle end around his fist. She spread her legs wide and he lashed her buttocks at random, letting the belt fall where it would, now on the backs of her thighs, then across the centre of her cheeks, and under her legs, catching the pouting sex lips begging for the pain and ecstasy that followed.
“Hit me harder, you useless turd,” she shrieked.
He sent the leather cracking into her arse so hard it left an instant welt, so clear that he could see the pattern in the leather forming on her pimpled skin.
“You dare insult me, you old whore,” he rasped and lashed down the length of her spine.
“Is that the best you can do,” she jeered when, with the next stroke he lashed her rump.
In the heat of the moment he abandoned all pretence and gave her at least twenty strokes delivered in slow measured sweeps of his arm. He knew she was in pain and loving it. Her sex was flowering in front of his very eyes and he dropped the belt over her reddened back and took her immediately, driving his cock in with just one thrust.
“You fuck so well,” she sobbed, clutching at the sheets.
“So do you,” he replied honestly.
He fucked her until there
was no strength left in his loins.
They left the room simultaneously. He lingered in the room below quietly drinking himself into a contented slumber.
She covered her head and set off before dawn, unaware that only just around the corner her young slave was sleeping on the pile of stinking sacks.
Chapter Ten
“You exceeded all my expectations in your first combat,” Quintus complimented Africanus when she arrived back at the ludus. “My good friend Glaucus has suggested that you should go to the Colosseum. He will sponsor you there. So you will be pleased to learn that I have decided to retain your trainer for a little while longer. Who knows you might even end up fighting side by side in front of the emperor.”
Africanus was beside herself. Fighting in the Colosseum and in front of the emperor, and so soon! She was unaware that Glaucus had impressed upon Quintus the urgency of getting her into the Colosseum as soon as possible before his rival Polonius grabbed the laurels. And there was the sobering fact that the ludus was hovering on bankruptcy and the Colosseum offered the only real chance of filling the empty coffers.
“We’re going to the Colosseum,” Africanus told Fortuna when she joined her that evening. “And my master is keeping you for a while yet.”
“You’re not ready for the Colosseum,” Fortuna said, stunned at the news. “Oh, I know you proved yourself in that flea pit of an arena, but in Rome you will be matched against your own kind, men and women trained to fight and with a lot of experience. I just don’t want to see you wiped out so quickly. But if your master is keeping me for a while I’ll have to work on you. Tomorrow we shall be fully armoured and I will take the part of the Retarius with the net and trident. You will have the gladius, a real sword. We won’t be hacking each other to pieces. It will be a mock fight. But you do see my point.”
“I understand,” she said, unable to hide her disappointment.
Fortuna lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I don’t know why, but I just don’t trust your mistress. She’s up to something, I know it. We shall have to watch our backs. I wonder where my slave has got to. That girl is always to be found when she’s not wanted and never when she is. But no matter, I have some bread, cheese, and a fresh bottle of wine, or a flagon of beer, if you prefer.”
The Arena of Torment Page 15