by Georgia Fox
If this was real—
But surely that was impossible.
Everything around her was solid, three dimensional, and no bathroom wall stood in her way. The horizon was endless, boundless.
Still his horse's hooves galloped over the ground.
If this was real, that Roman would rape and kill her. She was dressed as a rebel and Amanda was one hundred percent positive that the man chasing her down was not the tolerant type. Maybe, instead of run, she should have stopped and explained.
Maybe not. He was hardly likely to believe that she'd just been innocently looking for a tampon. Or that she was from the future. He wouldn't even understand her language.
Romans didn't think women were useful for anything but sex and childbearing. And she'd made that one bleed with her tent pole "spear".
The huge, fierce-eyed man had looked as surprised to be wounded as she was to wound.
She had no other weapon at hand now, nothing to help fend him off. While still running, she began looking about for something sharp to use as a dagger. She'd stick him in the neck with it. Or through the eye. Now she began to wish she hadn't pooh-poohed the idea of self-defense classes.
Of course, there was another place she could wound him. In his big, swaying balls.
The Roman gained ground. Twisting in and out of the trees had not helped her. He clung to her path as if he knew where she was going before she did.
Now she felt the hot breath of the horse and wet mud hitting the back of her legs. She could smell the animal's sweat and hear the soldier's harsh grunts.
A great fist came down, gripped her by the neck and lifted her off her feet, as if she weighed nothing more than a starving hen.
He threw her to the ground and before she could get up, the soldier was on her with his broad, hairy thighs astride her hips and his massive hands holding her wrists to the dirt over her head.
As he hunched over her supine form, sweat and rain dripped from the end of his nose. Amanda licked her lips and tasted his salt.
No way was she dreaming this. It was too vivid.
His eyes were jet black, tearing into her face. The blue "woad" was supposed to protect her from the enemy, but she did not feel as if it was doing her any good whatsoever. This man clearly wasn't frightened off by it. So there went that theory.
How could she communicate with this beast? Latin...Latin, of course. Didn't know any. But a little Italian might do.
Amanda searched her mind for the few phrases she'd once learned in anticipation of a trip to Italy. A trip that sadly never happened in the end, because her friend and travel mate spent all her money on a car instead. "Mi sono perso! Sono...straniero." It didn't seem to be helping. "Amico," she yelled. "I am not your enemy."
"Bonum," he growled.
What the hell did that mean? She struggled further through her mind for words to make him understand. "Stop! Fermo! Amica. Per cortesia..." Finally she gave up on her scant knowledge of Italian. "I don't know what's happening," she cried. "My name is Amanda! Amanda Adams and I'm a student at St. Michael's University in Bath, England. I can—
He switched his hold, keeping both her wrists in his left grip, while he reached down between them with his other hand and tore her hastily assembled garment wide open. Uh oh, there went Chrissy's aunt's ugly faux fur hearthrug, a flat-warming present.
She immediately swore at herself for thinking of that at such a time. When she was about to be deflowered and then murdered, who cared about rugs?
So she spat. It was all she could think of in that moment of insanity and fear, because he clearly wasn't listening. Oh, he ought to understand spitting, whatever time and land he was from.
Those menacing eyes narrowed. She thought he would strike her.
Instead he laughed, a low, husky sound.
Amanda writhed, trying to bring her knee up between his legs, but he sat over her in a position that made such contact impossible.
Rain fell on her skin and cold air kissed her nipples. She felt his gaze possessing her breasts, watching as those dark red peaks hardened instantly. He licked his lips and growled "By the gods! I've been sent a gift."
Suddenly she could understand him! Why? How?
Her mind must have conjured this world somehow. Since she knew what the man was saying, he couldn't be a real Roman centurion. He was a construct of her imagination.
Okay then, if that's the case...let me get free of him.
Nope. That didn't work. He had her firm and the more she fought the more her breasts jiggled, which seemed to increase the feral hunger in his eyes. He bent over her and opened his mouth on the right nipple. She cried out in protest, her spine arching, heels kicking in the dirt and dead leaves.
"Get off me, you bloody brute!"
Whether he understood her or not, he ignored it. His tongue flicked and laved ruthlessly as he sucked on the tormented peak. To Amanda's horror and shame, her pussy reacted with a sudden spring of dew and the weight of his groin, pressing down on hers, only increased the dampness and the heat.
He sat back and looked faintly disappointed. Perhaps he had expected milk, she thought scornfully. Typical. He thought to milk her like a cow or a goat. Woman were worth no more to these Romans than that.
But he soon had his lips around her nipple again, clearly enjoying the taste anyway. There was only one thing to do. She would have to plead.
"Please," she gasped out. "No."
He switched his mouth to her other nipple and sucked harder still, growling, the vibrations rocking her imprisoned body. Even through his garments and her own, Amanda felt his penis, hard as marble, thrusting against her loins. That thick rod, twitching with eagerness, was enormous and would surely kill her if he used it with brute force to claim her.
"I'm a virgin," she exclaimed. "Please don't do this."
His mouth left her breast and he blinked down at her. "Virgin? I believe you not." To her surprise he spoke English and quite well, although heavily accented. Then he laughed again.
When he did so, it softened the planes of his stern face, brought warmth to his dark eyes. She felt the fingers of his left hand loosen slightly around her wrists, but she knew he was still in control. His every muscle was alert, poised over her. Like a snake ready to strike if she made a wrong move.
"It's true. I am a virgin."
"Why?" A quizzical line appeared between his brows. He glanced from one wet, tautly pricked nipple to the other.
"I never found the right man. I wanted it to be special."
"Why?"
Apparently virginity was not important to the Romans. "Because that is what I believed in." Of course, the idea of Amanda having any choice in why she kept her virginity would be an alien concept to him.
"And where is he, this special man for whom you wait?" he demanded.
Good question. Where was he? Why had she never found him?
He stared down at her, waiting. A curious and slightly bewildered light formed slowly through the darkness of his gaze, almost as if he recognized her from somewhere. Torchlight in a tunnel.
Maybe I never found the right man for me because he was somewhere else. In another time.
No! Don't think that. It is madness.
Screwing up her eyes, she concentrated hard on the tree limb above his head. But nothing happened. She wasn't waking from this strange dream.
When she had no answer to his question, the Roman snorted disdainfully. "'Tis well for him he is not here." He used his teeth to pull off his riding glove and then placed his right hand over her left breast, cupping it roughly. She shuddered as his sweaty palm caressed the nipple he had so violently suckled."I didn't think there were any virgins left," he muttered under his breath, eyeing her with part amusement, part disbelief.
She stared up at him with as much pride as she could muster in this undignified position, with his rude hand squeezing her breast, his fingers plucking at the sensitive peak. "Of course, you Romans have done your best to see to that."
/> Again he licked his lips. He sniffed. "A woman's purpose is to yield to a man's needs and bear babes. Why keep a woman's hymen unbroken once she's well ripe? 'Tis a waste. A woman's prime breeding years do not last forever."
She rolled her eyes. "You must have been talking to my friend Chrissy."
Abandoning her breast to the cold air, his hand reached lower between them. She heard the cloth of her gown ripping again and then felt his fingers pushing between her thighs. Since he still sat astride her hips, he couldn't part her legs until he lifted up and moved his knees between hers. In the next moment his hand was on her sex, stroking her, exploring with rough, deliberate intent. She shivered uncontrollably at his forceful touch.
"What happened to the hair of your pudenda?" he demanded, sounding shocked.
"It's called a full Brazilian," she snapped. "And it wasn't my idea. It was Chrissy's. She's into makeovers."
"This is tradition in your tribe?"
Amanda thought quickly. "Only amongst the high of rank. So if you harm me, you'll be in big trouble, see?"
His eyebrows drew together, puzzling over this.
"I suggest you let me go," she added. "I'm sure you've got enough on your—"
"Silence, feral princess."
"The name is Amanda! And I'm not feral. You are!"
"This man of yours must be addled if he hasn't fucked you yet. Even the dumbest of beasts knows when a bitch is ready for rutting. And you are ready. I smell your musk like a hound sniffs out a fox." He lifted his tunic and the lappets hanging from his cuirass. "Look, woman."
So she did. Her eyes felt sore, because she couldn't blink. His cock stretched toward her, arching, the head bulging. He gripped it in his fist and worked it briskly a few times until a bead of juice appeared on the crest.
"See what's coming inside you, virgin princess? By the gods, you make me lusty as a bull."
"You make me sick! Nauseo!"
"I think not. This cunny blushes and blossoms for me like a sweet briar rose." He chuckled again.
She gasped, biting her tongue, wriggling again in an effort to get free. It was fruitless. He looked down to watch his own hand parting the lips of her pussy. The Roman grunted and Amanda saw the tunic skirt of his uniform lifting where his cock was roused further. She expected to feel terror then, but instead she was very warm inside. Her sex moistened as he pressed two fingers inside her labia and rubbed in a slow, steady circling motion.
"What are you doing?" she cried. If he was going to rape her, why did he not just get on with it? She'd stick the bastard with his own pugio— he must have one of those small daggers somewhere on his belt— before he even got half his shaft inside her. She'd cut it off and...oh... this was not pain. It was pleasure. Wicked, wicked pleasure.
She'd masturbated before, of course— Chrissy would be relieved to hear— but this was much better.
His mouth went slack as he stared down at her, his eyes sparking. He quickened the motion of his fingertips and then bowed his head again to lick her nipple. Just once.
She tensed, lifting off the ground, buttocks squeezing.
His fingers slid down and then pushed slowly, carefully inside her dewy pussy. Amanda looked up and found his eyes pinned to her face as he fondled her in this crude way. She was rendered speechless suddenly, for that light was there again, dwelling deep in the Roman brute's eyes, burning brighter. It was like...yearning. The sort of thing she'd seen in the gaze of a dog waiting for a bone. The thought amused her for a brief moment.
"Virgin!" he exclaimed, incredulous and with a tint of victory.
The sensation of his thick, long fingers prying part way inside her made Amanda pant for breath. She lay still, afraid that any movement would encourage him to push deeper and break her hymen. "I told you!" she snapped. "Stupid, ignorant oaf."
Her insults seemed to roll off his great, muscular shoulders. "I've heard of Vestal Virgins." He chuckled low and shook his head, dark curls falling over his brow. "Never met one in this land of savages." His fingers slowly slipped out of her tight sex and he looked at them, where her sticky essence gave evidence of arousal. Though ashamed, there was nothing she could do to prevent her body's response.
"I warned you," she exclaimed, trying to buck him off again. "I'm a high ranking noble in my tribe, and I wouldn't like to be in your shoes when they find out that you've manhandled me, Roman brute."
"Virgin," he muttered again, looking down at her with heated pride. "My virgin now."
Chapter Two
He decided to keep her intact a while longer. A strange, powerful warmth had rushed over him when he found that hymen unbreached. Such a strange sensation. It was not just physical either. Yes, she was incredibly tight and would be a glorious prize for his cock. But there was more to it than that. She was his. For him alone.
Marcus Cassius had never enjoyed a virgin and he quickly became obsessed with the idea.
She claimed to be some sort of princess and he could believe that for she had a superior manner, an elegance in her bearing, even when rolling around in the dirt, promising to nibble his testicles. She amused and aroused him.
The gods had brought her to him; he had no doubt that she was a reward for his years of service to the Emperor and his country.
A virgin was certainly a novelty and just what he needed to shake off this shroud of despondency that had settled over him. Marcus would slake his lust with her soon, but for now she would be his object of untouched fantasy, his pristine vessel, unopened, sealed treasure to be savored. A new toy.
He took her back to his house on a hill overlooking Aquae Sulis and strode through the atrium, carrying her over his shoulder with her four limbs tethered together so she would not hurt herself. Although the angry native woman did not seem to appreciate his concern for her bruises. When he handed her off to the slave master for bathing, he said, "She's my virgin. See that she is treated well. Guard her." For some reason he wanted everyone to know she was a maiden, when usually his business was his own.
He saw a moment of raw surprise pass over the old slave-master's face. Particularly when the wench spat in her captor's face again and Marcus merely laughed.
"You are wounded, General," the loyal servant exclaimed in shock, pointing to his master's brow.
"Ah, tis a slight scratch, nothing more." Perhaps when that weapon hit him it dislodged his brain, he mused darkly. That would explain why he let this woman get away with her screaming and biting all the way back to the domus. And why he didn't claim her virginity at once when he wanted to. He let her slide down to the floor and then he stooped, swiftly cutting her ropes with his gladius. She could run through his house if she wanted, but she would never get out. There were guards at every door. "Take the new slave and wash the woad off her."
"I am not one of your slaves," she howled at him, springing upright at once. "I'm a liberated woman enjoying a university education. I have access to birth control and I can vote! I sing along to Beyonce. In the shower."
He had no idea what the strange woman chattered about. Every other word was nonsense. But the soft, tinkling sound of her hapless cries made him laugh. Marcus cuffed her chaffed wrist in his large hand and felt for her rapid, strong pulse. "And now you belong to me. Stop fussing. It has no point." He grinned. "Like your foolish spear."
"I will never be yours!"
"You are already," he said with a shrug.
One of the benefits of being Primus Pilus was that no one questioned him, no matter what he did. When he wanted someone or something, he took it, even if they belonged to another. Whatever he liked to do, no one raised an eyebrow.
And he wanted this woman. This feral princess.
His first sight of her had heated his blood and when he touched her that heat burst into flame.
He knew his household staff would be distrustful of the noisy, beautiful redhead he had taken as a slave, especially when they learned he had not fucked her yet. Female slaves— attractive ones—were kept around mainly to
warm his bed and suck his cock, but Marcus had kept himself aloof lately and sensed his slaves wondering what was amiss. Now he brought home a new acquisition, a mystery. A native. The rumors would start at once. But of course, the slave-master dare not ask where Marcus had found her, or why she was naked, had painted toenails and was warbling at the top of her lungs like a concussed songbird. Or why Marcus brought this troublesome creature into the house when he could be making use of the perfectly good slaves he already had. Well-trained slaves who knew how to anticipate his every need before he even gave a command. The old man valued his skin enough to keep his thoughts tucked away.
"Bring her to dine with me," Marcus said firmly, "when she is bathed and the primitive paste scrubbed off." The woman glared at him and he saw the fire in her eyes. She would fight him every step of the way. But he had to admit, he found that fire comely. A welcome challenge. "Fetch a collar," he muttered, still holding her wrist while she squirmed on the other end of his strong reach.
The slave-master obeyed at once, enclosing the new girl's neck in a padded bronze collar with a chain attached. It was not truly necessary to keep her locked in it, for he had no fear of her managing an escape— the collar was more for show than anything— but it subdued her for a while, rendered her silent at last.
"Behave as a good slave should," Marcus advised, softening his voice as best he could, running a finger down her crumbling, blue cheek, "and you will be very well rewarded, with good food, wine, a warm bed and all manner of treats such as you never imagined." Then he held her chin between his thumb and forefinger, lifting it so that her eyes met his. "And I don't just mean the blessings that will come from servicing my cock."
Her lips pursed. Flakes of dry woad dropped off her cheeks, revealing an exasperated blush beneath. Delicate skin, not coarse and sallow. Marcus felt his eagerness grow.
"But," he added, terse, "disobey, displease me, and you will be punished, virgin or nay."
Still she glared, mouth puckered tight. He wanted to kiss those sulking, rebellious lips, but that would wait too. She did not deserve it yet. Marcus gestured for the slave-master to take her away on her chain. He'd spent enough time on her already. She was only a woman.