Conquest of the Gladiator (An Erotic Romance)

by Virginia Wade

  I took his hand. “Like this.” His sweaty palm rested awkwardly on my breast.

  Alba neared. “You can suck her nipple, Master Titus. Don’t be afraid to take it in your mouth.”

  “I’m not afraid,” he blustered.

  “No, of course not.” Alba’s hands were on my hips, gently massaging. “She’s prettier than any noble, isn’t she? She’s the human form of Aphrodite.”

  “Oh, come on,” I disagreed. “That’s stretching the tru—”

  “Shush,” she admonished. “Don’t spoil the magic.”

  I glared at Alba, wondering if she had lost her mind. “I’ll have a word with you later.”

  She ignored me. “Master Titus. Shouldn’t you remove your tunic as well? Why hide beneath all that cloth?”

  The poor boy was bright red now. “Ahem…I…suppose.”

  “Shall I help you?”

  His hand had yet to leave my breast; a nipple was between his fingers being pinched gently, which had set off a firestorm of sensation I hadn’t expected. I tried to think of something else, because being aroused by my master’s son seemed perverse and disturbing.

  Decima approached; her expression was neutral and controlled. “We haven’t a lot of time. Our Domina will be awake soon.”

  He hesitated for the briefest second, and then, in a flurry of motion, his tunic and underthings were discarded, revealing a lengthy cock, which glistened on the end. This was only the second penis I had ever seen in my life, and it was entirely sweet looking. It wasn’t nearly as thick or as intimidating as the Roman soldier’s cock. The only item remaining on the youth was his bulla, which was a golden locket, suspended from a leather strap around his neck.

  Alba inhaled a sharp breath. “You’ve been hiding a secret, Master Titus.”

  “I-I have?” His voice broke.

  “Oh, indeed. What a fine looking instrument you have. Might I touch it?”

  His hands were on my breasts again, pinching my nipples, which seemed to have his undivided attention. “Yes,” he breathed. “Touch it.”

  Alba grasped him. “How wet you are.” He groaned, closing his eyes, sweeping thick, black lashes across his cheeks. “You should lay down, Master Titus, and let us serve you.” He dropped to the mat, pale and naked, his eyes glazed with desire. “Press your breasts to his face, while we suck his cock. This shouldn’t take long.” Her tone was brisk and business-like. “Our mistress wakes soon. We must make haste.”

  Titus looked helpless in that instant, clearly surrendering his power to Alba who took it forcefully. I leaned over, my breasts falling in his face, nearly smothering him with the bounty. He croaked and moaned, his lips closing on a nipple. Decima and Alba ravaged his penis, sucking the entire length into their throats with noisy, slurping sounds.

  “Lift his thighs, and tongue his ass,” commanded Alba. “Let’s give him a treatment he won’t soon forget.”

  “Oh,” he groaned. “Oh, dear…GOD!”

  The unpalatable task fell to Decima, who pushed against his thighs, exposing the puckered hole of his anus, which she flicked her tongue against, producing throaty moans from the young master. His face was all but obscured by my breasts. The pull on my nipple sent pleasurable tingles through me. Alba suckled him, drawing out copious amounts of pre-cum. The three of us were dutifully employed in pleasuring Titus; his groans had morphed into strangled screams of pleasure, which anyone passing our room could hear.

  “He’s at his end,” warned Alba. “We should share him.”

  “Aaaahhh…” he groaned. “Ah! Ah! Ah!” Alba manipulated him with expert hands. Her fingers were wet with saliva and pre-ejaculatory fluid.

  “Eat him, Floriana.” I licked around the head of his cock, tasting saltiness. “Good, girl. Let’s all dine now, as if it were our last meal.” She giggled at her own joke.

  While Decima took his scrotum into her mouth, Alba sucked him aggressively. I ogled the cock, marveling at how smooth and perfect it was with hidden veins and the cleaved tip, resembling ripe fruit. Titus was in fits, thrashing, his stomach convulsing, as he began to moan; sounding like a tortured animal. He jetted streams of whitish fluid, which splashed Alba in the face.

  “Good boy,” she enthused. “Well done.”

  Decima smiled triumphantly. “We were rather successful, I’d say.”

  “We certainly were.” Alba licked him like a cat, wiping him clean. “There’s a good boy. Are you all better now?”

  “I…I…” Words seemed to fail him.

  “Get dressed,” said Alba. “We’ve work to do.”

  He didn’t seem to mind Alba’s orders, springing to his feet. Decima handed him his clothing. “You…you women were…very good.”

  “Were we now?” Alba looked amused. “You seemed to enjoy yourself.”

  He thrust his arms through his tunic. “I…did. I…plan to return.”

  “I don’t doubt that at all. It might do well for your father to take you to a brothel.”

  “He’s done that. It was…terrible.”

  “How so?” asked Decima.

  “Those women scared me. Have you seen them?”

  A peal of laughter escaped Alba. “Was it the makeup or the stench?”

  “Both! They looked so harsh. Their hair was yellow! My cock’s never shrunk so fast in my life.”

  “You’re a good lad, Titus.” Amusement shone in Alba’s eyes.

  “I’m a man now.” He puffed out his chest.

  “Indeed you are,” murmured Decima.

  He eyed me. I had yet to dress. “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

  That announcement was a shock. “Th-thank you.”

  “I shall be back. I forbid you to lock this door. Keep it open at all times.”

  Alba bowed deferentially. “Of course, Master Titus. We wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “Excellent.” He stepped into his sandals. “Good day to you.” Then he was gone.

  Decima hit Alba in the arm. “What have you done? Now he’ll sniff around like a dog in heat! We’ll never get rid of him. Haven’t we enough to do already?”

  “Calm yourself. It’s better he learns about sex from us than the brothel whores. He’s young and impressionable. We can teach him how to please a woman and, more importantly, how to respect a woman.”

  “That’s hardly our concern.”

  I fixed my hair, inserting a pin to hold it in a fat bun at the back of my head. “Decima’s right. It’s not our job to satisfy him. His father should take him to the brothel. Regularly.”

  “It’s too late. He came to us.”

  “You should’ve turned him away,” said Decima. “Now we’ll never get rid of him.”

  Someone pounded on the door. “Your mistress is awake!” We scrambled to make ourselves presentable, hastening from the room, the conversation postponed for another time.

  We left the house a short while later, following a litter, which held Mistress Getha, as she was carried down the streets of Esquiline in lavish style, befitting the wife of a prominent senator. Four male slaves, who wore nothing but loincloths, carried the conveyance over their shoulders. This was our daily pilgrimage to the bathhouse, and our mistress’s opportunity to socialize and gossip with fellow patricians. The bustle of the crowded streets was soon forgotten as Octavia disappeared through the women’s entrance, while we took a nondescript doorway at the side. We would meet her in the palestra for a short bout of exercise. The inner courtyard was outlined by towering colonnades and landscaped with walkways, trees, and flowerbeds. We loitered, waiting for Octavia, while she strolled and chatted with a woman I had seen before.

  “Come here, Floriana.” Surprised by the summons, I went to her. “This is my newest slave. Isn’t she pretty?”

  The woman’s astute gaze rested on me. “How fashionable of you to surround yourself with beautiful playthings. I’m green with envy.” Her tone was lilting, yet it held an edge. She touched my hair, which was wound in a tight bun. “Such a
lovely color. You should shave it off and make it into a wig.”

  “My darling Alexa. You know black looks like death on me.”

  Chapter Seven

  “I was only making a joke.”

  “I’ve had enough of this,” said Octavia. “Let’s bathe.”

  “Oh, very well.”

  We followed the women into the building; Alexa’s slaves were with us, their heads bowed meekly. The men were in other rooms, with thick walls separating the sexes. Our changing room held cubicles, where we placed Octavia’s things, her stola, cloak, and sandals. Jeweled bracelets and rings were tucked away, and they would be left with Decima, who had to guard the items from thieves. The hollow sounds of talking echoed in the room; someone’s laughter was loud and grating.

  Wrapped in a linen towel, our mistress was escorted into the tepidarium, where the arduous duty of removing her hair began, first by oiling her skin to a golden sheen and then using a strigil on underarms and legs, ending with plucking and shaving of pubic hair. Cushioned mats were available for massages, and, after the hair removal ordeal had been completed, Alba and I took it upon ourselves to massage Octavia. Mistress Alexa Tucca was on the adjoining mat.

  “That feels so nice, but I need something more this morning.” Alexa pointed to her freshly shaved pussy. “This needs thorough attention.”

  “Oh, you’re impish today,” murmured Octavia.

  “I’m impish every day,” she laughed.

  “That I don’t doubt.”

  Her slaves rubbed her thighs, mindful to dip further into the inner curves, grazing her satiny folds. “Yes,” she gasped. “Keep that up.”

  Alba gave me a look, and I felt myself tingling, wondering if Octavia would request the same treatment. She seemed content having her back kneaded. There were several tight muscles in her shoulder that required softening.

  “Oh, that hurts,” she said. “I’m a mess today.”

  Alexa’s slaves began to blow and kiss her skin; one was dangerously close to her swollen lips, the flesh shimmering with arousal and oil. She spread her legs slightly, exposing a tiny black hole.

  “I need tongues in me. Don’t make me wait.” Her slaves obliged by lapping and bathing her clitoris with languid strokes. “Oh, yes. Yes!”

  The tone in her voice made Octavia take note. She rose on her elbows. “My goodness. That’s does look good.”

  “It’s so good…so good…”

  Our mistress was on her stomach, with her bottom in the air. “Play with me from behind. Do to me what they’re doing to Alexa.”

  Alba wasn’t surprised by the request. “Yes, Domina.” She poured oil, the liquid pooling at the base of her back above the sloping curve of her buttocks. Dipping her fingers in the greenish fluid, she rubbed it liberally over her cheeks. I joined her, and together we massaged, separating the globes and exposing the wrinkled circle of her anus.

  Alexa’s moans resonated distractingly. She had her knees up, while a slave was buried in her pussy and another laved the nub of her clit. “Oh…give me more tongue. Thrust it into me!”

  My fingers slid into Octavia’s crack, brushing against her anus and lower. Alba moved between her legs, into waiting, eager pubes. I toyed with her bottom, dipping inward ever so slightly. She seemed to enjoy this, moaning loudly. While Alba rubbed her clit, I explored deeper, seeking refuge within her heated orifice. She lifted her hips, bringing her ass off the mat, and giving us greater access. Alba knelt between her legs, flicking her tongue into the waiting hole.

  “Oh, marvelous…yes…”

  “OH-GOD-YES!” screamed Alexa, clearly in the throes of orgasm. Her shrieks echoed off the walls. There were others being massaged, but they paid us little attention.

  Feeling emboldened, I slid a second finger into Octavia’s tightness, opening her gently. She thrust her buttocks, impaling herself to the knuckles. I’d anticipated something like this, and I gave her what she wanted, fucking her solidly with both fingers.

  “Wait! Stop!” she suddenly shouted, twisting on the table to stare at us. “Bring me a male slave. I…need something more.” This request was a shock, and the room silenced, as several ears pricked to listen.

  Alba, whose face was wet with feminine juices said, “Yes, Mistress.”

  “Things are about to get interesting,” murmured Alexa, who lay sideways with her head in the palm of her hand. “Someone’s in a state today.”

  “Who cares? Sometimes women aren’t enough.”

  “Oh, darling, I don’t judge you at all. You do whatever you like with yourself, as long as you let me watch. I’ll be as quiet as the grave.” Her smile was suggestive. “I might even join you, if he’s handsome enough.”

  Alba returned with a man dressed in a loincloth. He was shaved clean and clear skinned; his youthful vigor was evident in the fresh planes of his face.

  “Make him ready for me, Alba. I want cock.”

  “Yes, mistress.” She dropped to her knees, pulling away the cloth covering his genitals. He was partially aroused, his cock long and thick.

  “That’s quite an instrument you have there,” murmured Alexa. “Impressive.” Alba took him into her mouth, sucking with determination. “That might be all it’ll take. He’s more than ready.”

  Octavia got on her hands and knees, exposing the glistening globes of her buttocks. “Fuck me, slave.” He approached calmly, undoubtedly having heard this request many times before from women and men. Grasping his cock, he pushed against her gaping slit, dipping in slightly. “No. Don’t fuck me there. The other hole.” Alba’s hand disappeared between her thighs. “Ooohhh…that’s…marvelous.”

  The male slave quickly poured oil and prodded her rectum, pushing deep with stoic compliance. She didn’t seem to mind the rough treatment; the sounds of a strangled moan escaping her. “Yes!”

  “They’re the best here,” said Alexa. “They really are.”

  “Ooohhh…the pain is delightful.”

  “Isn’t it? There’s nothing quite like it. It inflames the entire region. Have you ever had two cocks at once?”

  Octavia spun her head around to stare at her. “In my ass?”

  “No,” she laughed. “One in your cunt and the other in your ass.”

  “Of course.”

  “I love that feeling. It’s the pinnacle of decadence.”

  “Ooohh…don’t hold back, slave. Fuck me hard.”

  Alexa spread her legs. “Watching you has inspired me. Please your mistress again, you naughty slaves.” They scurried to do her bidding.

  I massaged oil into Octavia’s back, kneading gently, while Alba rubbed her pussy. The male slave gripped her hips and drove into her bottom, his cock gleaming with wetness. The other bathers watched, enjoying the show. One woman fingered her snatch, licking her lips, her face a veneer of lust. Somewhere in the back of the room a woman was reaching orgasm, her screams echoing off the walls.

  “I…oooohhhh…this is sooooo good.”

  “Oh, it is,” breathed Alexa.

  “Oh, my goodness!” The cock made a noisy, squishing sound as it reamed her to the balls, which slammed into her pussy. The slave was determined in his efforts, giving Octavia exactly what she wanted.

  “There you are, you good slave,” said Alexa. “Fuck that dirty whore.”

  “Aaahhh…” he uttered.

  He grimaced, groaning, and I worried that he would spend himself before Octavia reached her bliss. She suddenly shouted, her moans resounding. He drove in sharply and then pulled free, spraying her lower back with creamy ropes of semen.

  The Domina collapsed on the mat, utterly replete. “That was wonderful.”

  “Don’t stop, you little whores,” moaned Alexa. Her slaves were between her thighs, servicing her with their tongues and fingers. “Keep that up.”

  Without a word of farewell or acknowledgement, the male slave picked up his loincloth and left the room. Alba and I continued to massage Octavia; the muscles in her shoulders weren’t nearly as
tight now. Her hair hung limply in her face, and a sheen of perspiration ran the length of her forehead. She looked like a wilted flower.

  “That’s it! Ooohhh…suck me...”

  Alba and I exchanged a glance of amused boredom. Our time in the bathhouse typically lasted upwards of three hours, ending with Octavia getting her hair cut and styled, the latter part under my direction. As Alexa threw back her head and moaned, I stared at the ceiling, praying for patience. It was going to be a long day.

  Chapter Eight

  I sat in the garden, days later, listening to the shouts of the gladiators behind the next building. They had been training in preparation for the arena; the first of the games were several weeks away. The senator was going to honor his father with an elaborate munus, which is what we had suspected all along. As a result, the house was in an uproar, and I was grateful for a brief break, enjoying the sun on my face. The weavers had been working since dawn, making the cloth for Octavia’s many stolas. They were responsible for her shawls and embroidered cloaks. Jewelry pieces had to be commissioned, sandals had to be bought, and headdresses needed to be made.

  To compound matters, there were celebrations nearly every night, and Titus visited us far too often, wanting to indulge in the pleasure of our bodies. It was exhausting. I stared at a line of topiary trees, trimmed into the shapes of animals, but, as Decima approached, my spirits plummeted.

  “Our mistress is awake.”

  “Already?”

  “Yes, unfortunately. You look unhappy. Are you unwell?”

  “I’m tired.”

  “It’s like this before the games. You’ll get used to it. Things will quiet down after the election.”

  “I hope so.” I got to my feet reluctantly. “If only we had one day where we didn’t have to do anything.”

  “I’ve been working since I can remember. Even as a child.”

  I felt a pang of guilt, knowing my life had been easier. “How have you kept such a good disposition? You’re always so happy.”