Roman Solider Slave ((Closed))

When the hot summer air blew the wind from the coast, Titus still could smell the sea air that brought him to the lands far beyond Rome. Standing on the high hill, the morning sun drying the dew kissed grasses of the grand vista, Titus could feel like he back where the satisfaction ruled alongside of bravery and camaraderie. Closing his eyes, he could almost hear the sounds of the legions of brave warriors of Rome reading for the fight. He could feel like the days when dirt released it’s smells wetted by the blood of the enemy. The tree limbs breaking free of their greenery as they rode their horses through thick brush. The smells of campfires and cooked meat feeding an army ready for battle. The anticipation of the fight, the excitement of the battle, and the exhilaration of the victory.

Standing up on this high was the farthest from the battlefield, the farthest from himself; yet it was where he found himself now.

“Master Titus?” A voice came from behind him.

He did not turn to look at the servant, whose voice was too familiar to him these days. “What is it?”

“Your father wishes to see you,” he replied.

Titus stood firm at the marble railing. The villa sat on the top of Mont Janiculum, outside of Rome’s city walls to the west but no less as beautiful vista over the great city than any other place. This villa, with all it’s grand gardens, fountains, and baths remained outside of the city because it is the people his father represented in the senate. At this railing Titus could look down upon all of the greatest city in all of civilization and those whom make it their home. Even as a boy, standing at this rail gave him simple joy; knowing that all of the good people of Rome were down below him where he could watch and someday protect. For most of his young life, he had fought for those people, stopped invaders from reaching them, expanding the reign of the emperor, bringing more of the savage world to this great republic. This city filled with people who know not the sacrifices made on their behalf.

“Please, Master Titus,” the servant spoke again, “he insists an audience with you.”

Titus still did not move, and shook his head slowly. “Does he mention why he wishes such an audience?”

“He asks for an audience,” the servant returned, his voice sounding fearful of retribution if he could not return with the senator’s son.

In some ways, Titus feels his father treats him like a child. He was no child; though his career was too brief, no soldier ever comes home a child. Tall, strong, broad shouldered, and the white tunics with red trim showing his distinction were cut special in order to cover his frame. His dark hair kept and face clean made him feel like he was still of the military. All, gentle reminders he was more man than child. “It is hard for me to leave such a view in a hurry for my father,” Titus spoke, still without turning. “Not without fair reason.”

A long breath escaped the servant. “He has a gift.”

“It would not be a horse, would it?”

There was a silence from the servant. Titus knew why. There would be no horse, not with his condition. Leader of a cavalry legion, yet cannot ride.

Titus looked over his shoulder at the servant, the young man appearing nervous. “I will be along shortly. You will at least permit me the dignity to walk alone, will you not?”

The servant shuffled along in short order.

Titus stood by the rail once more, and closed his eyes. The sea air reached him once more, as well as the swelling of flowers, grass, and earth that circled around the grand garden. No, this was not the battle field, but there was something deeper to this place that allowed him to escape what it had become. If only he was allowed to let it enter; if only he was allowed to forget his past.

The former soldier carefully turned from the railing, and took the first step towards the house. The first step remained the worst. A ripping pain blazed through his thigh that felt as bad as when that spear first thrust through it. Each step allowed the pain to become duller, more bearable. Slowly, he could let the pain become manageable so the limp he carried could be hidden; then only the scar needed to be hidden under his tunic, hidden as well as the reminder that each step now meant he would no longer fight in battle again.

Varinia stood in the center of the dark and windowless room as two women washed her nude body. The water was cold and the women were rough but they seemed to have no malice. Soon towels dried her medium toned skinned. She had often gotten teased for being pale compared to the other women, for her skin was only gently touched with olive. Her eyes however, her eyes were a shocking blue green that had made the high priestess of the College of Vesta put her aside.

The College of Vest we well known for it’s vestal virgins, all tasked with keeping the sacred fire burning. She had been sold to the College when she was only 8. Too old to be a priestess proper, but perfect for the other side of the college, the side that cultivated and sold beautiful vestal virgins to those of the highest quality and wealth. They vestal that was for sale was a rare commodity indeed, as those who properly moved through the college received their freedom for their service. However, Varinia was not of this lot, nor had she ever expected to be.

She had worshiped with the other young girls and women, kept the fire and prayed. However, she was also taught manners and etiquette as well as how to be a pleasing mate. She had always been quite uncomfortable with what little they explained to her, though mainly they instructed her to be docile and do as her purchaser bid. All of that would have been well and good if she had not been such a spirited girl.

More than once she had been punished for being too rambunctious. She laughed too much, she enjoyed reading stories rather than histories. She had been punished for her spirit, carefully of course, so as not to mar her skin. After all the years of oppressive discipline, she was now fairly docile.

A stark white peplos was now pulled over her head. It was fastened at her shoulders with two bronze pins and a matching bronze belt was wrapped around her waist. It was then draped so that her full breasts were accentuated in a tasteful manner. She then stepped into her leather sandals and waited as they were laced up her legs.

The top of her hair was pulled back and secured with a simple white ribbon, allowing her honey brown hair to cascade down her back in gentle waves. Rose oil was dabbed on her throat and wrist and then inspected by the high priestess. Nary a word was spoken during this process. Varinia was left to her own thoughts which were blank with fear.

She was walked to a cart where she was packaged. She sat on a small stool as the four red velvet “walls” of her packaging were brought up around her and secured with a tie. The velvet was luscious and ventilated so that she would not be mussed, but also kept her from the eyes of others as they traveled towards their destination. She had no idea where she was going, though she heard people remark at the box. Presentations of the vestals rarely happened and when it did, it was often a theatrical affair, thus the velvet box in which she now found herself

The cart stopped and she was carried into a room and sat down. She heard what she thought was an older man’s voice and steeled herself. She knew not what lay on the other side of her fabric barriers but she knew she was about to find out.

Born Cassius Urbanus Titus, son of Cassius Urbanus Octavio, Titus was destined for the senate at birth. The only son of a senator, he was groomed for greatness being surrounded by philosophers and teachers. The training with the horse and the sword is what really encouraged him. When at age, he joined, with his father’s blessing, the Roman Cavalry. He rose quickly, elected by the men as a Decurion, then given order of a entire cavalry legion. Though respected of a higher order, Tribunus Militum Laticlavius head of the cavalry legion whom protects the senate, stands as nothing but a formality - one whom ensures the protection of men whom never are under threat. It is, however, his duty.

His lineage now seemed more of a burden than a blessing. Years of advancing out of sheer will of strength and the love of his men now was replaced by only needing to be born of the right man.

Willing his leg to overcome his wound, Titus stepped into his own chambers where his father awaited. Of course, the chamber was quite grand compared to the confines of an army tent. Stone and wood walls decorated with frescos of the countryside held the open space with only a few curtains keeping the cool outside air from free flowing through the room. His bed, rebuilt low to the floor to help with with his injury, shared a chest along one side - a number of pillows and rugs in the center of the floor in case he wished to sit with company. Of course, he chooses never to bring guests to this room, as he if it was his choice none would visit him at all.

There was, however, two items in the room that are not normally there. One being his father, Octavio, dressed in his longer white tunic, lined with red to mark his position as a senator. As if he was standing there to remind Titus of the position. He was standing, hands clasped, pleased with himself. All mannerisms Titus could expect from his father. His interest was focused on the other item which was unmistakably odd and unique. It was a large red velvet box, so large one could store a side of beef inside.

“Ahh, my boy,” Octavio exclaimed and stepped quickly to Titus’s side. He clasped his shoulder and assisted him towards where the sitting pillows remained. “How are you feeling today, I hope better than the last.”

“It is constant, father,” Titus stated.

“Sit then, no use standing on my account, if rest is what’s needed to heal than it is what is needed.”

Titus was confused. Not by the overly unnecessary concern for his war wound, but for the seemingly avoidance of the other item waiting there. Still, he followed his father’s suggestion and lowered himself to the pillows. The number, and comfort allowed him to lay back luxuriously and still remained sitting to converse and see the box behind his father. “All due respect, father, but while I appreciate your concern the subject of what that is,” he said pointing at the box,”is probably the priority, is it not?”

Octavio laughed. “Just like a general. Right to the point.” He turned around and moved over towards the box. “I feel that this place has made you restless. It is not like the war, so you seem to lash out at those who do not deserve it. You stand for hours in the garden observing the city, yet you seem to not have time for our guests. I feel you can do with some companionship.” Next to the box he turned back to his son and smile. “So I have purchased a companion for you. Let’s see what she looks like, shall we?”

His father pulled a tie, and the walls fell exposing what was inside.

Titus sat on the cushions, doing what he could to hold back his shock. What lie inside was not at all what he expected. Worse, it was not what he could think as something he would think he needed. Yet he could not ignore the beauty of what was there, and could not deny that it had been a long time since he cast eyes one as such. Ultimately, if any expression slipped, it was that he was pleased.

Inside, sitting on a stool, was a woman.

Varinia sat in her velvet cage quietly. She heard the two men converse and wondered what affliction burdened the man with the younger voice. She stomach tied in knots as she thought about the man that would now own her. While she had been instructed to be gracious, polite, and charming, she worried that she would be too shy. She had lead a rather solitary existence up to this point. While she had been instructed but the priestesses, she had always been an outsider. Unless she was being instructed or ordered, she was not to be spoken to.

She was drawn out from her own thoughts when she heard the older voice say “general”. Was she to be the slave of a disfigured and violent war general? She listened closely as the older voice continued to speak. She heard the word companion and readied herself. She made sure her skirt was draped properly and put her hands in her lap as she waited patiently as she waited to be freed from the box.

She sat for a moment after the velvet wall fell. She had been looking intently at her hands as she heard the ribbons tugged as she prepared herself for entrance into her new life. She smiled softly as her gentle eyes took him in for a moment. She swallowed her fears and nervousness as she slowly lifted her chin to gaze at her new owner. As she rose gracefully from her stool she was unable to discern what injury had caused the older man, his father, to insist that he sit.

She turned towards his father after a moment and curtsies respectfully. She then walked towards and sat at his feet, tucking her skirt around her neatly as she tucked her calves and knees underneath her. She then placed her hands palm down, one on each thigh and lowered her head submissively.

“I am Varinia master.” She began in a soft velvety voice that had not learned it’s power. “I have been gifted to you by your most honorable and great father. I shall endeavor to please you.” She then slowly bent down at the waist and kissed the tops of his feet gently before resuming her previous position. Her heart thudded hard against her ribcage, the placement of her hands on her thighs the only thing keeping them from trembling.

Titus was too stunned for what lay inside the box to react with anything but surprise. A woman, he had arranged for a woman for him. If there was a discussion between them, he most likely would have turned down the offer for companionship of a slave girl; yet now at this moment there was nothing in him to reject this gift.

She seemed unlike those women of the city. Lighter skin, fairer hair. She seemed dutiful, yet her eyes would suggest reluctance. As she approached, he could only gape at the way her body shifted magically under the light cloths of her covering. Of course there were women he had known, but not since his injury, and they were spoils of war - stronger and more defiant. This one seemed a supplicant, but utterly beautiful.

And clearly his.

She introduced herself, kissed his feet, and waited for him.

His thoughts were interrupted by the voice of his father. “I will leave you to appreciate your gift.”

Titus could only stare at his father as he left the room, and left him alone with the woman. She still knelt at his feet, the silence between them growing seemingly louder and louder. He pushed his hands into the ground to sit up taller, wincing as pain shot through his leg. His fists gripped the pillows underneath him as the pain passed. He looked direct to her eyes, doing his best to remain in control, doing his best to still be the military man he always knew. Through dry lips he finally spoke to her.

“Varinia, when calling me by name it is Titus.” He swallowed hard, tried remain strong, but already questioning himself. Is this the way one treats a slave? What does one expect of a slave? His eyes slowly dropped down her body, amazed that slave women are this beautiful, this lovely. Then of course, he remembered, this woman was his.

And it was time to appreciate his gift.

It came as a simple command, direct, and firm; but he only tried to leave no doubt. “Remove your tunic, Varinia.”

Varinia’s heart slammed against her ribs as he told her to remove her clothing. She had expected this of course, but she had only been nude around other women before, and of course, her master’s father when he inspected her.

Her face remained calm despite her mind’s inner screaming as she rose up from the ground in one languid movement and then looked her master in the eyes and then immediately turned them downwards. He seemed a handsome man, war hardened of course, but he seemed strong and virile. Only time would tell if he was to be cruel or kind.

She removed the brooches that were holding her clothing in place, causing the fabric to quickly pool around her feet. She was well formed, full breasts with dark dusty pink nipples that now hardened against the chill in the air. She had a slender waist and full hips that lead down to well-toned legs and dainty feet.

She did her best not to blush but it was impossible. She leaned over slightly to set her broaches next to him and then stood again and slowly turned, thinking he wanted to get a full view of her. Her long hair cascaded down her back leading to a full and round bottom that accentuated her small waist.

After turning a full circle, she was facing him again, her hands at her sides. They had shorn her nether region and it felt odd and strangely cool there no. She kept her eyes trained on his feet. It was only now that she dared to speak.

“What would you wish master?” She asked in a soft velvety voice.

Titus drank in the beauty of the slave. He did not hide the fact that he stared at her full breasts, taking a slow study of her curves. Slowly he moved his gaze down to the curve of her hips and the lines leading down to the nest hiding her sweetness. He drank her in as she turned for him, growing hungry to cup and hold the perfection of her rump. The smooth shaping of her legs seem to beg for a touch, and a need to be held and pulled apart to the conquest of pleasure. It was, of course, not the first time he had seen a naked beauty, but never had he been so thankful for the gods to create such a masterpiece.

When she asked for his wish, it pulled him into the realization that she was of course his to do what he chose.

Gingerly he shifted in his sitting, leaning back and careful for his tunic to keep his wound hidden. He pat the pillow next to his good leg.

“Come, sit here.” His voice found its command. Even within his growing desire the soldier still dominated his presence. “Sit where I can touch you.”

His intent was simple. To validate with his fingers what his eyes are already appraising. To see how worthy of a gift he had received.

Varinia did her best to hid her nerves, though despite her training, to a trained eye such as Titus’s could tell that she was, indeed, as pure as she was promised to be. She sat down next to him as indicated and lowered her head a bit, a blush rising to her cheeks before she was able to look him in the eyes. He was quite handsome, she was at least thankful for that. Perhaps if she were good he would be a kind master and life would not be so terrible.

She loosened her muscles so that he could inspect his property if he so desired. She sat with her hand behind her back submissively and blushed again looking at him, and so turned her eyes away.

“Your wish a pleasure to answer master.”

Closer to him now, he found himself entranced by the smell of her. She had been cleaned and prepared, so the perfumes that surrounded her wafted through his senses until he could feel a calm he hadn’t felt in some time. He leaned slightly, careful as always of his wounds, and closed the space between them noticing now the warmth of her body even as revealed as it was. He lifted his eyes to look directly in them, and took the last step.

His hand cupped her full breast, first encircling it around it’s edge, then moving his palm until it graced her ripe nipple. The firmness of her flesh seemed to defy its mass, and only seemed ot make her that much more provocative. His hand moved up the breast until he could feel her chest above it, then slowly let it drop down until his fingers were under and weighing the fullness.

His eyes remained on her’s keen to watch her reactions, keen to know how this girl handles such touching. He had, of course, heard of such slaves but knew not what they were expected or trained to do. His father surely paid a great coin for her, but for what exactly he didn’t know.

Titus, though, chose his words poorly in trying to find out exactly, challenged by the questions in his own mind. “They have trained you in pleasures as your duty then.”

She watched him as he looked her over. She had expected, and been prepared to, simply get on all fours and allow him to do what he wished. His interest in her, was surprising. She had felt his eyes before as she had looked her over, but now, now with him so close she felt the strength of him, his warmth.

She tensed and closed her eyes a moment as he cupped her breast, gasping softly as his hang grazed her nipple, her eyes opening to see his looking deeply into them. The soft touch of his callused hand upon her nipple, and felt then tightening as it began to harden.

“I was trained to give my master pleasure in many ways.” She told him as her hand reached out and she ran her fingertips through his hair, “Of mind” she began and then moved her hand to his chest “of the soul,” she then moved her hand to rest softly on his cock, “And of the body” she be blushed hotly, looking away for a moment and then looked back up into his eyes. “My first…pleasure is the gift to my master. While I have learned many ways to please you,” She explained as her hand expertly ran up and down his length, “I have not yet had my own pleasure” she blushed at him.

Indeed they had trained her of how to please man, both with and without touch, but she had been denied any release of her own. So careful were they to secure this, and why she came at such a high price, her hands were bound at night that she could not touch herself. There had been nights her training had been so arousing that she could do nothing but sweat and wish for something to release the pressure between her legs. In the mornings, while they were pleased to find evidence of her enthusiasm, she was never given liberty to satisfy herself.

She removed her hand from his cock and awaited his instruction. Though she felt shy and was doing her best to look confident, part of her was nervous and excited and curious as to how her own body would react to the man in front of her.

Titus stiffened when she grasped his cock, both in body and in manhood. A woman acting forward in such a way was surprising even if he was aware of her purpose here, but it was just as much because she touched him so closely to the wound on his leg.

He did his best to refocus, take control of this situation, like the leader he was deep down. His senses were acute enough to realize that even through the trained confidence and sensuality, there was a hesitance. She maybe advancing onto him, but there was a part of her that was unsure of what she would find in those advances. Those words she spoke gave the hint to the source of her timidity …

”My first…pleasure is the gift to my master.”

She may have known how to give, but to receive would be new to her.

That is how he decided to take control of this situation where he felt control was losing him. He would put this girl to a test, and in the process if she was truthful, she would get what she had yet to have before.

“Turn around,” he commanded. He took her shoulder and rotated her. “Lay back upon me.” He pulled her down until her naked body rested upon his torso, her head falling next to his. Her smaller frame left her legs to fall to the sides of his own hips. He encircled his arms around her body, sliding a hand once more onto her full breast.

“I do not wish to know what you have been trained to do. I only wish to see what you are capable of. So make no attempt to lay hands on me.”

His free hand slid over her stomach and began edging downwards to the junction of her legs. There was no doubt where his fingers were intending to go. If she was still fresh from any pleasure she resist. He thought she would sure to resist. Deep down, he hoped she would resist. Yet that hand continued ready to find if she was ready to know this new world of hers.

She got nervous as she pulled her to him, feeling the strength in his movements. When stiffened as her legs were spread wide, her heart beating faster against her ribs. She didn’t understand how this would pleasure him, but if it was what she wished, she would remain. She almost jumped as his hand moved over her breast, and then down her stomach. Her breath quickened slightly as she moved further down with an agonizing slowness.

Part of her was terrified and part of her was curious. She had been told that men did not care of a woman’s pleasure. She was told that some men like to hear women moan when they were inside them, as it gave them some sense of accomplishment, but he was not inside of her, why did he not want her to touch him, was she not a pleasure slave.

When he reached the top of her mons her body tightened slight. “Surely you would prefer a massage master, or perhaps I could dance for you if you wish to inspect me more closely…” She said, trying to sound confident thought it was clear that she was quite nervous and unaware of what he wanted or why he had put her in this position. Despite her mind’s confusion, his touch did cause an ember of something new to glow within her. While she wasn’t fully aware of what it was, she knew that her gaze was transfixed on the movements of his hand.

“I would prefer this, Varinia,” he replied with an edge of sternness in his voice. It was true, that statement. He wished not for some strange woman to lay hands on his body, to remind him of his war wounds that still lay hidden under his tunic. If this was his slave to play with, he certainly didn’t wish to just bugger the creature lightening quick and end their first session before it started.

Besides, the whole idea that he had the girl in his hands and he had control over her first ’pleasure’ was more erotic than any suggestion she had. It was, of course, the control that was the most erotic of all. She had yet to deny his wishes, but she undoubtedly was nervous of what he intended to do. Which made his control over here that much sweeter.

The tip of his middle finger was the first to breach her nethers. It’s nearest brothers coming not far behind moving to part her supple lips. He noticed immediately that she was warm and growing moist where her folds separated; but not like the sloppy heat of the wanton whore he remembered so vividly after one particular battle up north. No, it reminded him more that her body needed to be trained to be aroused, to have the knowledge of pleasure to anticipate it.

His finger was careful to not breach her opening, but it did not hold back from gentle rubs of her private area. The tip of his middle finger toyed at her entrance, sliding along until it was past it, then slid back until it pulled against her small button. His ring and index finger countered those strokes moving where her legs ended and her gusset began. His palm flattened at times on her mons, as if to cup the heat growing from her pelvis. As he gave such tender attention to her inexperienced sex, his other hand encircled her breast, taking care to tease at her nipple to find their sensitivity.

“First pleasure,” he breathed into her ear in a way that seemed like a question. “Not even by your sisters. Not even by your own hands.”

Her breath quickened slightly as he made clear that he was doing exactly what he wanted to do. When his hands and fingers moved down she jumped slightly but did her best to remain in position. She closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip as her heart thudded harder and faster. She could not and would not say no, this was her place in life and it could have been so much worse. However, it didn’t take away the hint of fear that smoked through her body.

She gasped and jumped again as his finger touched her, sending a bolt of lightning through her body. She felt his strong hard hands on her soft skin and then another surge of heat pulsed through her body. While she was unsure of what she was to do in this situation, she found herself curious. She let her body relax back against his after several moments as her hands remained on her thighs, white knuckled, her fingertips digging into her flesh slightly.

As she began to become slightly more accustomed to his touches between her legs, she felt his other hand come up to her breast and move over her nipple, causing her to jump again, the touch sending a wave of heat between her legs. She felt confused at the new sensations she as feeling. Was she supposed to enjoy them or was she to deny herself and pleasure her master instead?

These thoughts left her head as she felt his hot breath against her ear. She shivered slightly as his words caressed her, causing her nipples to harden even further.

“I…I have heard sisters…..” She managed to get out, trying to sound as normal and elegant as she could, despite the lude display felt she now was. “I’ve heard of them pleasuring each other….I was never….never to be touched.” She said breathlessly. “My hands were bound….at night…so that I could not touch myself…” she told him breathlessly, both wanting to pull away from him and never leave.

He moved his finger against her and an unexpected moan escaped her lips, her body blushing in embarrassment. “I am sorry…I do not wish to shame you…” she told him. Why was her body reacting this way to a stranger? Surely this made her wanton and not the highly regarded purchase that she was. She panted a moment and then made herself pull away and kneeled at his feet.

“I am sorry for having given such a display Master. It was inappropriate of me to allow your pleasure to go unanswered.” She said, staring down at the floor, trying to cool the heat he had stoked in her body.

She felt like petals of a flower, delicate and soft. They were moistening dutifully, even if the woman attached to them seemed uninformed on the workings of her own body. Even through his cotton tunic, her unmistakable body heat grew against his chest as she wriggled in the growing pleasure of his intention. He was careful, focused, but unrelenting as she seemed to enjoy this more and more.

That is … until she broke free and faced him.

Titus flushed with anger when she pulled away from him. Yes, her duty was his pleasure, but what he was doing to the girl was what he wanted at that moment. Her removal from his touch was like any denial from a woman, and not one that a man of his position should take from a woman of her position.

Moreso, her sudden departure left his tunic high on his thigh, near to the grotesque scar that lay underneath. He lifted up in the pillows, quickly grabbing for the hem of the tunic, and pulling it down his leg angrily.

“I did not tell you to get up woman,” he spat. He reached for his wrist, intending to pull her back against his body. “Don’t tell me what I you will allow me or not. You will display what I want you to display.” In attempts to pull her toward him, his frustrations continued to come out of his words. “Binding suits you if you think you can act so disrespectfully.”

Her eyes looked to his feet as he covered his scar, thus preventing her from seeing it. She averted her eyes until he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back into place. She was told she was made for his pleasure, hers was not to matter. She was taught what sounds to echo to drive a man wild with desire, but she was never told that a man might wish to really view her own pleasure.

She was now back in place, his hard muscled chest pressed into her back, her swollen sex open to the air. She closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip as she felt her skin ache for his touch. She slowly opened her eyes and tried to relax her body. She felt a wetness at her apex that seemed to be growing.

“I am sorry Master, I did not wish to displease.” She told him softly. She let her head slowly lay back against his shoulder.

He let her lay back against him, let her open her legs and shifted slightly so they fell on either side of his. Let her submit back against him as her soft hair nested against his neck. At that moment she felt so small, so frightful, yet so diligent.

Yet the anger from her resistance still lingered in his gullet, and he fought to find that need he felt before she lept away.

His hands aggressively wrapped around her. One curled up between her breasts to cup her neckline. His thumb lay against her windpipe without pressing, while his palm lay flatly on her chest as her shoulder tensed under his fingers. His other hand cupped her mons. Flat against her sex, he pressed it downward, rubbing the folds and flesh assertively.

“They may have taught you about man, but you know nothing of me,” he growled into her ear.

The strokes on her flesh were long, slow. The spring of fluids only seemed to encourage his intensity of the movement against her mons.

“Only I will determine what is pleasing and not to me. When you will please me and when you will not.”

His finger breached her opening, dragging itself against her small button, but stopping short of her inner barrier. Then it pulled itself out, bringing with it her fluids. His other hand moved slowly down her chest until his rough palm dragged against her harden nipple.

“A time will come when you will have my cock, Varinia, and I will make you a proper woman. But that time will be when I choose it so.”

On an upward swing of his finger, the tip of it pressed against her clit and swirled quickly. The intent to bring that intensity that much more.

“Do you understand?”

The power of his arms sent a thrill through her. His muscles held her, there was no way she could escape. Her fate was truly in her hands and the danger of that made her heart race. His growl quickened her breath as his hands moved over her body.

She whimpered as his strokes against her flesh seemed to make her skin flush and her nipples harden further. When his finger slipped between her moist lips, she gasped and jumped as his finger ran across her delicate button. It had been like a bolt of lightning, painful yet not, she knew not what to think of it. She closed her eyes as his rough palm moved across her nipple, his gruff voice in her ear, it’s gruffness an aphrodisiac.

When he swirled his finger over her clit she gasped and jumped again in surprise. She felt controlled by him, and indeed she was. She was his possession and he was using her as he wished. He seemed to already know her body far better than she ever had.

“Yes…yes Master…” She managed to get out. A sudden urge came over her and she very slowly let the tip of her tongue flick his ear lobe as her head lay on his shoulder. “Please…please tell me your will…”

“Feel pleasure,” he groaned as she toyed with his ear. A grumbling groan coming with the subtle gesture.

He continued his assault on her folds, moving quicker but attacking on multiple fronts. He would sink his finger into her opening, toy at the barrier, then slide back to tickle her nub. When he did something that would make her squirm, he sometimes would move on it again, sometimes deprive her of the touch then go at that point to try to elicit the same response. The softness, the wetness, the heat of her sex was intoxicating, and he remained on it to try to work her into a reluctant frenzy.

As she reacted on top of him, he felt his staff raise to fullness. The top of his member began to brush up against her naked bottom with only the cotton of his tunic separating them. Her uneducated body seemed to act without trying to pleasure him, but it wasn’t in his interest to use her in this manner now. This was more of a surprise to feel it come up. Since his injury he had troubles becoming physically aroused. Yet even though this girl was sent him for the purpose of arousing him, he realized now that she had a far greater effect on him than he could expect. Never did it seem so full, so rigid, so needful. Yet with it’s nearness to her delicate flower, it only seemed to accent how much bigger it was than her.

What he was most aware of now is what exactly made him feel this way. He still embraced her, his hand kneading her firm breast in conjunction with the work he was doing further down. She was his, and he held her body tightly against his own. Encompassing her body with his arms was as erotic as his touches, and causing her to lose her senses only made it more so. Without her showing any direct attention to his own needs, he felt on the verge of his own release just by imposing pleasure on her. That power over this woman brought himi closer and closer to an end.

“Fell it come, little one,” he whispered into her ear. “Feel it break loose. You are at the ledge. Let it crest. Let it go.” To send her over the top, his fingers found her clit, stroked rapidly, and remained intent on her finish.

She could only take short breaths as his hands played over her body. He expertly moved his fingers along her to bot tantalize and torture. A thin sheen of sweat formed over her skin, causing it to shimmer as it endured the pleasure and the promise of release.

She moaned softly in his ear, not wishing to draw too much attention, though it was difficult. She felt him harden underneath her bottom which made his touch all that more thrilling. Her hands moved to the arms that held her, her fingertips digging in and she tried to hold onto him, as if she would be lost to the netherworld if she let go. She bit her bottom lip and started to pant.

“Let it go.” She heard his deep voice whisper into her ear. The head of his breath and his words sent her crashing like a wave upon the shore as she moaned loudly, her hips moving upwards as her muscles tightened and then collapsed back down, writhing under his touch. She felt as if she had been torn apart and put back together. She could feel wetness now only between her legs but below her on his tunic as her body went limp against him.

She lay against him trying to catch her breath, trying to regain her wits. She licked her lips and looked at him as best she could with her head still upon his shoulder. Before she realized what she was doing she stood and then sat on his lap once more, facing him this time, and kissed him with all the passion he had let loose in her body.

The way Varinia turned in his lap and started to press her lips into him, he almost forgot how new and fresh this slave girl was to pleasure. His fingers broke her free of her timidness it seemed, and now that she lay across him to reach his lips she merged into him. She remained naked, and her body radiated heat into him like a loaf fresh from the oven.


His hands moved across her torso, found her firm, rounded bottom, and pulled her tighter against him. Sliding her hips around his own, he felt his tunic slide up his thighs. It surely exposed his scar, but her passion drove his own, and her need lit his. He was losing control from her actions, and at this point he cared little.


Once his tunic rode up far enough, Titus’s turgid cock sprang free and slapped up against her spread thighs. He was encouraging her hips to move against him, and it meant that his member slipped up against the soft groove of her round bottom. He started to enjoy the feeling of her flesh against his but he wanted more. If not all.


He reached between them, pulling his stiffness upward so that it could be pressed between their bodies. With a pull of her hips, it lay inside her groove so that it’s underneath was oiled up by her ample wetness. He has he tight against him so that it wasn’t pointed for entry, if he could control himself from that act he would, saving it for now. As pure as she was, she surely had not seen any manhood before, and it was only right that she felt it pressed against her sex before her eyes lay upon one. Still, she felt like a furnace burning into the flesh of his own heat. Even with her resistance in mind failing her, she remained irresistible to him in body.

She hadn’t expected the kiss to last long, feeling she had once again disobeyed him, but as she began to pull away his hands moved around her body and down to her bottom. She groaned into his mouth as he pulled her against him. She gasped as she felt his hot flesh spring free and hit her thigh. She gasped as this sudden heat pressed against her folds as she instinctively began to move herself up and down his length.

She pulled away from his lips and leaned her hands back, one on each of his thighs. It was then that she felt the angry flesh beneath her fingers. As she turned to see what her fingers now touched, she felt him stiffen. Before she could react she was tossed to the floor and all she could do was look up in astonishment at the angry figure that was now walking away from her.

She sat in the room, alone, puzzled, wondering what she had done wrong. She blinked a few times and then quickly put her sheer dress back on, as she had no other clothing with her. She wrapped her arms around herself and stood in the center of the room, not sure where she was to go or what she was to do now.

Titus stood in the hallway, his hands balled up and fingers gripping madly at the air. His teeth gritting harshly. He moved to a railing that bordered a open aired green space, and leaned over it to hold himself steady. The pain was excruciating, and ripped like the spear that tore his flesh apart. After fighting it for longer than any mere mortal could, he let out a deafening roar to break through the burning in his leg.

As soon as her hands recognized the wound, he threw her off of him and hurried to leave the room. He had never moved so quickly since the injury, and the action with the desire to hide his limp from the girl, felt like it was tearing his muscles and skin apart. With her left behind and in the vacant hall, he couldn’t hide the pain anymore more.

Shortly, one the valets approached, and looked to his suffering. “Are you alright, sire?”
Titus’s eyes were narrow and angry. “I am perfectly fine,” he replied deliberately through clenched teeth.

“Shall I call for medicine.”

“No!” He shouted.

The valet cowered slightly.

Titus tried to get a grip on his mood, and took a long breath. “There is a girl in my room. See that she is removed.”

“Removed from the residence, sire?”

“YES!” he shouted again.

The valet turned to moved back down the hall.

Titus started to consider his reaction. She had touched him, felt his wound. When he started to feel her grow curious of it, his furiosity erupted. Even through the darkness ripped in his mind, one thing stood true. She was not at fault.

“No!” he shouted again.

The valet had not made it far, and stopped to turn to him.

“Removed from my room.” Titus took another long breath and continued. “She needs to be cleaned. Make sure this happens. And feed her. And … where ever my father intends her to room, she can go there. I have no use for her the rest of this day.”

“Yes sire,” the valet replied.

“And Bring me Wine. I will be in the garden.”

“Yes Sire.”

“Lots of wine!”

The valet left him. Once out of site, Titus struggled down the hall, the pain in his leg burning like pokers stuck through. By the time he reached the garden, his tunic was soaked in sweat, his knees weak, his chest aching from breath. The day had grown late, and the sun was finding the hills. Maybe he would not leave this place for the night, and once the wine was drunk maybe he wouldn’t care much for much.

At this point, only the care to distance himself from that slave was all that mattered.

Varinia jumped as her master let out a powerful roar. She wasn’t sure if she should get back into her box and be taken home in shame or to run. Running would do her little good she surmised; she had little knowledge of the world outside of the small bubble in which she had lived up until now.

Soon an older gentleman, that appeared to be the master’s valet, came into the room. Without so much as a word she was taken from the room, through the kitchen and into a laundry area. She watched him speak to one of the women who gave her a dirty look and then started filling a wash tub with hot water. The valet left and two women came towards her.

“Look at her,” the older one began, “little more than breath of a whisper to cover her goods.” She shook her head and roughly removed the dress from Varinia and pointed to the tub. She got into it and a middle aged woman began to scrub her.

“Just what the master needs. Some plaything getting’ in the way of his healin.” Said the one washing her, as the other, who seemed to be called Lucia continued with the laundry. They spoke as if she were not there.

“Well she couldn’t have been too good if she’s here and not with him.” Her washer said to Lucia as she scrubbed Varinia’s skin hard with pumice and soap.

Just thing Titus’s father walked in and grabbed Varinia out of the washtub unceremoniously and looked at the women who had treated her roughly. “Ladies, this is a precious commodity and not to be treated as such. While she is a servant of this house she should be treated like a precious bobble for the amount I spent on her.” His father then took her into the house and through to a bathing room with another woman awaited, this one looking softer, though quite elderly.

“Magda, please see to the girl. Put her in the boys room when she is freshened. If he argues, send him to me.” With these words the older man left and Varinia walked into the bathing pool where the older woman began to wet her hair and massage her scalp.

“You must not think unkindly of the young master…he had been through much.” She offered as she washed Varinia’s hair. She moved to wash the rest of her body slowly, Varinia unsure of what to say, remained silent.

Titus poured the last of the wine pitcher into his goblet, and with unsteady hands grasped the drink to raise to his lips.

The servant standing nearby stepped forward to pick up the empty pitcher.

“Refill it, and return,” Titus commanded.

“Sire?” questioned the man. Clearly because he seemed unsure whether or not Titus had had enough.

“I said,” Titus gritted, staring down the man “Refill … and Return!”

“And bring him some bread and meats,” a voice came along behind him.

Titus groaned, and looked over his shoulder to validate the voice he knew so well. “If I don’t know you any better, father, I would say you feel like you can continuously tell me what to do.”

He stepped slowly around the garden, past the fountains and plants to where Titus lay out on a marble chair. “As long as I have breaths to have, and as long as you are my son, I will tell you what to do.” He took a seat on a bench next to Titus. “But it appears as you grow older the less and less you choose to listen to what I say.”

“Listen,” Titus grumbled. “Where I have chosen not to listen to you, father.”

“I tell you to show respect to those we have in our keep, do I not?”

Titus waved his hand, “Words to a wine keeper is not anything harsh.”

“I meant the girl.”

Titus gave no replace, his face hardned, darkened.

“You sent her to be bathed in the commoner quarters.”

“I sent her to be bathed.”

“And I understand you almost had her sent away.”

“I did no such thing.”

“Titus,” his father shouted. “There is nothing that happens within these walls that do not reach my ears. It is the result of those under my care who respect me for respecting them. So do not lie to me.”

Titus sat still. He was a grown man, but now had to endure the scolding of a father like he was no more of a boy. Titus lifted himself up, unsteady by the wine, and tried to drink more of his cup.

“I know you still are pained by your injury, but it is time you start using it as a reason to be hateful to those who do not deserve it.”

From the mouth of the cup, Titus replied, “This has nothing to do with those …”

His father interrupted, “The slave was a give to you, An expensive gift. Not something for you to use and throw away.

“I did not use her …”

He interrupted again, “Do you not respect me enough to accept such a gift?”
Titus stared at his father angerly. Stoned with anger. Wanting to explode, wanting to tell him that the girl was no different than any, that she would judge him for the wound on his leg, would be horrified and disgusted and would look at him with the knowledge of such ugliness everything she met eyes with him.

But the valet returned with the bread.

Titus spoke of nothing.

After his father was assured that bread would be eaten, he left Titus wordlessly.

As Helos left the sky with his golden glow of sun, and Apollo took on the night, Titus raised up on drunken legs, and started the long painful journey to his bedchamber. It was early for his normal time to sleep, but with the wine working though his system it was time enough to find the comfort of rest. He slowly limped across the room, removed all his clothing, and laid down in the bedding. Ready to sleep, ready to end this day.