She arched back, offering my greedy lips even more of her feminine pulchritude while I drew spiraling circles, zeroing in on the fat caps of her pink nipples. I kissed the sensitive tips, taking the protruding stems between my teeth and pulling on them till Sylla gave out with a low growl of pleasure. Then I suckled on those prominent nipples, drawing on them slowly and steadily, with the girl arching back and writhing in my arms all the while.
My recollection of events after that is a little confusing. Somehow we all three ended up on the rug. I remember Sylla’s comely body laid out before me as I straddled her hips. I leaned forward, bringing up my rigid prick to rub along its length her wet tits. I had her squeeze them together, imprisoning my rod between the squashed mounds of flesh, while I moved my hips and spent a little time fucking her tits. Then, just as I was about to shoot off, I moved higher, easing my stiff prick up over her chin and lips, to rub it all over her face.
Meanwhile, agile Tomi had slid behind me and, as I crouched down over the other girl, she began paying tribute to my upraised posterior, bringing her lips to my ass and licking lavishly while I clenched my butt against the maddening tickle. The sudden surge of electric pleasure when the probing tongue touched my anus sent me shooting off all over the pretty face of the supine woman, who closed her eyes but didn’t turn away. It was an unforgettable night.
Later Kimar asked me if I had enjoyed my fetching companions. When I responded most enthusiastically, thanking him profusely for his generosity, he asked me if I had ever before had the rare privilege of enjoying both a mother and her daughter at the same time! Perhaps, he added with a sly wink, I’d care to see them make love to each other? Someday he would arrange for the two slaves to perform with each other for my private amusement. It was, he assured me, truly a stimulating sight!
Chapter Seven. The Lords Of Discipline
One warm, lazy afternoon, as we lounged about in his tent, Kimar began to tell me about his unique line of work He was a lonely man, with no one to talk to for long months on end, except for the slaves and the rather dull overseers he employed. So when he was in his cups with me, an “intelligent man-of-the-world,” as he called me, he wanted to talk. Kimar was justly proud of his reputation as purveyor of the finest sex slaves to the greatest city in the world, and he wanted me to understand that maintaining that reputation was a constant struggle. Sometimes it was an intolerable burden to keep up the increasing demands for both quantity and quality that were insisted upon by the demanding clientele of that insatiable city.
It was bad enough that raiders might pounce on the caravans at any time, that there was the need for constant vigilance, added to the increasing costs of expensive protection, the rigors of the long marches, but through it all he was expected to maintain a quality product. He commiserated with himself, shaking his head at the injustice of it all. It was even harder now that the war had cut off slaves from the East. Having learned submission at the hands of some minor Oriental potentate, they needed very little training. They would just as readily bend their knee to a Roman master. But with this source of pliable slaves temporarily cut off, and with the demands of Rome increasing, he was forced inevitably to turn to the north and west for new slaves, and these were a very different lot! Wild and unruly, these western barbarians had never learned true obedience. It was up to him to teach them. Now he lowered his voice and confided that there was but one true key to success: discipline. House slaves and field slaves must learn to obey. They were expected to follow orders and carry out their duties promptly. But sex slaves were another matter. They must learn instant and total submission!
Kimar’s slaves were sought so eagerly in Rome and commanded such exorbitant prices because they were so well trained. Kimar was a great believer in very strict discipline, and he had very definite ideas about training slaves. Their relentless training began from the first day, when the fresh captives were turned over to him by the army. The new slaves learned that he would tolerate nothing short of perfect obedience. The slave who learned quickly found that her master could be generous; but the slave who refused to submit and accept her new status graciously discovered that Kimar was a harsh master of discipline, well versed in many ingenious ways of enforcing his iron will.
The old slaver had quite definite-if rather unconventional-views on punishment. Of course, all slavers made extensive use of the whip to bring their charges into line, but Kimar did so only with the greatest reluctance. The whip was used sparingly, if at all, especially in the training of the attractive young women who had been earmarked for eventual service to the masters of Rome. Kimar much preferred the use of a stout paddle to enforce discipline, and though his overseers usually took care of such matters, he sometimes chose to take a personal hand in meting out the proper punishment.
“Some men whip their slaves, but I much prefer the use of the paddle. It gives me a great deal of pleasure while enforcing my will effectively in a way that is painful, but without lasting scars,” he explained matter-of-factly.
The firm hand of discipline would be eased only after the girl proved pliant and well-mannered, her obedience having been put repeatedly to the test and judged to be satisfactory. Warming to his subject, the old slaver invited me to witness one such punishment about to be carried out on a particularly recalcitrant slave, a Saxon girl whom he had acquired just recently. It seems she was a rather rebellious young lass, her obedience given grudgingly, her attitude downright surly.
He now invited me to accompany him to the exercise yard, where the slaves were being trained. As we approached the fenced-in grassy area that was used for this purpose, a gaggle of naked slave girls pounded past us, forced to run in the prancing step favored by their handlers, hands clasped behind the neck, knees pumping up high, their frisky breasts bouncing most delightfully as they passed by. I followed their progress past us and around the track, fascinated by the intriguing view from behind. I was still watching the rear view, entranced, when my attention was abruptly torn away by the shrill cry of a female in distress.
Across the yard from us a tussle had broken out as two of Kimar’s men struggled to subdue a squirming female. This was the Saxon girl, a stocky young woman with a riot of pale tresses that fell around her face and shoulders. She was a well-built girl with muscular thighs and firm high-set breasts, each hefty tit a full handful. Her heels were planted defiantly. Her shoulders twisted, trying to shake off the grasp of her guards, while her conical titties jiggled in furious agitation. She kept up her noisy opposition until she was gagged, and then she continued to struggle in a silent-but futile-attempt to avoid her fate. The burly men had little trouble in manhandling the naked woman. Each one taking an arm, they half-dragged, half-propelled the shrieking slave girl to the trestle frame.
Sometimes called the “horse,” this sturdy frame consisted of a padded crossbar supported on thick wooden legs. The crossbar was set at waist height so that a recalcitrant slave could easily be bent over the thickly padded wood. And it was over the crossbar that the businesslike overseers now deposited their charge unceremoniously, upending her so that I now saw why Kimar thought I might wish to witness this paddling, for this girl sported a meaty bottom that was perfectly made for just that purpose. Hers was a firm, sturdy ass, solid and nicely rounded. It was an ass that could absorb much punishment.