The Arena of Torment

by Geoffrey Allen

  “Oh, please, Quintus don’t flog me,” she pleaded.

  “You’re going to be flogged and fucked,” he told her, without any emotion.

  The slave parted her ankles and tied them to the base of the pillar. Next, he passed a length of rope around her waist and pulled it so tightly the air gushed from her lungs. Another length of rope went around her thighs and was knotted to her wrists. The final length was passed over her back and when that too was pulled tight her breasts crushed against the marble. Quintus patted her defenceless bottom, teasing and taunting the shapely moons.

  “A splendid arse,” he complimented, slapping it a little harder.

  Octavia tried to wriggle away from his hand smoothing her cheeks, but the ropes were too tight to allow even the barest of movements. Dimly, she became aware of another figure entering the room. A flickering shadow passed behind her, a peculiar shape, unmistakably feminine with large, heaving breasts, magnificent hips and thighs, and a huge cock rearing from its groin; Leda.

  “Beat her until I tell you to stop,” Quintus said calmly. “Then ride her arse.”

  Leda picked up the whip and cracked it, her monstrous erection already hard at the prospect of flogging such a beautiful body, and what she could do with it afterwards.

  She placed her hand on Octavia’s bottom and smoothed the cheeks. At the very touch of the white, unblemished skin her cock throbbed. She put her finger tips into the crease and pulled the buttocks apart revealing a tight brown hole.

  “I think someone else has been here already,” she said astonished.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” Quintus said drily. “My wife, it seems, likes her cock.”

  Leda wormed her forefinger into Octavia’s anus. “It’s still wet from its last cock fight, but her buttocks are firm, perhaps they need softening before I ride her.”

  “Get this creature away from me!” Octavia shrieked, clenching her arse cheeks.

  “You were willing enough to have her fuck the slaves for your pleasure. Let’s see how you like that thing up your arse,” he rasped. “Beat the treacherous bitch!”

  Leda swung her arm in a wide arc, lashing the whip across the crown of Octavia’s bottom. She gave another swift blow to the left cheek and another on the right, making a perfect X of livid red stripes. Her victim howled like a wolf and writhed her hips against the pillar. Tears were already coursing down her cheeks. It wasn’t so much the pain but the humiliation of being flogged by this strange being, half man and half woman that had her twisting and turning.

  Quintus had no sympathy, but urged Leda to finish her work; he had more important matters to deal with.

  Leda concentrated on Octavia’s thighs, lashing each one in turn, sending the whip into the crease of thigh and buttock, cutting the ample under hang of each cheek. She whipped the sides of the cheeks until they wobbled and went slack. Olivia gritted her teeth and waited for what was to come. It was true, she liked rough sex, but that was with the man of her choosing and on her own terms, but not roped to a pillar and fucked by this thing.

  Leda patted her bottom lovingly. “I think these moons are soft enough,” she observed, dropping the whip.

  Her hand encircled her cock, slowly stroking its whole length until it throbbed almost to bursting. Even Quintus gaped at its size. He was in serious doubt as to whether his cheating wife could take a weapon like that, but all the same it would be fun watching. Leda placed the head carefully between the flogged cheeks still twitching from the searing pain. A gentle nudge opened the bottom hole and the head slipped in to the groove.

  “Brace yourself,” Leda chortled. “Because I’m going to take you with one push of my hips.”

  “Quintus, make her stop!” Octavia shrieked, looking over her shoulder.

  He leaned against a pillar and shrugged as if to say, nothing I can do to make her stop.

  Leda gathered her strength and gripped Octavia’s hips, took a deep breath and gave her bottom a colossal heave. Her cock rammed in to the hilt and Octavia thought a stallion had penetrated her. Her whole body froze still, and then broke into multiple spasms as Leda began to ride her. Quintus watched fascinated as Leda’s hips and buttocks snaked from side to side, rising and falling, going into a spectacular sexual dance. If she had been a whole woman he would have been sorely tempted to ride her himself with an arse that could move like that.

  He stood beside Leda and watched closely as her cock went in and out, driving hard into the anal walls, then suddenly spearing the quaking cheeks. Octavia tried to clench her cheeks, anything to stop the rock hard weapon from grinding into her bottom, but Leda sent a clenched fist thumping into the base of her spine.

  “Don’t think you can get away with doing that,” she taunted, and gave another punch into her ribs.

  She took her cock right to the very tip, playing it around the aching bottom hole, then just when Octavia thought the revolting creature had finished, it was rammed back in again so hard she heaved with pain. Leda was getting the measure of the woman she was riding and started slapping her thighs and flanks, and a slap from Leda was no light thing. The flat of her hand left its mark with every slap, and the more she slapped the more she enjoyed the sound of flesh on flesh.

  “You like rough sex,” she laughed, “then have this!”

  Octavia’s body jolted under a blow that went winging into her thigh. It wasn’t an open handed slap but a clenched fist that pounded into her ribs and hips, and at the same time the cock rode her with greater ferocity, twisting and driving hard into her throbbing and punished bottom. Quintus, sensing that Leda would soon climax, seized the whip and gave his lying wife a fast dozen lashes on the side of her buttocks and Leda, aroused at the sight of the whip delivering fresh red welts, erupted into Octavia’s bottom. Her hips shuddered as she pumped her juice into the bottom tunnel, then drew back and breathed a sigh of exhaustion. A slave cut the ropes and Octavia slumped to her knees.

  “Use her hair to wipe your cock,” he said, and placed a small bag of coins into her hand.

  “Thank you, master,” Leda beamed, and rubbed her juice-running cock through Octavia’s hair.

  Quintus couldn’t resist the urge to give his wife a final slap before leaving.

  “I just thought I should tell you,” he said, slapping her face, “the ludus has been taken by the creditors and there isn’t a single sestertius left.” He summoned two burly male slaves who rushed forward and grabbed Octavia’s wrists. “I could have you executed for the attempted murder of your husband, but on this occasion I have shown more mercy than you deserve. You have been sold to a lupanar, the House of Scorpions, you know the one.”

  Octavia nodded in terror. It was a brothel which catered for the worst sexual perversions imaginable. Only the most desperate whores ventured inside its doors.

  “You can work off the price of your bondage,” he continued gleefully. “At my reckoning, if you service twenty men a day, you should have cleared the debt in about six or seven years.”

  And tossing the male slaves a coin, he left without looking back.

  “Take off your jewelry,” one of the slaves grunted, looking at her disgust.

  Even amongst slaves there was a code of honour, particularly to a master who treated them well.

  Muttering dark revenge, she handed them her rings and necklace. The slave put them in his tunic as a gift from his master. Leaving her naked, they bundled her into a cart and drove off to the House of Scorpions.

  The brothel mistress was there to greet them and ordered her inside.

  Men of all shapes and sizes leered at her nakedness, some even dribbling into their wild, unkempt beards at the sight of her swaying breasts.

  “Shave the bitch,” the brothel mistress said flatly.

  The slaves had Octavia on her back in a second, upending her and throwing her onto a table. T
he men gathered around her in a circle, staring wild eyed into her open sex. A young brothel slave brought a razor and jug of water.

  “Now keep still,” Quintus’ loyal slave warned, “or I might do you a mischief.”

  He tested the razor blade and satisfied it would do its work, angled it at the top of her pubic triangle and scraped it hard over her skin.

  “You’re hurting me!” she wailed.

  “Not as much as if you don’t shut your fat gob,” he smirked, and sent the blade slicing through her curls.

  He cut carefully around her sex lips, then to the outer fringes of her bush, going expertly into the join of her thighs until her sex mound was clean and smooth.

  “On your belly and spread your legs,” he ordered, rolling her over.

  Two willing helpers gripped her ankles and dragged them to the table’s edge. Her head hung over the end and she stared at the grimy floor. But not for long. A hand went under her chin and lifted it, drawing it level with a naked and throbbing cock. The head passed over her lips and she thought she was going to be sick.

  “Open your mouth,” the owner of the cock laughed and, using his fingers, forced open her jaws.

  She heaved and felt his cock rammed into her throat. Only a few hours ago she was on the verge of wealth and power, now she was being abused by the worst men in creation. The slave wielding the razor passed the blade under her bottom and flicked at the curls close to her arse crease. The ones he couldn’t safely cut were torn free with a pair of small tongs happily supplied by the brothel mistress.

  Octavia kept rigid on the table, froze in terror while the cock rode her throat, not daring to move lest the razor slip and slice her buttocks. She swallowed and spat as he came into her mouth, filling it with spunk that tasted bitter and salty.

  Before another could take his place, she was hauled upright and dragged to a chair, her chin dripping with his disgusting juices.

  “Oh, no! Not my hair!” she shrieked, looking at the slave bringing over a huge pair of scissors, the sort used to trim the manes of horses.

  “All my whores have their ‘eads shaved,” the brothel mistress informed. “That way, if they tries to escape, they’re easier to find.”

  The slave wasted no time in shearing his former mistress. She’d once had him flogged for fucking one of her girl slaves, now he was going to enjoy humiliating her. He went to work with the fury of a madman, hacking and cutting at the roots, tossing her long tresses over his shoulder, not stopping until only a prickly down covered her scalp.

  “Now the razor,” he said joyfully.

  Octavia watched through tear filled eyes as his wrist turned the razor over her head, shaving her bald. When he’d finished, he ran the palm of his hand over her head and nodded satisfactorily.

  “Anything else, madam?” he mocked, bowing low and laughing.

  “You haven’t shaved her arm pits,” the brothel mistress told him sternly.

  It was a rule of the house that new and untried slave whores had to be completely shaved. The men gathered around Octavia seized her wrists and held them high above her head. While a pair of hands mauled her breasts, the slave shaved under her arms, cutting in broad sweeps at the fine hair. Then he closely inspected her legs and thighs, but they had been waxed clean. But he did spot a couple of hairs that had escaped the razor just visible between her labia and her thighs and would have shaved them, but changed his mind and bent his head, taking the hairs in his teeth and ripping them free.

  “Aaaagh!” she screamed. “That hurt, you clumsy bastard.”

  But it didn’t hurt as much as the slap that nearly knocked her head off her shoulders.

  “You may beat her,” the brothel mistress offered, sensing his desire for revenge on a former mistress. “Use this.”

  Octavia winced at the long, thick leather whip she handed him. “I didn’t mean it,” she cried.

  Her apology had no effect and, at his gesture, the men threw her bottom up over the table.

  “No more than twenty,” the brothel mistress advised. “She’s going to be busy tonight, bouncing on that fine pair of cushions.”

  “She’s going to be busy after you’ve whipped her,” one of the men grinned, already removing his tunic.

  With vengeful precision, the slave lashed the whip across her naked bottom, striking both buttocks and instantly leaving a thin red welt. Octavia’s hips jolted upwards from the burning pain and a second later another lash whistled into her flanks. Helpless against the continuing onslaught, Octavia writhed and squirmed her bottom and hips, unaware of the splendid sight she was offering her leering audience. One by one their tunics came off and they moved closer, smelling the rising sexual aroma drifting from her parted legs.

  “She’s all the better for a good whipping,” she heard one of them remark, and howled as the whip licked into her now naked sex.

  “See her cunt winking,” a voice commented.

  Octavia blushed red with humiliation and shame. No one had dared treat her like this, shaving her private parts in public, then flogging her bottom in front of a bunch of ne’er do wells. The slave changed direction, lashing the whip savagely along the length of her spine, and again at the tops of her thighs. She kicked out with her feet, but hands gripped her calves and held them rigid. Another pair slapped onto her thighs and pulled them roughly apart, exposing her sex even further. Tears ran down her cheeks as the slave completed the punishment, driving the tail of the whip against her sex lips and around the curve of her hips and buttocks.

  Exhausted from her whipping, Octavia allowed the men to drag her off the table.

  “Only the collar to fit and she’s ready,” the brothel mistress announced, tossing the slave a thick iron collar.

  “I’m not a dog!” Octavia shrieked, as he passed it around her neck.

  “You’re lower than a dog,” he said, happily clasping it behind her.

  “Just another precaution,” the brothel mistress told her. “Now everyone will know where you belong.”

  On the side of the collar was the name of the brothel and the number of the whore wearing it.

  “Take her to her room,” the mistress said. “I have no further use for her here.”

  Octavia was taken up a flight of steps and into a small windowless room furnished with a single bed and a pot.

  The men followed her, their erections leaving her in no doubt as to what was going to happen next.

  “Please, I need the pot,” she pleaded.

  “No one’s stopping you,” one of them said, kicking the pot under her legs.

  “I can’t do it with all of you watching me.”

  “In that case, you can fuck with a belly full of piss.”

  And they threw her on the bed, legs open and stomach churning.

  There was nothing she could do but grit her teeth and endure the repeated penetrations that were coming her way. They rode her one after the other, taking her in various positions that suited their individual tastes. Some had her lying on her back, others took her from behind, she sat astride them whilst others took it in turns to ride her mouth. Only one wanted to fuck her bottom. Exhausted and covered in grime and sweat, she lay on her bed sobbing. The mistress came in carrying a long length of chain and a brothel bully hauled Octavia upright.

  “Your husband warned us that you just might take it into your pretty head to escape, so until you get used to your new profession, I’m taking no chances,” the mistress informed her, slipping the chain through a ring at the back of the collar.

  She passed the other end of the chain through a ring in the wall and padlocked it. The bully fitted an iron manacle to each of her wrists and chained them behind her back. Then he carefully seated her over the pot.

  “Now you can piss all you like,” he smirked.

  “But don’t be
too long,” the mistress warned darkly. “A new whore is always good for business and I’ve been advertising you all over the city.”

  They stood watching intently as Octavia’s water drummed into the pot, and then lifted her off, not even freeing her hands so she could wipe herself.

  “I’ll release you when your customers start arriving,” the mistress announced, as her assistant seated her on the edge of the bed.

  As soon as they were gone Octavia got up and kicked the pot across the room, spilling its contents over the boards. It would take a lot more than chains and a collar to keep her prisoner. Sooner or later, hopefully sooner, they would dispense with the chains and she would find a way out. She paced the room, wondering where Quintus might have fled. It was only a matter of time before the emperor issued a death warrant and come what may, even if she had to fuck half of Rome, she would witness his execution in the arena. She hoped his death would be a slow one, and then turned as the mistress came into the room and freed her wrists.

  “Your first customer,” she said, and left, closing the door behind her.

  At the rendezvous, Circo took the immediate precaution of binding Nydia’s wrists and ankles. Then, as a further precaution, gagged her mouth with his belt and shoved her sobbing into a corner.

  She watched through tear streaming eyes as he and the black gladiatrix fucked each other right in front of her. Some people, Nydia thought had no sense of decency, but she had to admire the gladiatrix’ long and splendid legs thrashing wildly over his muscle rippling back while he pumped his frenzied hips. They lay exhausted and sweat soaked when Quintus arrived.

  “Master!” Africanus exclaimed, untangling her legs and arms from Circo’s massive torso.

  She stood up and bowed. Circo came forward and embraced him.

  “I knew all about the rigged contest,” he said, glancing quickly at Nydia, wondering why she was bound and gagged. “I also knew all about the Lady Octavia’s plans to have me disposed, which is why I released the ludus into the hands of the creditors and had you both brought here. Nydia was the only one who could deliver the message without attracting suspicion. Now we must flee before the emperor sends the Praetorian Guard to kill us all.”