“These are very nice, Decima.” Octavia examined the bangles around her wrists. She wore a toga, which was shocking on a freeborn woman. Only whores wore togas. “Everything’s perfect. Have my guests arrived?”
“I’ll check,” I said. Her eyes were outlined with kohl and green malachite eye shadow. She used perfumed oil, and the scent of cardamom and cinnamon gave her an exotic edge.
“Don’t bother. I hear talking.” She checked herself in a reflective metal mirror. “I think I’m ready.” She smiled secretively. “Let the party begin.”
We followed our mistress from the room, keeping a respectful distance. She practically sashayed before us, her trim figure ensconced in the toga, which she had draped over one arm. The white garment was bordered by a purple stripe, which was something only a senator would wear. It was shocking seeing a woman garbed in such a fashion, and I could not help wondering what she had planned.
The house had been lit with hundreds of lamps, creating a warm glow, highlighting artwork and sculptures. Potted plants stood as tall as the ceiling in marble urns. The aroma of roasting meat lingered with the pungent undertones of incense, which smoked in earthenware burners. Octavia made a grand entrance, sweeping into the dining room and silencing the conversations of a dozen freeborn women. There wasn’t a single male in the residence, save for the kitchen and house slaves.
“Good evening. Welcome.”
The women wore the finest stolas with wigs and jewelry, their faces as pale as egg whites from the use of chalk powder and white lead. I recognized Alexa Tucca among many others I had seen before, although they had always been with their husbands.
“Drink! We need more wine.”
“Octavia,” said Alexa, her eyes were wide with disbelief. “What on earth are you wearing? That toga’s scandalous, my dear.”
“That was the point.” A slave handed her a glass, which she held up. “Tonight I celebrate. I’m sharing my inheritance with all of you, but first we eat. You’re going to need your strength ladies. I have a very special surprise for us.”
Cushioned couches had been arranged around a mensa, which was a round table. Slaves attended to the guests, washing their feet and hands in preparation for the meal. Decima and Alba and I stood against the wall, waiting for instructions, if our mistress needed anything. The harpists strummed their instruments, while the kitchen slaves paraded into the room carrying the first of many courses. Lentils imported from Egypt and pickled fruits and vegetables with field mushrooms and truffles were presented. The main course consisted of pork and lamprey, which was a favorite Getha dish.
The women reclined while eating, laughing and drinking; their conversations were gossipy with a hint of cynicism and snark, which they projected at other wives who were not in attendance. Discussions about shopping, family matters, and beauty products were interlaced with gossip, as the latest scandal was divulged.
“And, after they ran away together, he left her!” said a bewigged woman. “All that trouble to be with her gladiator and he deserts her in a foreign land. I wonder what she’ll do now?”
“Oh, phish!” said Alexa. “Marcella was an idiot. She’s gotten everything she deserves. What I want to know,” she eyed a woman in a pretty green stola, “is what’s happened with your new Ethiopian slave, Antonia? Is he housebroken yet?” She laughed at her own joke.
“He is indeed. He’s marvelous.”
Jeweled bracelets surrounded Alexa’s wrists, which caught the light of a nearby lamp. “I hear his cock is nearly as long as a man’s foot. Is this true?”
Antonia smiled slyly. “It might be.”
“I need to get one of those,” said another woman.
“Why trouble yourselves with exotic beasts, when you can have a stable of delicious men,” said Octavia. “Dessert tonight will be a special treat, ladies.” She clapped her hands. “Bring in the sweetmeats.”
A shocked hush fell, as Senator Geth’s prized gladiators strode into the room wearing minuscule loincloths and nothing else. Their bodies had been oiled, showcasing well-defined muscles, which bulged invitingly. Marcus carried a tray of grapes, strawberries, and apricots. Others brought in fruit tarts, cakes, and sweet buns.
“Octavia!” scolded Alexa. “You naughty girl.”
“I bought and paid for each of these men. I want my money’s worth.”
“You shall be the talk of Rome tomorrow,” said an older woman. She eyed a protruding loincloth.
The Domina reclined on the couch, sighing. “Let them talk. They’ll all be jealous they weren’t invited.” She took a bite from a sweet bun. “Hum…this is good.”
Alexa ran her fingertips over Milo’s chest, feeling his pectorals. “I hope you’ll let us play with your toys, Octavia.” Her hand drifted to his loincloth, where she slid beneath the material to rub his cock. “Oh! He grows in my hand.” Her smile was saucy and impish, yet while she continued to molest him, he stood stoically, staring straight ahead at nothing in particular.
The gladiators, and there were more than fifteen, seemed entirely out of place in the luxurious surroundings, as slaves moved the air above our heads with woven fans. Sexual expectation abounded, laced with aroused female interest. The dessert was devoured with zeal, and the wine consumed, drunk greedily by the lusty patricians, who eyed the gladiators as if they were edible. The men were not unaffected by the attention, their loincloths protruding like tents. Even Marcus was erect; his expression blank, but a muscle twitched in his cheek.
I stood against the wall with Decima and Alba, watching with a measure of trepidation, knowing that I would more than likely have to witness my lover with other women, and that thought left a sour taste in my mouth. Marcus glanced in my direction, and something indefinable registered in his look. A yearning so intense gripped me, nearly propelling me from my place. I wanted to fling myself at him, grab him, and declare to the world that he was mine. Just the thought of those garishly garbed and painted women touching him made me want to rip off their wigs and smash their faces into the plates of food. The violence of this emotion shocked me profoundly. I’d never experienced such mad jealously before. It felt like a dagger in my heart.
Give me strength, Hercules. I’m going to need it.
Chapter Fourteen
Octavia snatched the loincloth from Milo, exposing him for her guests. “Shall we play a game, ladies? Let’s see whose cock is the biggest.” The gladiator didn’t seem to mind being exposed in such a manner. He stood with his legs apart and his hands on his hips, while his mistress fondled him. She took him into her mouth, to the back of her throat without gagging. “Its length is adequate, I suppose. It’s grown substantially.” Laughter followed this announcement. “Come here.” She waved to Stefanus. “Let me measure you. I know I fucked you the other day, but my memory is slightly fuzzy.” Within minutes, she had fondled each cock in the room, finally declaring a dark-skinned gladiator the winner. “This is the longest, ladies. What a fine instrument.” She massaged the lengthy shaft, rubbing her thumb over the engorged tip.
Alexa followed suit, grabbing Marcus and sucking him vigorously. I glanced to the floor to avoid the display, feeling wretched. The door was merely two feet away. No one would miss me if I escaped and hid, would they? Women discarded their clothing, leaving the colorful stolas on the floor, heedless of the sweaty feet stepping upon the fine cloth. They were too far-gone in wanton desires, their faces filled with anticipation. The gladiators were more than happy to have their cocks sucked and fondled by these fine women. Each of their husbands were important men in the senate, who held property and power, and yet, they wanted to be defiled by slaves.
“Look at this perfection,” uttered a breathless woman. Her fingernails raked across Milo’s chest, leaving red streaks. She bent over a cushion, thrusting the rounded curves of her ass into the air. “Take me, you heathen. Fuck me with that gladiator cock.”
“Enjoy him, Gaia,” said Octavia. “You’d best make her scream, gladiator. You’ll be whi
pped, if you fail to perform.”
“Yes, mistress.” He grasped her hips, driving in deep with one thrust. Then he began to rut, slamming into her remorselessly.
“Oh-My-Word!”
The dinner had degenerated into an orgy of perversion, as one woman after the other suddenly had a cock either in her mouth or her cunt. The couches were strewn with naked bodies; breasts, arms, and legs were in an assortment of sexual positions. Alexa was sandwiched between two lusty brutes who drove into her orifices simultaneously, and several women rode oiled lovers, their breasts bouncing with the movement of their hips. Marcus seemed to direct traffic, pairing men with women, and remaining detached from the debauch, although his cock wasn’t unaffected, as it protruded before him. Several slaves were pressed into service, performing cunninlingus, while their Dominas sucked cocks.
“Come here, slaves,” said Octavia, who glared at us. “Don’t just stand there looking foolish. You’ve work to do.”
With great reluctance, I shed my tunic and belt, stepping out of my sandals, and approached the jumble of arms and limbs. There were women in the throws of climax, their screams and moans had become the musical backdrop to the festivities. The aroma of sex lingered, with slightly pungent nuances. I hadn’t gone far when manly hands grabbed me, and I found myself pressed to Marcus, who devoured my mouth, the sweetness of his breath filling my lungs. No one paid us notice, as we collapsed to the floor, our bodies straining, grasping, clinging in abandon.
“Fuck me, you filthy gladiator!” shouted a woman.
“Enjoy my inheritance. I know I will,” declared Octavia breathlessly.
Marcus released my hair, sending the raven tresses over my shoulders. “My beautiful angel,” he murmured near my ear.
Hands were on my back, which did not belong to Marcus. I turned to find another gladiator, Janus, whose eyes gleamed in a carnal light. He squeezed my breasts, pinching the nipples with his fingers. “I hope you’ll share this bounty,” he said. “She’s lovely.”
Marcus hesitated, eyeing me possessively. “You’ll have to ask Floriana what she wants. I’ll not let a room full of savages ravage her.”
“She’s not your slave. She belongs to the house of Getha.”
I sensed tension between them, and, if they fought over me, it would be disastrous. “Don’t fight.” I touched Marcus’s face. “We can all share, can’t we?”
“I want you to myself.”
I wasn’t able to suppress my smile. “You know I’m yours. No one will ever have my heart. It belongs to you.”
Janus leaned forward, whispering, “What say you, Floriana?” His lips touched my neck, nibbling and kissing, which sent shivers down my spine.
“Um…”
Passion flared in Marcus’s look, his hands grasping my face. “You want me jealous, don’t you?”
“I’m jealous when other women touch you.”
“Then I’ll share, but I’m not happy about it.”
“We should be grateful for anything we’re given, Marcus.”
“I know, but I’m greedy. I want you only to myself. All I think about is you.”
“Oh, Marcus.”
“You’re both fools,” growled Janus. His roaming hands slid past my belly to my moist center, where he rubbed me. “Never fall in love with a slave.”
“Too late,” muttered Marcus, who pushed Janus away and pressed me to the floor. “I’ve a raging hunger for my beloved.” He dove between my thighs, his tongue sliding into my tight sheath.
“Oh!”
Not to be left out, Janus pointed his cock at my mouth. “Open those pretty lips.”
He tasted of salty pre-cum. It didn’t seem to matter that the slaves mated with the gladiators or that the slaves serviced their mistresses. Even male slaves had dropped their tunics to join the melee, some fucking the senator’s wives over the backs of couches. Grunts and moans filled the room; one woman screamed repeatedly in the throws of orgasm.
Marcus’s tongue felt wet and slinky inside of me, while his thumb rubbed over the engorged nub of my clit. This in combination with the penis in my mouth made me shiver with delight, the sensations buzzing distractingly. Janus rose over me, aiming himself in such a way that he slid to the back of my throat. I gagged on the length, trying to suck him, but failing. He didn’t seem to mind, as he moaned and thrust, filling me to the balls.
“That’s it, my slave,” said a female voice. “Work your mistress. Ooohhh…”
We changed positions, and I found myself on my knees with Marcus behind me, prodding my pussy with the tip of his cock. “Oh, God, Floriana,” he groaned. Then he speared me with one fluid thrust.
“Oh, Marcus!” I wasn’t able to say anything else because Janus’s cock was in my mouth, preventing speech. Fingers gripped my hips, while my anatomy was blissfully ravaged.
Alba neared; her body was shiny with oil. “I should lend a hand.” She fell between my legs, where she rubbed slowly, enticingly.
“Ooohh…” This in combination with Marcus’s cock set me spiraling out of control, the approaching storm growing with each passing second. “It’s soooo good!” I sounded breathless.
“Oh, God, Floriana!” Marcus plunged to the balls, which slapped against my pussy. “Ooohhh…my love…” he groaned, stiffening, squirting his seed in measured pulses. “Aaahhh…” He slid free, leaving a trail of wetness.
Alba’s fingers replaced his cock, feeling her way into me. “I’ll make you happy. It’s so wet.”
Janus groaned; grasping the back of my head while he gagged me. Alba’s probing fingers nearly pushed me over the edge in that instant. One hand brushed my clitoris, while the other sunk deeply, rubbing against something so sensitive I arched my back and moaned. Marcus kissed my buttocks, kneading the flesh. He poured oil over my anus, his finger toying at the entrance.
“Oh!”
While Alba worked my pussy, Marcus invaded me, slight pricks of pain flaring. Together they set off a firestorm of sensation, the tingling edges bursting with pleasure. Janus groaned, releasing a torrent of semen, which squirted down my throat. I was forced to swallow every last bit of it, because he held me to him, while thrusting into my mouth. The finger in my bottom added exquisite pressure, which drove me over the edge. I tumbled headlong into oblivion, moaning and shuddering.
“Oh…oh my…ooohhh…”
Marcus slid free, as did Alba, but she grasped my hips, laving me, which was a surprise. She worked from the dripping edges of my pussy all the way to my puckered hole, licking and sucking. It was the strangest sensation, but she seemed determined to do it.
“Fuck me! Fuck me!” shouted a woman.
I sat back on my heels, feeling languid and fulfilled. “I need wine.” Marcus’s arms went around me, and I rested against him. Alba handed me a glass. “Thank you.”
Janus had left us. He was between the thighs of a woman sitting on a cushion. She leaned back, with a cock in her throat, while he ate her pussy. Scenes of depravity abounded, women on all-fours being taken crudely by rutting, grunting men, women impaled between two sets of gladiators, their orifices thoroughly reamed, and women kissing women, their hands manipulating each other’s clitorises. I was in the arms of my lover, the man I desired more than life itself, and, in that moment, I had never been more content.
“Te valde amo ac semper amabo,” whispered Marcus. He had said, I love you very much, and always will forever.
“I love you too.” Our lips met, and we clung together, until his cock pressed into my back, rigid and throbbing. “Oh, Marcus.” I turned and wound my arms around his neck.
“I hope you’re ready for me, my dear,” he growled throatily. “I’ve a present for you.”
Chapter Fifteen
That was the beginning of the happiest time of my life. I spent the daylight hours serving Octavia and my nights in the arms of my gladiator. After Senator Getha returned from his business trip, the house prepared for the games; the weeks were filled with visitors and par
ties, people seeking influence and favors. The same could be said for the Dominus, who courted prospective sponsors, securing vast sums of money in the form of loans and bribes. I saw Marcus nearly every night, but, as the games approached, he needed his sleep, so our visits were shortened.
Knowing that he could die in the arena, our time together was as precious as gold filigree and just as fragile. We had managed to keep our alliance a secret, but my rapidly swelling belly would soon give me away. Slaves often had babies, but I feared Octavia’s reaction, worrying that she would sell the infant, which was her right. We were all the property of the house of Getha.
One afternoon, as I arranged her wig, she touched my stomach. “I see you bear fruit. I assume it’s Marcus Ahalas?” Her look was vague, and I felt a moment of sheer panic.
“Y-yes, mistress.”
“I know my husband’s responsible for this. I was told you performed for him with Marcus. Then there was my little orgy. You’ve had his seed repeatedly.” She smiled slightly. “How fertile you are.”
“T-hank you, mistress.”
“A gladiator baby.” Her expression was thoughtful. “Interesting.”
I had no idea what she was thinking or what diabolical plans and schemes formed in her mind. Perhaps, there was special value to a gladiator baby, but all I could feel was the prick of fear. I would die if anything happened to my baby. Being parted from Marcus was inevitable, I knew our time was limited, but if anyone were to take my child…that I could not stand. I would commit murder or worse, if faced with this reality. I tried to push these thoughts from my mind and concentrate on my work. I’d pray to the gods and ask them to keep me safe. I’d ask them to watch over my child. This was the only recourse I had.
As the games drew near, billboards advertising the event were on every street, a harbinger that Rome would be inundated with tourists who craved the spectacle and the beast hunts. Every ludi in the area had been schooling their fighters in preparation, utilizing the best, the most robust of men, including soldiers who were granted slave status in order to participate in the games. My mistress prepared extensively for the opening procession, which only Alba would escort her to. Decima and I would have to wait our turn, because seating was limited. The Flavian amphitheater would be filled to capacity, everyone from the lowliest slave to the emperor, Titus Flavius Caesar Domitianus Augustus, would be in attendance. The games were to play out over a hundred days, and Marcus would fight three times.
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