Enslaved

by Brittany Barefield

  She heard his voice in her forebrain. Gladiators are not unlike domesticated animals, useful to us and we may mourn their passing, howbeit they are replaceable. When asked if the champion, Canus Ateia, was easily replaced, her father explained a woman should focus more on marriage rather than the business of a warmonger.

  Soon after, her father seemed suspicious of Marcella, even neglecting sleep, as if keeping a watchful eye on her. She acted unaware, letting many nights pass without visiting Canus until she believed she’d regained her father’s trust.

  But tonight, once he and his attendants succumbed to sleep, she would break the cautious routine. She waited, listening and watching, for the right moment. Her impatience manifested itself into jittery movements that pacing across the villa’s balcony seemed to exacerbate. It was time for a relaxing bath.

  “Pictrix,” she addressed her servant. The young woman was never far away. She had been purchased as a nurse for Maro and an attendant to Marcella. Over the years, she became a trusted friend and confidant. Only Pictrix knew of the taboo affair.

  Marcella descended the inner balcony stairs and called her name again.

  Pictrix appeared tying a belt around her wool tunic. Her usually tidy brown tresses were disheveled. “I am here.”

  Marcella took her hand. “Accompany me to the bath. I smell Scipio upon you.”

  “It was only a few kisses.”

  “Kisses that nearly remove your robes. Such a love!”

  Pictrix snickered. “He is skilled in the art.”

  The cute and cunning Scipio was once used as a body slave for her father and his second bride. With her passing, his sexual favors were hardly requested and he sought the affinity of Pictrix. It was an obvious match. She and Scipio were the few permanent servants kept at the villa. Marcella’s father constantly traded out slaves and guards for imagined grievances.

  “I thought you two were over,” Marcella said. “Tell me everything.”

  The two strolled hand in hand while Pictrix chattered on about Scipio’s insatiable cravings for sex. Marcella had developed a closeness to her attendant as if they were sisters. They shared secrets of romance and dreams beyond the grandeur of Rome’s walls. She didn’t demand servitude from Pictrix and, only in her father’s presence, did they portray a master/slave relationship.

  “Feeding Bestia that valerian has benefited us all,” Pictrix said as they entered the bath.

  Marcella removed her shoes and clothes and stepped into the water, still lukewarm from the day’s sun. The stony square tub was three feet deep once she hit the bottom of the stairs. Pictrix followed suit. They sat on the submerged bench and let the water cover them to the neck.

  “Yes, father needs sleep, and he would surely be disturbed by our raucous behavior.”

  “Speaking of, are you going to Canus tonight?”

  “After everything you have just described, my body aches for him. He is all I can think about. My hand is sore from pleasuring myself these last weeks.”

  “Is it love or merely lust between you two?”

  “I loved him even before we lay together. Do you not love Scipio?”

  “No. Though, I welcome his affections even if it is out of convenience. I also wonder what it would be like with a different kind of man, to be certain how love feels. Do you not ever think of trying another?”

  She sympathized with her friend who, as a slave, was denied the luxuries of courtship and marriage. “Canus tends to all my needs, why try anyone else?”

  “Because, and forgive me, he deals in death. Eventually, he will lose.”

  “If he remains a gladiator,” Marcella said. “I intend to change that, once an opportunity presents itself.”

  “All the impediments that the gods have placed in front of you, and you still think our fates can be changed. How?”

  “I will discuss it with him tonight as soon as all others are asleep.”

  “Why would you keep it from me? I would never betray your trust.”

  “I know. Only, I have not decided my intentions.”

  “Domina,” Scipio called out from the edge of the doorway. “I have towels and fresh clothing.”

  “Bring them.”

  As he entered, Pictrix whispered to her, “You could try Scipio. He will not disappoint.”

  “I do not doubt that.” She’d never admitted to anyone that the idea had crossed her mind. She once surreptitiously watched them fuck and was impressed with Scipio’s stamina. She also felt guilty, as if it was unfaithful to Canus. One day, she might tell him or maybe invite him along to watch and see if he fancied it as much as she.

  Chapter Two

  Three stone walls flanked the open practice arena and barracks, which faced the backside of the villa. Marcella watched from her window as more lights went out around the compound. Once all was quiet in the house and the adjoining gladiatorial school, she put on her sandals and tiptoed down the hall to her father’s room. The old man’s chest rose and fell at a steady rate as he snored. He wouldn’t know she was gone.

  With the full moon lighting her way, she crept through the villa’s courtyard en route to the home’s rear portico. She paused at the door, heard nothing, and continued onward through the gardens and across the soggy training grounds. Her shoes sank a little at each step as she arrived at the barracks of the gladiators. Two guards, comfortable in knowing that the fighters were locked up, napped on each end of the building.

  Canus, as a volunteer, was different. He had his own private, unlocked cell. She knocked lightly on the door. No response. She slowly pushed it open.

  “Canus,” she called out as she entered. He didn’t answer, even when the door squeaked closed. An olive oil lamp illuminated one corner of the room. She saw the man sleeping on his cot. He lay as still as a bronze statue.

  She moved beside him. “Wake up,” she whispered, leaning over his body. A lose strand from her braid tickled his tanned cheek.

  He bolted upright and grabbed her throat. His eyes were glazed over, lost in a dream. His square jaw clenched in rage as his hand choked an imaginary foe.

  “Canus.” She slapped him until he was fully awake and released his grip.

  “Marcella, forgive me.” He pulled her to his bare chest, apologizing. His large frame dwarfed her as she nuzzled against him and recollected back during the times of drought when food was less plentiful for all. She’d secretly shared half her meals with him then, giving him strength over his weaker opponents. Now she was as slender as a long-stemmed rose in the hands of her titan, ready to be plucked.

  “Nightmares again?” she asked between dry coughs.

  “I do not recall. I was not expecting you tonight. You are taking a chance coming to my room.”

  “I could wait no more. Are we not worth it?”

  Canus kissed the top of her head. “Marcella, you mean everything to me, but if your father finds out about us, he will send you away, and that is the best outcome. The worst is—”

  “He will not discover us. Besides, you are not a slave. You volunteered. My father is smart enough to know that you would leave with me. He would not risk losing one of his best warriors. And with his failing health and mother gone, father needs me here to care for Maro while he runs this ludus.”

  Canus offered a frustrated sigh. “Even as a volunteer, I forfeited certain rights when I took the oath. I swore allegiance to this house. Bestia would have to agree to let me buy myself out of the contract, which in order to keep us apart, he would not do. You are a fool if you think the level of your father’s embarrassment would not trump his goal of having a prized gladiator.”

  Marcella shrugged out of his embrace and turned away. She disliked his speaking of their situation as if hope was futile. “I shall go then.”

  “No, no. Tarry a while with me.”

  “You called me a fool. I suppose I must be for loving you. I should wise up and go to my own bed.”

  “As if I would allow it. The mere scent of you has roused m
e.” He took her by the wrist and slipped her fingers beneath his breechcloth. His cock stiffened further at her touch. His massive erection rivaled that of Priapus, the fertility god.

  She retracted her hand. “How unfortunate for you that I must leave.” She rose and sauntered toward the door, knowing Canus appreciated a chase.

  “Marcella, wait.” He leapt off the bed and blocked her exit. “I did not mean you are foolish. Do not leave angry.” He stood over six feet tall, a barrier of pure muscle between her and the door.

  She looked up at her lover and smiled. “I am not mad. I know we should be more discreet.”

  “Ah, I see. You think you can come here, flashing your amber eyes, teasing me, and then not deliver.” He shoved her enough that she stepped backward.

  She slapped at him to further her pretense of disinterest. In truth, she craved him as much as he yearned for her. She deliberately ran for the thrill of being captured.

  He caught her forearms and continued nudging her until she was sandwiched betwixt the stone wall and his body, all brawn and sinew and sweat. Only two pieces of cloth shielded his thick phallus pressing against her stomach. “Such a beautiful little temptress.”

  She abandoned her resistance, wanting nothing more than to be taken. A coy, one-sided grin emerged on his face. It was the same grin shown to his opponents once they were bested, only this time, it wouldn’t be a sword he slid inside her. He snaked his hand through her hair and yanked her head back. Menacing shadows flickered across his face.

  There was always a moment when the tide of horror rushed over her—a dread that his thirst for blood outweighed his hunger for her and that their love couldn’t keep him sane. His fingers constricted around her mane. His free hand moved to her neck. Breaking it would take little strength for a practiced executioner.

  She fought back by slipping the tunic down her arms and shimmying her hips until it sank to her ankles. “I am yours.” She kicked away the dress, baring her naked flesh.

  “I know.” His callused index finger traced her collarbone, edging closer to her breasts. He slowly circled the areola, then gave a delicate pinch to her nipple.

  She shivered. A drop of wet desire trickled down her leg.

  “Venus has blessed us both.” He drew her close and kissed her, forcefully at first, then softly, as Marcella parted her lips and mingled her tongue with his. She briefly tasted the metallic, salty tang of blood, common to his violent profession.

  She tugged at his breechcloth until the wool fabric unwrapped and fell to the floor. She stroked the head of his cock with her fingertips as she guided the foreskin back. He grew as rigid as the stones behind her.

  Canus raised one of her thighs, widening the moist passage to her cunt. “Freshly shaved. Such a treat.” He knelt and rested her leg over his shoulder. “Shall I show my gratitude?”

  His warm breath against her skin ignited a ferocious carnal appetite. She could wait no longer to be satisfied. She pulled his mouth closer, feeling the scruff of his cheek brush her inner thigh.

  He nuzzled at her lower lips, as if savoring her perfumed aroma, before burying his tongue deep into her pussy.

  “Oh, yes,” she gasped. “Oh, Canus.”

  He splayed the creamy folds with his fingers and fervently licked her clit. Her receptive bulb swelled as he stoked the fiery tingles rising from her erogenous zone, sending out concentric ripples of pleasure.

  She stabbed her nails into his scalp. “Right there!”

  He whirled his tongue round and round her sweet spot until Marcella reached her sensual apex. Her body quaked under continual waves of luscious rapture. She came so intensely that her arms fell limply to her sides and her standing knee buckled.

  Canus gripped her ass to save her from falling. With both hands, he hoisted her up to straddle his waist. She held on to his broad shoulders, cringing as he entered her.

  “Apologies.” He paused halfway into her balmy sheath, letting her adjust to his large size. “I forgot more than a week has passed since we were last together.” A day without her was too long. She was his beacon, lighting his path from near madness to serene lucidity, and he always came back. Now he would make her come, in his way.

  “I grow tighter with anticipation of our meetings. Do not stop.”

  She seemed to enjoy the brief discomfort, saying it gave way to a heightened euphoria. He enjoyed showing he was in charge. He could hurt her or please her because she belonged to him.

  He delayed his full entry until she gnawed her lip and bucked her hips for him to proceed. He smiled and eased her onto the remaining length of his pulsating shaft. He bounced her to and fro, causing the veins along each of his biceps to stick out like ropes as he thrived inside her weeping cunt.

  Her muscles clamped around him, and she panted harder and louder in a chorus of blissful din. He covered her mouth with one hand, muffling her cries. “Shh, you will wake the dead.”

  He slowed their pace until Marcella stifled her moans. He raised her hips higher so only the tip of his cock was inside. With a flurry of vertical jerks, growing bigger at each pump, the joyous pressure reached critical mass, and he burst within her.

  His body relaxed, followed by a slight shudder from the amount of muscular energy he expelled when he climaxed. She possessed the power to make him, a gladiator, quiver. It was a boastful victory and a win for both.

  “Ahh,” he expressed between labored inhales and exhales. “I needed that.”

  “Yes. I do not know what I would do without you. If you perish in the games, my heart will explode from my chest.”

  “Pity to ruin such a lovely pair of breasts.” He pulled out and moved them to lie on the cot.

  “Do not jest when you know I have a right to be afraid.”

  “I promise, I will not die in the games. I only fight in the smaller arenas, Capua, Liternum, Atella. Those men are not fit to be called gladiators. They are untrained slaves and criminals who pose no challenge. The Coliseum is the real hazard. Skilled warriors and wild animals are released there. Your father rarely sends us.”

  “You say it as if you miss those battles.”

  “I miss the roar of the crowd and the applause so loud your ears ache. I am happy to have those memories because my career is ending. My ribs have never healed right since my last fight there.” He poked at his side. “It sometimes hurts to swing my sword. I think the head trainer senses it and means to name me his second in command.”

  “Lurco means to retire, I mean, promote you?”

  He weighed both words. Either was almost the equivalent to a stay of execution.

  “It is an honor to be chosen. I have always hoped to emulate my father, a great teacher to be feared and respected. After he died, mother took another husband and relocated us to be close to his family. I could not live far from this place and you. This is my home, whether I fight or teach.”

  “After we marry, this ludus will be ours and I will not have to leave your side to sleep in my own bed.” She got up to find her clothing. The weak lamp light showed a crumpled pile on the dirt floor she guessed must be her tunic.

  Canus studied her body as she dressed. “I long for that tomorrow.”

  “As do I.” She kissed him goodbye before exiting the cell.

  The compound was dark and soundless as Marcella trekked across the grounds inferring what it would mean if Canus became head trainer. His contract as a gladiator would end, he would retain his freed man status, and his reputation as a revered champion might help sway Bestia to allow them to wed. One impediment was Lurco. He may not be so ready to relinquish his position without encouragement.

  How could he be persuaded? As she traversed through the garden, she found an answer. She spotted a two-foot tall belladonna plant with its distinct bell-shaped flowers. She sniffed the purple petals. They emitted a nauseating odor, a clue that it was baneful and bore poisonous fruit. She carefully picked a few of the black berries. She could sneak small amounts of the toxic juice into Lurco’
s food or drink to keep him sick and make him name a replacement.

  She abandoned the plan as hastily as it formed. She didn’t know if prolonged doses would be fatal, and the illness itself was surely painful. She wasn’t cruel nor was she a murderer. She was a healer. Her love for Canus and the desperation to keep him clouded her judgment. Such bad thoughts, even without action, were almost enough to secure a place for her in the flaming pits of Tartarus. She threw down the berries and squished them into the ground with her shoe.

  She hurried back to her room and lit a candle by the bed.

  “Where were you?” a groggy voice asked.

  “Julius Caesar!” She jumped with surprise.

  The gray-haired patriarch sat wearily in a chair. The herbs were losing effect. The disease was worsening, robbing him of sleep, and Marcella was caught.

  “You startled me. I could not fall asleep so I went for a walk.”

  “Absent your attendant? I think not. I know you were with Canus.”

  “Father, I—”

  “Do not interrupt. Your excuses are shit pouring from an asshole. I will not be the wiping rag that absorbs them. When your mother died, I indulged you with far too many freedoms. I needed you here for Maro’s sake, so I never pressed you to find a husband. This stops now. A proper Roman woman does not lie with gladiators, at least where others are aware, and especially not the daughter of Bestia Calpurnia!” He pounded his chest. “Certainly not when she is promised to another man.”

  She was still reeling from the simile comparing her to either feces or a rectum. “What?”

  “I am not ignorant. I have suspected this for months, and to see you sneaking in here turns my stomach.” He paused to cough and steady his respiration. “I am not getting better from this illness. I worry what will happen when I am gone. I have no choice but to intervene now, before you get pregnant with a bastard child, and marry you off to a gentleman of decent standing.”

  Marcella knelt by his side. “With respect, father, as a lanista, you are judged as good as a butcher or a pimp. I will never be referred to as proper, and I shall be damned before I wed someone I do not know.”