Don Winslow: Slave Girls Of Rome

She was ordered to bend down once more, assuming the same pose as before, but this time turned around so that she was offering up her jutting behind to be admired. Not quite satisfied with the results, the meticulous auctioneer forced the girl to bend down even lower, arching her back with hands braced on her thighs, thus boldly thrusting back that choice rounded rump of hers. His next command must have been even more obscene, even more humiliating, for this time the proud barbarian shook her blonde mane in mute refusal. Like lightning, the whipping rod shot out to whack her crisply across the tautly-drawn curves of her jutting arse, causing the bending girl to jerk upward at the viciousness of the stinging blow. It was enough to prompt her to obey even the most perverse demands readily. She responded by squirming her hips and shaking her tail from side to side in a delightfully provocative gesture. Waves of raucous laughter greeted the sight of this proud Germanic woman wiggling her ass like a Babylonian whore!

To add even further to her humiliation, the poor girl was next made to rotate her ass in a lewdly suggestive manner, eliciting a spate of bawdy offers from the increasingly excited rabble. After a few minutes of this amusing diversion, her tormentor allowed her to straighten up, but it was only so she could be put in an even more humiliating pose. For now he had her turn around once more to face the mob. She stood before them with chin held high, her pale face expressionless. She stood there, a big blonde animal, powerful and sensual, and still coldly remote despite the lewd poses she was forced to adopt for the pleasure of her masters.

Cautioning her to keep her hands on her hips and hold herself erect, he ordered his captive to her knees. The pointed wand was used to nudge her knees apart, giving us a clear view of the blonde fleece of her vulva. In the most humiliating gesture of sexual subservience, he had her reach down and pry open the thick lips of her vagina to show her gaping sex to the cheering multitude. The crowd went wild!

After exhibiting herself for what must have seemed like forever, the kneeling woman was allowed to rise up and resume the first pose: hands clasped behind her neck The bidding was about to begin. At last, satisfied that he knew the value of what he had, the wily auctioneer stepped back, mounted the stage, and announced the starting price. The sum he mentioned to begin the bidding for this proud beauty took my breath away and got an audible gasp of admiration from the gaping crowd. And that was only where the brisk bidding started!

After that, I couldn’t get the powerful image of that big blonde out of my mind. It stayed with me by day, and it haunted my dreams at night. The achingly beautiful blonde girl forced to submit, to adopt the erotic poses demanded of her before the rabble of Rome. Her image came to me obsessively as I had first seen her splendidly tall, naked, and chained, her hands clenching the wooden bars of her cage as she looked out with icy disdain on the leering louts who would seek to tame her. And when Lucius spoke disparagingly of Rome, the reason for my restless discontent came to me in a flash. Thus the idea began to grow of going to that place where one might find and capture one of those rare blonde beauties. The idea took shape slowly, and it grew with my unexpected excitement I must go north!

For someone like me, there was much to recommend such a post First of all, it was said that with only a few denarii in his purse, a man could live like a king among those half-civilized tribes. Then there were rumors, vague but persistent, of hoards of gold kept hidden by the savage chieftains, there for the taking, the rich spoils of the war on the last frontier. It was true that all such booty belonged, in theory, to the emperor, but it was widely known that many an enterprising officer found ways to line his pockets along the way as the spoils of war made their way, not always intact it seems, back to the imperial treasury. And finally there was the legions’ generous practice, at some of these remote locations, of allowing a portion of the captives to be given to the soldiers as personal slaves.

Of course, the choice of any captives taken in battle would first go the officers. That thought inspired me. Did I dare to dream of owning such women as that caged Nordic goddess? Was it so inconceivable that someday I might possess one or more of those proud beauties? The thought fired my lust and convinced me, if indeed I needed any further convincing, that I would request a reassignment as soon as I could get to headquarters.

I knew there were those who would question my sanity when they found out that I had actually requested to be posted to the frontier. I would go to Gaul, where troops kept watch along the northern frontier; a place that seemed to many Romans like the very ends of the earth itself. Everyone knew the northern lands to be largely composed of dense gloomy forests peopled with semi-civilized but unkempt Gauls, savage Saxons, and that fiercely independent Germanic tribe known as the Teutons, who lived along the very fringe of empire. True, these barbarians had been tamed, at least for the moment, but it was widely agreed that renewed fighting might break out at any time. Surely no sane man would forsake the enticements of Rome for so desolate a place! But Lucius had been right. The alluring pleasures of Rome were not for such as us. Sadly, I realized the truth of his words: The finest delights would always remain the exclusive preserve of the rich and powerful.

Once I had decided my course of action, I never looked back, but went straight off to find Flavius, my commander, and then the company’s adjutant. Publius looked me up and down, squinting, studying my face with narrow brutish eyes, highly suspicious as to why anyone should make such an outlandish request. But I stood facing him calmly, Flavius’s written approval in my hand, waiting patiently, my expression totally noncommittal. He saw that I was determined. With a shrug and sad shake of his head, he signed the parchment and stamped it, sealing my orders officially.

And so it was I came to find myself at a place called Bernesium, the only officer in command of the 200-man garrison stationed at a small, but well-built and comfortably solid compound. Our fort stood on a hill, guarding the only approach to the town below. To be sure, Bernesium was still a garrison town, the sort of place that inevitably grows up under Roman protection. First came the fort, and then a small colony sent from Rome, and finally the local Gauls had drifted in to cluster beneath the sheltering walls. I was surprised at how large the colony had become. There was even a handful of merchants’ and craftsmen’s stalls in the marketplace. Peace had been good to this bustling frontier town. At the far end of the town was a large lake with plentiful tasty fish. The crops were surprisingly lush here, and a brisk trade had grown up as I soon discovered, because the town was at the crossroads of three minor trade routes.

Altogether, not such a desolate place after all, I soon decided. Although that was not my impression when I first laid eyes on the place, as my horse crested the top of a gentle hill. Spring had not yet come to Gaul and the landscape was stark, the trees bare. There were little signs of life in the still, cold air, and smoke rose from some of the huts. The prospect before me seemed rather bleak, and my first view of the place caused me to I wonder if I’d made a terrible mistake.

By the time spring came that year, I had settled in nicely. Bernesium became green and rather pleasant, the air caressed with soft breezes, and the budding fruit trees promising an early, warm summer. My men were a rough and rather dull lot-hardly the Praetorian Guard, but on the whole no better or no worse than any other company of common soldiers. Fortunately, my sergeant was a competent enough fellow who pretty much ran things, leaving me with considerable leisure time. Somehow, Sergeant Metellus managed to take care of things, seeing to the daily affairs of the company, assuring that the men were reasonably satisfied, fed adequately, and paid on time. Bernesium is a small town, and small towns abound in rumors. I soon heard the rumors concerning the good sergeant: that he had a lucrative side-business, offering extra protection to the local tradesmen, whose caravans were constantly coming and going through the wild countryside. I never troubled myself about these matters. After all, we had quickly come to a sort of understanding, one that seemed to work for both of us.