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From: "bad badbad" <badbadbad98@hotmail.com>
Subject: Repost: A Slavegirl of Rome (Everything but the kitchen sink)
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This is a story of a free and wicked imagination, not to read by anyone
under whatever the age of adultery is in their area.
This means YOU, spotty faced little boy! Stay away, and rather
try to hang around with girls of the opposite sex in innocent social
activities, which is far more likely to get you some than you will ever
get from reading erotic writing on the net...
If you do read on, you should know that slavery, and the sundry
sexual activities described in the story, is nothing like this in
reality. This is totally a product of the imagination, not to be
imitated. Do not try this at home.
For the readers of mature years, who are too warped and depraved
to be made any worse by the story, you will notice it is unfinished. If
I get enough positive feedback, it will continue, and continue...Hard at
work on chapter 2
BadBadBadBoy
badbadbad98@hotmail.com
A SLAVEGIRL OF ROME
Even in the heat of the midday of a roman summer day, she shivered under
the awning. Dressed only in shift that barely covered her nubile body,
the young girl knew that today, in just a few moments, she would be
hauled up on the platform, to be offered for sale to the highest bidder,
to be sold and bought and owned like any other commodity, like a bowl,
like any kitchen utensil. And she knew enough of men to know that her
chances of going to sleep as virgin tonight were slim or nonexistent, as
any probable owner would claim her as his own, her body his sexual
property, to use and abuse in any way he might possibly imagine. Or
she,
as the case well might be. And then she heard her name called, and two
brawny handlers, slaves themselves, lumbering hulks of muscle and bone,
dwarfing her between them, hauled her up on the platform, holding her by
her arms. They had seen everything in the world, and done most that was
bad in it. They had been the ones that had pulled her up from the
dungeon she had spent the night in solitary confinement, groping her
roughly in the dark passages, but careful not to touch her pussy, a
virgin so seldom offered for sale they knew that their master would have
their hide if they in any way imperilled his investment in her. And as
they held her she gaped at the sea of faces in front of her, people
covering the whole square, leering faces, stern faces, laughing faces,
handsome faces, ugly faces, mostly male, a few females, all looking at
her with undisguised lust and brute desire. And then her owner, the
slavetrader, the dark saturnine man who had thoroughly and clinically
felt every part of her, ascertained her virginity, fondled and molested
her with all the emotion of a fishmonger with his wares, leaving her
feeling not dirty, but beneath dirt, not a a victim but an object,
lifted
his arm, introducing her to the crowd, and crying out, without seeming
to
draw breath: "WHAT AM I BID FOR THIS EXQUISITE 17-YEAR OLD VIRGIN GIRL,
THIS SWEET BARBARIAN FILLY ANY MAN WOULD BE PROUD TO OWN AND TAME AND
TAKE INTO POSESSION, A DELIGHTFUL, DUTIFUL, DELICIOUS PIECE, FIT FOR ANY
HOUSE ON THE MERE GROUNDS OF DECORATION, BUT FIT FOR SO MUCH MORE, GOOD
FOR ANYTHING, AND BY THAT I MEAN ANYTHING, GENTLEMEN, AROUND THE
HOUSEHOLD!!WHAT AM I BID?WHAT AM I BID? WHAT AM I BID FOR THIS LITTLE
SWEET TREASURE, THIS LITTLE TASTY MORSEL, THIS SPICY LITTLE PACKAGE I
WAS
TEMPTED TO KEEP FOR MYSELF, BUT OFFER TO YOU AS AN UNIQUE OFFER! WHAT
AM
I BID?" And at this she lowers her head, and tries to hide her tears,
and
she fears they might not be her last this day...
At the edge of the crowd, close to the platform, so close he might
almost
look up her shift, stands a huge Mauretanian merchant, dressed in a
toga,
a Roman citizen and he raises an ebony hand. "10 sestercies!" he says,
and she looks down on him, a tall man, a heavy man, sturdy as a baobab
tree, and she wonders if he is going to be her new owner, is he the one
who will bring her home and spread her, and ram his black cock into her
virgin cunt, is he going to be the one? Or is he simply buying
merchandise, selling her in the Sub-saharan countries, in Kush or Nubia,
to some noble or king for his harem or his household? "15 sestercies!"
she hears from off to the side, and she looks and sees a trio of
Germanic
mercenaries, pooling their money, veterans of many battles, their bodies
as scarred as their minds, used to violence and rapine, looking to buy
some R&R, some little sweetheart of the garrison, a girl they can pass
from bed to bed in the barracks... "20 I bid!" cries a female voice.
And almost in the middle of the crowd there is a older woman, her
painted
face proclaiming what she is, a madam from the waterfront at Ostia,
looking for new talent for her brothel. And if the madam buys here, her
virginity would be sold to the highest bidder, for the privilege of
having the first night with her, and then she would be rented for the
night to the officers of the ships, and later, when worn with her
duties,
she would be rented by the hour to the crew, and finally, when she is an
old whore in her 20ies, she would be good for nothing but to be tied up
and lowered into the black hulls of the ship, and throughout the night
satisfy whole ships lengths of galley slaves --every orifice, every part
of her used. "25 sestercies" shouts an old lecher, wrinkled, bald, fat
and singularly unappealing, trying to buy some young flesh to regain
youth by fucking a young girl, and then to have her as a prize, to show
her off and share her with fellow reprobates, to have her turn shows
with
male slaves bought solely for their extraordinary equipment, to perform
with dogs and donkeys.....And she feels so faint, so lost, so helpless,
held securely, knowing there is nothing she can do, that she sees her
fate decided in front of her...
But the slavetrader frowns, he scowls, he shouts with a scorn heard
clearly at the back of the crowd: "PITIFUL BIDS! PITIFUL! ABSOLUTELY
PITIFUL! I WOLD NOT SELL A THREE LEGGED DOG FOR THAT PRICE, I WOULD NOT
SELL A ONE-LEGGED DOG FOR THAT PRICE! FAR LESS THIS DELICATE, SIMPLY
SCRUMPTIOUS VIRGIN, THIS HONEY ON TWO LEGS! THE BEST BED COMFORTER
MONEY
CAN BUY! AND YOU EXPECT TO GET HER FOR A PITTANCE LIKE THIS?" Before
she is aware what he has in mind, he reach out, grasp her shift, tears
it, ripping it along the seams, tearing it off her, and she screams,
squirms, completely naked on a platform with hundred of men looking at
her naked body, and she knows that there is not a man among them who
does
not at that moment want to throw her down on the ground and fuck her
there and then. And she twists and turns, hard hands, strong arms
holding her, trying to hide, and at the slavetraders bidding a third
handler comes forward, kneeling down behind her, grasping her kicking
legs by the ankles, and she writhes in the grip of the three strong
bullies, her body suspended between them, moving in desperation, her
body
like a captured eel. And as she is held like that, strong men grasping
her, all of her bared, all of her exposed, feeling so vulnerable, so
humiliated as never before in her life, the bidding starts in earnest...
The men were grinning, three big hard men holding the wriggling naked
girl between them, holding her arms and ankles, spreading her legs, her
slim nubile body twisting like a fish out of water, as she hears the
offers. "50 sestercies" cried the madam, her eyes cold as drowned gold
coins at the bottom of the sea, her mouth working. "75!" cried the
mercenaries, enflamed by the sight of her, one of them fondling himself
publicly as he watches her twisting helplessly on the platform. "I bid
a
100 sestercies" cried a new voice, a tall dark Egyptian, his face locked
in a stern expression, as he fondled his hippotamus hide whip, sliding
it
slowly through his hands, obviously enjoying the touch of it, his eyes
like glowing embers as he watches the girl, now giving in to the fear
she
had lived with since her capture, now desperately trying to escape, to
run away, at least to pose a problem for her handlers. But she does not
escape, she does not run away, and the three big hard men stretch her
out
between them, walking in a slow circle, as she is displayed to the
prospective buyers with no respect for her dignity or modesty, her
bitter
tears falling on the scuffed platform, as the slavetrader grasps her
hair
and lifts her face, so she cannot even hide her shame... "100
SESTERCIES
IS BID!" he cries, and harangues the crowd, who takes it in good
humour, laughing at his jokes: "100 SESTERCIES! 100 SESTERCIES! IS
THAT
ALL I AM BID? IT WOULD BE A GOOD PRICE FOR A ONE LEGGED, BLIND
MESSENGER
SLAVE WITH PILES! BUT FOR THIS SWEET, EXQUISITE DELIGHT, THIS LITTLE
CHERRY TO BE PICKED AND EATEN AND SWALLOWED AND ENJOYED... I ASK YOU,
GENTLEMEN, ARE YOU ALL MEN WHO PREFER BEARDLESS YOUTHS LOITERING AROUND
THE BATHS HERE, SINCE YOU CANNOT COME UP WITH A DECENT BID?"
And then, and only then, she becomes aware of the disturbance. At first
a mere change in the constant murmur, like a differing accent joining in
the conversation, but then she hears the noise rising, the sound of
trumpets, the rippling thunder of marching feet, voices raised in
argument, in orders, in shouts of dismay. And like a ship cleaving the
waves a covered palanquin, carried by eight big Nubians, is carried into
the square, surrounded by troops, proceeded by trumpeters, forcing its
way through the crowd with no unnecessary kindness, more like an
invading
army than a friendly visit. And she hears the voices, from the brutes
holding her, from the slack mouth of the slavetrader, from the crowd
close to the platform, speaking in fear, in loathing, in envy, in
worship, in wonder: "The emperor? The emperor! The emperor...." And
she remembers what they say, what she has overheard, of the gossip even
the lowest of slaves hear: "He is mad, he is bad, he is dangerous to
know, he worships dark gods, he believes he is a god, he is a dark and
evil god, he has wild, depraved and perverted orgies in the palace..."
and she shivers at being so close to him, to be within reach of what
must
be a slavering beast in human flesh if half of what she has heard is
within hailing distance of the truth. And the covers of the palanquin
part, and a slim, pale hand beckons, and the slavetrader runs down and
prostrates himself, the bodyguards of the emperor frisking him, and
giving him a kick in the face on general principles for treating
civilians. And from behind the covers the emperor asks: "What is bid
for that naked girl, wriggling so enticingly on the platform...?" "150
sestercies, your divine majesty" the slavetrader says, quietly and
humbly
upping the price 50%. There is a pause, and it lasts. Then the emperor
asks: "How old is she? Is she a virgin?" "She is 17, your divine,
august majesty, and a virgin. Most assuredly a virgin. I sell only the
best of merchandise!" A pause. A long pause, and in the presence of
the
emperor and his bodyguards, any pause is too long a pause. "I bid 300
sestercies" says the emperor. "Does anyone bid against me?" No one in
the square felt suicidal enough to move a finger. "SOLD!" said the
slavetrader "SOLD TO HIS DIVINITY, THE AUGUST BENEVOLENT IMPERIAL
MAJESTY!" And the slim hand reached out again, and pointed at the girl:
"Tonight We are having a small garden party, and We thought the forcible
defloration of a virgin might make for some light entertainment. Bring
the girl to the palace, and don't bother to put on those rags again;
have
her bathed, perfumed, do something with that hair, get her dressed for
her task and her fate, and bring her to the garden at dusk. Chop, chop,
somebody, get going, you don't want to get me mad, do you?"
And she is passed from the handlers on the platform to the strong iron
hands of imperial soldiers, walking her quickly naked through the
streets
of Rome, every man, every youth, every boy with his voice cracking,
calling out what he would like to do to her, with her, for her... But
she is held at arms length, the soldiers suffering no interruption, no
impingement on the piece of imperial property she has become. And in
the
eyes of these men, of men who have seen cities burning, tribes
slaughtered, men, women and children killed in brutal border wars, who
have taken part in the worst of atrocities during civil wars, rapists,
killers all, they look at her, their charge, and she can see the pity in
their eyes. For they know what the emperor likes for his amusement...
And at the palace she sees the pity again, in the eyes of the slavegirls
bathing her, lathering her with natural sponges and scented soaps,
running their hands all over her, cleaning her body so exquisitely, so
intimately she has never experienced anything like it before, so soft,
so
tingling, so disquietingly strange, but in their eyes she sees a pity, a
fear so strong they seem on the verge of tears the whole while, so sad
as
they look at and feel her brittle innocent beauty. And she sees the
pity
in the eyes of the girl brushing her hair, cleaning it, setting it up as
if she was a lady at the court. And she sees her face reflected in the
features of the girl brushing her hair, beautiful, attractive,
everywhere
but in her broken, sad eyes. And she sees the pity in the eyes of the
tall, bony seamstress dressing her in translucent linen, her guard
watching her the whole while, at every intimate moment of cleaning, of
preparing. And she feels the soft, light cloth caressing the naked body
underneath, her body clean for once, the soles of her bare feel cold on
the marble as she is rushed through the large sprawling palace by her
guards.
And suddenly she is out of the palace, in a pleasant, green garden,
flowers and braziers lit with aromatic woods scenting the air, and a
company of men and woman lies around on benches, the emperor's cronies
and parasites, freed slaves and senators, depraved youths and old
lechers, kinky whores and nymphomaniac noble ladies, drinking, talking,
slightly tipsy, their minds set on the evening's pleasures of all and
any
kind. And on a marble throne, in the middle of it all, sits a non-
descript, slightly puffy faced man, laurel wreath at an angle on his
brow, his toga striped with imperial purple and spotted with falernian
wine, and he lifts his head, and looks at the girl, and his eyes are
like
reptiles stirring, they have the dull golden madness of the male lion,
and the brazier's fire is reflected in the unholy fires bleeding from
them like venom from from a vipers fangs. And the emperor smiles, and
claps his hand: "She is here! The new talent! Our entertainment! Look
sharp, everybody, the evenings little clou is here." And he looks her
deep into her eyes, and whispers for her ears only: "And do We have
ideas
for you, little one...!" The emperor claps his hands: "Put her in the
stocks!" he cries. And now she sees the stocks, black, set on a low
pole, and behind them a horizontal bar on two, all poles set deep in the
ground. And she is bent over the horizontal bar, keeping her hips up,
as
her wrists and neck is placed in the stocks, and they are shut and
closed, and as she kicks out at the guards, not thinking clearly, just
reacting to the fears shivering through her, the emperor gives a new
command, and plugs are pounded into the soil, and her legs spread and
her
ankles tied to the plugs, keeping her immobile, helpless, totally at the
disposal of the emperor and his party, now growing rowdier as the wine
flows. The emperor strokes her flanks, her shoulders, now her hips, he
put his hands through the openings in the gown for her arms and
absentmindedly fondles her breasts, weighing them in his palms, now
twirling her nipples roughly, now pulping them, as he speaks: "Ladies
and
gentlemen, and all the rest of you as well, my friends, lend me your
ears... I know you are men and women, or at least creatures, of wit and
imagination. Now we have the honour and pleasure of having with us
today a young, 17 year old virgin, unkissed, unfamiliar with love, a
quivering, expectant virgin. She is with us, and we have in our power
to make herfirst lovemaking, her first real experience of sex, her first
fuck,
something special, something she will remember forever."
He pauses, andshe feels him remove his mauling hands from her breasts,
grasping the hem
of her gown, lifting it, pulling it upwards, baring her thighs..." So
I
pose you a contest, dear friends.." He pulls the material of her gown
up
from between her hips and the bar she is bent forward over, baring her
hips, her hard buttocks, standing behind her as is are naked below the
waist, exposed, He pulls the gown upwards, as she squirms in the stocks,
helpless to resist... "Whoever can devise the nastiest and most
humiliating way in which this young girl can experience her first sexual
experience, her first fuck, not only gets the second turn on her sweet,
delicate body after whatever monstrosity she has undergone, but also a
purse of 1000 sestercies... So let me hear your proposals, dear
friends!" As she listens in disbelief to his outrageous proposals, he
pulls her gown all the way up, baring her breasts, draping the gown over
the stocks, she held so securely, so undignifiedly, as she feels his
hand
now slowly seeking out the soft treasures between her naked, exposed,
untouched thighs, stroking her, fondling her, molesting her...
And from the unruly, rowdy crowd, their imagination inflamed by their
debauched lives and the huge prize, the suggestions start to flow: "Let
her be brutally taken by two slavegirls" proposes one, a slack faced
degenerate upper class youth with the eyes of an old man "An African and
a Germanic slave, an African woman with hard strong hips and big
breasts,
black as a hot night, and a tall, rangy Germanic slavegirl, almost flat,
so pale her skin is darker than her blond hair, and let the dark girl
wear an ivory strap-on dildo, as thick as her fist, and fuck the girl in
her virgin cunt, and let the blonde girl put on an ebony strap on
dildoe,
as thick as her wrist, and fuck the girl in her virgin ass, so we can
enjoy a wide range of shades of pulchritude in an introduction to carnal
delight the poor girl most assuredly never will forget". At this an
elderly senator frowns: "The simplemindedness of youth one can bear, but
their lack of esthetic appreciation is a daily source of irritation.
This pimple faced boy does not understand the first and simple principle
that to really appreciate beauty, you must see its opposite. So I
propose as the first male to take and use and abuse your slavegirl none
other than the slave that tends your garden, the hunchbacked, retarded,
warty, hairy, wrinkled monster that drools and mumbles if you address
him. Let him take her while we all watch. I saw him bathing in the
river once, and nature has compensated him for all his other lacking
qualities with the cock she gave him. To see him wreak his mindless
lust
on her sweet, helpless, beautiful body would most assuredly be a
singular
occurrence, because the contrast between them would be so evident, and a
kinky experience none of us would see again." From a woman in the crowd
there comes a protest: "Men! Typically men! A complete lack of respect
for women and their bodies and their lusts. No, what she would need,
and
what would be the best for us as an audience as well, would be... the
eight nubians that carry your palanquin, let loose on her. They are
big,
black men, strongly built, starved of sex, brutal and hard; and give the
women among us, and also the men who appreciate prime male flesh,
something to look at as well. And if seeing eight big black men taking
their turn raping an helpless 17 year old white virgin, one by one or
more at once, is not good entertainment, I ask you, what is good
entertainment?" At this a middle aged man man shakes his head: "Slaves!
She is too good for slaves! Let her be taken by soldiers instead! They
have surprisingly inventive minds for plebeians, I can assure you. And
the stories they tell..."
(To be continued...)
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