Don Winslow - Slave Girls Of Rome

“Rome has become a rich man’s whore!” Lucius’s drunken musings rang in my ears as I trudged through the streets of the camp that fateful morning. The mud was hard, semi-frozen in the cold morning air of autumn. The morning mist that still clung to the hills had not yet been driven away by the sun’s early light There was a definite chill in the heavy air, but I breathed it in deeply, gulping it down, letting my lungs get their fill. The new day did much to clear my head. Despite the wine, I hadn’t slept well last night, but now I felt much better, my spirits improved for the first time in months. I pulled my cloak together and, with renewed determination, turned towards the garrison’s headquarters.

We had spent the night carousing at the house of Quintus Licus, a fabulously wealthy merchant who occasionally invited a few of us to his palatial estate for one of his endless stream of “celebrations.” I should add that this was not one of his legendary orgies which went on for days and were justifiably renowned throughout the Seven Hills. Junior officers were never invited to those events, although occasionally our general might find himself among that privileged elite. No, it was to the more modest affairs that we were invited, along with the lesser lights of Roman society-functionaries and various officials who might someday be of use in one of Licus’s schemes.

It was perhaps a measure of our lowly status that our host didn’t bother to attend himself, but left it to his wife to see that his guests were greeted and their needs met. And if those guests included handsome young officers from the garrison, then his wife Lydia, a brash, bawdy woman with big, floppy tits and a loud braying voice, would be only too happy to oblige. The lady’s propensity for soldiers was legendary in the officers’ quarters, earning her the nickname “Labia.” Even now she watched us with interest from her low couch across the room; her silk gown, cut fashionably low in front so that her tits nearly spilled out whenever she moved; the hem drawn up her long legs shamelessly to lie across the very top of her robust thighs. From time to time, she smiled her approval, waving a beringed hand. Her heavily painted lips creased into a lewd, come-hither grin whenever one of us happened to look her way.

I noticed the unmistakable gleam of lust in her eye when Gaius, deciding to get more comfortable, unbuckled his belt and slipped off his tunic, to recline once again, now clad in only his short linen loincloth. I nudged Lucius, who took one look at the leering lady and whispered with an ominous groan that now we were surely in for it! And I am certain that the matron’s attentions would have been lavished upon us, had not she, just at that moment, been diverted by her attending slave. This pretty tousle-haired lad had been kneeling on the floor beside her couch, and was engaged in licking and kissing his mistress’s shapely legs, making his way assiduously from her bare feet along their smooth lengths. And now, providentially, the pleasuring tongue had reached her upper thighs, suddenly causing the lady to gasp and then fall back weakly onto the cushions. Her thick lashes fluttered and her eyes slid closed, her lips curling in delicious ecstasy, as the burrowing head disappeared under the loose folds of her green silk gown. She would be kept busy for some time.

We could safely turn our attention away from our languid hostess and lounge about on the thick silken pillows, giving ourselves up to the tender ministrations of our absent host’s pretty slave girls: nubile wenches, naked to the hips, their svelte loins wrapped in the gauzy folds of the brief loose skirts, which was all they were permitted to wear when serving guests.

Lucius was quite taken with a long-haired girl who moved about us with her flagon of wine; a nicely curved lass with flaring hips and proud, jaunty tits. When he beckoned to her, she scurried across the room, her naked tits bouncing most delightfully. And when she bent over to fill his cup, her full breasts hung down heavily, moving seductively before his fascinated eyes-the girl inadvertently offering him that succulent fruit no man could possibly refuse. Lucius reached up to capture a dangling tit, balancing it for a moment on his curved palm and studying it Then, taking the wide, fleshy tip between his fingers, he began toying with it, while expounding on his views to us. He kept the poor girl bent over like that. And, as he played with the rich man’s plaything, his voice became a bit sad-wistful, perhaps-and certainly with a note of envy for that which would never be his: the opulence of his surroundings and the horde of beautiful slave girls owned by that crass, money-grubbing trader.

Not that Lucius was poor-far from it. He came from one of Rome’s most prominent families and, like most of my brother officers, he was provided with a generous allowance which far overshadowed his meager army pay, even if his family’s wealth was not on the massive scale of our host’s. Alas, I was not so fortunate as Lucius. The son of a poor, honest farmer, I joined the Legions at sixteen, and had learned early on to take my pleasure wherever I could find it Two days after payday, I would inevitably find myself reduced to the whores who were kept at the barracks for the use of the troops. Thus, I was only too ready to take advantage of Licus’s “generosity” and allow the lissome girl who knelt beside me to have her way with my staunchly erect manhood.

By now my companions were well occupied. Lucius was avidly exploring the writhing young body of the long-haired girl, while Gaius dallied with an olive-skinned girl with plump tits and dusky nipples, whom he had invited to perch on his lap. Looking down on the young girl on her knees before me, I let my eyes appreciate the willowy lines of her lithe body, those slender shoulders and small pancake tits whose pleasing undercurves seemed to smile up at me. The slave girl’s fresh expectant face was surrounded by a mane of thick auburn hair, tawny tresses that hung loosely down over her delicate shoulders.

I nodded my permission for her to begin, and immediately the vixen’s smile widened. She reached for me eagerly, brushing back my loincloth, which by this time was all I wore, freeing my rampant penis to spring up hopefully before her big brown eyes. A shiver of delight raced through my tense body as the girl’s small fingers closed on me.

I watched through half-lidded eyes as she sat back and held my taut sex so lightly in her cool, soft hands. With a delicate touch, the talented girl teased up and down my shaft, tracing my fierce erection with her fingertips. I clenched my teeth when she curved her fingers into talons which lightly scratched the smooth hardened length. I groaned at the fluttering pleasure of her delightfully cool fingers when they slipped into my crotch to cradle my the hairy sack of my balls. Her supple fingers cupped my scrotum and my masculine equipment and squeezed before she began gently rolling my testicles in the palm of her hand. I sighed with contentment and let my eyes close, giving myself up to the heavenly touch.

With one hand still cupping my balls, she now brought the other into play, wrapping nimble fingers around the turgid shaft, squeezing lightly, tightening her little fist till she held me in an iron grip and I was groaning and twisting in her hands. I managed to open my eyes enough to look down on the top of her head and watch her as she leaned forward, bringing her pursed lips closer so that I thrilled at the feel of her hot breath sweeping over my throbbing prick, hovering just before her face. She extended her tongue slowly until the very tip touched the sensitive underside just below the crown of my upright prick I clenched my fists and groaned, shuddering at the piercing thrill generated by the feel of that wet, tantalizing tongue as it lightly fluttered along the underside of my straining manhood.