A Roman Slave
A series by Sam Fox
Author’s Note: This is the first chapter in a free full-length novella for my site. If you enjoy it then keep coming back every week for the next chapter. Can’t wait? Why not check out some of my other novellas in my store page. I hope that the Roman Slave chapters show you what I can do and encourage you to support my work. Thank you for reading.
Clang! Clang! the sound of steel meeting steel rang throughout the arena. I was lucky enough to have a position in the most prestigious viewing box next to my Dominus, Cato. I stood and held the wine jug as he sipped from his jewelled goblet, watching the show.
Marcus, Cato’s prize gladiator, was facing off against the prize of the Aurelius family, a brute named Livitus.
I watched as Marcus moved between blows, almost dancing on the field, his muscled body caked in sweat and blood. The two looked evenly matched, and fought for life and death beneath the hot Roman sun.
“Livitus fights with passion, Septimus,” Cato said idly, sipping his wine. He was in his early forties and possessed of a lean frame, and couldn’t hold his wine nearly as well as his counterpart, Septimus Aurelius. Were he to stand at this point in time then he would likely fall to the floor.
Septimus laughed and gestured for his slave to pour him another goblet, matching each of Cato’s drinks with his own.
“Not enough passion to strike a killing blow, my friend.”
Cato laughed and drank deeply. The viewing box was filled with the two thrones occupied by the men, and a smaller chair for Septimus’ wife, who ate juicy grapes from her own male slave next to the ledge. Cato’s wife remained at home with her slaves, tending to the household.
“Would you mind if I partook in a different vice, old friend?” Cato asked, grabbing a handful of my bountiful rear end. I was only in my early twenties, but a luxurious life as the Dominus’ favourite slave meant that my form was curvy and my rear end quite large compared to most Roman women.
“I only wish I had the chance to sample such a dark delight,” Septimus sighed. “Be free, Cato.”
Dark delight. That was what most Roman masters called me; African from birth, I had come to Rome as a slave many years earlier, serving first in the kitchens and then, when I came of age, in the bed of my Dominus. Long, lush black hair cascaded down my shoulders and my skin was beautifully soft from my daily scrubbing routine, which I was instructed to do to please my Dominus.
Cato didn’t have to ask, because as his favourite slave I was well trained. I allowed him to fondle my curves, then knelt before him. He used one hand (the one that wasn’t grasping his goblet) to play with my large breasts while I pulled his tunic aside. The man’s cock was soft but I was very skilled in the arts of pleasure, and so I went to the task immediately, and with great enthusiasm, pulling and playing with his member as he turned his attention back to the fight in the pit. There was a reason I was his favourite slave: I lived for moments like this.
“I’ll up my offer for the slave, Cato. Double the price, if you give her to me today,” Septimus laughed. “I like the way she handles a manhood. She almost seems… enthusiastic.”
“She’s the one I’ll never trade,” Cato said heavily. “She knows just what I want in terms of pleasure. And you’re right, old friend. She cannot live without a cock inside her. She’ll do anything to bring pleasure to a man. Besides, what of you, Livia?”
Cato directed his question to Septimus’ wife, turning his head to look at her. I could feel it in the way his muscles moved; of course, I couldn’t see it with my face pressed into his pubic hair and his rapidly growing manhood in my mouth, but I could imagine that the woman’s eyes were on me as well. It sent a tingle down my spine.
“Please, Cato, sell my husband your slave. He grows bored with his own girls far too quickly. You don’t often find slaves as eager to take a man as a whore surrounded by princes with deep purses. Not to mention that I find myself tired with taking him in my rear at nights.” Her drawling voice drew a laugh from the men and then a sudden gasp. I paused in my sucking as the men both cheered.
Had our gladiator lost the match? Was Cato to be in a foul mood this night, beating my rear cheeks as an outlet to his rage? He often spanked me when his anger took control of him, or used a wooden cane that he had on hand. Even though it was an affront to my Dominus and would cause him anger, I found myself praying that Marcus would fall.
“Septimus, I do believe you owe me two hundred denari,” Cato said with a booming laugh. I sighed, a mixture of relief and sorrow falling upon me, and continued suckling at his meat, drawing him in deep. He was rock hard, either from the victory or from my ministrations I didn’t know, but either way he seemed quite pleased. I would not be feeling his punishments tonight, but he had won his large bet, and so his house would have gained prestige. I lived to see my Dominus pleased.
“Yes, yes, Cato. What is the name of your gladiator?”
“Marcus,” Cato replied. There was a tink as he placed his goblet down on the side table and then he grabbed my hair with his two hands. He pulled me down brutally, spearing my throat, and proceeded to use his hips to thrust into me, taking his victory lap. I tried to suppress a grin as I felt him probe deep inside; he knew how I felt when he used me like a whore.
“Livia, fetch that little thing we bought from the slavers last week,” Septimus said. “I believe I will take her ass. You know how I like an outlet after losing a bet.”
“Yes, dear, of course.” There came the sound of snapping fingers but I was far too preoccupied with my Dominus, who was fucking my face with all his might. He thrust hard a few more times then let himself loose in my mouth with a long ahhhhh sound.
The salty liquid splashed against the back of the throat but I had long since curbed my gag reflexes. I performed my duties and swallowed him down, drinking his delicious juices, until he slapped me away, then I got up off my knees and hurried to fill his wine goblet again. It was impossible to ensure that the entirety of his seed shot down my throat, as still had a few strands when he pulled himself out, and so my mouth had long ropes of his semen dribbling out down my chin. I didn’t dare to lick it away – he always appreciated it when I left a good reminder upon my face.
“Ah, there’s nothing like a good celebration on a winning day. Cheer up, Septimus, you had a good three hundred from me in last week’s match when my second-best lost to that brute of yours,” Cato said.
Septimus chuckled and the men began to talk like old friends, though of course I knew that it was far from the case. They acted as though they were all but brothers, but from what I’d seen over the years they were little better than their wives, who compared jewellery and traded snide remarks. For men, it was less jewellery as it was gladiators spilling the blood of their opponents, but the principle was the same.
I looked down at the pit and saw a blood-stained gladiator standing with his sword in the air and a grimace on his face, the body of his fallen enemy at his feet.